Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96720 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96720 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
I combatted it by making myself look as hot and expensive as possible.
When I walked into the private dining room he’d reserved at Marseilles—a red flag the size of a rain tarp at a Major League ball game—his expression was proof that I’d pulled off my sartorial mission. Matt rose from the table, buttoning his jacket with one hand in the smooth motion of someone who’d been to a thousand fancy dinners and had the mannerisms so memorized, they were as unconscious as breathing.
“You look incredible,” he said, taking me in from my expertly curled hair to my form-fitting—but not too tight—black strapless dress with its notched neckline and all-over embroidery of jewel-toned flowers.
“Thanks.” I made a little turn in my strappy black stilettos. “I guess I clean up pretty good.”
He pulled my chair out for me and gave me a wink. “I know. I’ve taken enough showers with you.”
His hand skimmed the bare skin between my shoulder blades as I sat.
“So,” I said with a shaky exhale. “What’s the occasion?”
He returned to his chair. “I thought we had stuff to talk about, and it would be more fun over an incredible dinner.”
“No menus,” I observed.
“Prix fix.” He shrugged. “I hope you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” I was getting used to dining experiences that were guided by the chef, not the person eating the food.
Is this the life you want? I asked myself. Is this better than what we had in California?
Shut up, I scolded my doubts. The only reason I was even asking those things of myself was because I was afraid. Because I wanted to run, the way I always wanted to run when things seemed too good to be true.
My boyfriend, who I loved so much that I sniffed his shirts sometimes because I missed him while he was in the other room, the guy who was so sexually compatible with me that we were building a kink club together, was going to propose to me tonight. And here I was, trying to sink it all before he even asked the question.
A sommelier entered with the first wine pairing and the appetizer course. I was sure both were delicious, but when I sipped from my glass, it tasted like licking wood.
It was better to rip this off like a Band-Aid, I decided. “What did you think we needed to talk about?”
He couldn’t look me in the eye.
What if he wasn’t proposing? What if he was—
“Are you breaking up with me?” I blurted.
“What the fuck?” came out of his mouth so fast, I knew I was wrong. “Why would you—”
“Fancy restaurant, so I wouldn’t make a scene?” I tried to explain, but it sounded so absurd to me. Why would he do it in a private room if he wanted to avoid a scene? “I’m sorry. I’ve been freaked out about this all day. And now you’re saying you want to talk... either you’re breaking up with me or you’re proposing.”
Why did I say that? The words had spilled out by themselves.
“I mean—” I started, but I didn’t get to finish my sentence before his whoop of laughter interrupted me.
“Seriously?” He tilted his head like a dog that couldn’t understand why I hadn’t thrown the imaginary tennis ball yet. “Wait, you thought I was going to break up with you?”
“Y-yes?” It irked me a little that he seemed to find the notion foolish. “Or propose.”
“If I was going to propose to you, it would be in an underground bunker with three sealed vault doors so you couldn’t bolt out of panic.”
Fair.
“We go out to eat all the time. Why would this be something bad?” he went on, adding, “Or something you apparently view as bad.”
“I don’t view it as bad.” I decided to get it all out in the open, because it was going to eventually get there, anyway, and honesty saved time. “I heard you talking to your mother. When you were arguing about the family engagement ring.”
His eyes lit with recognition, and he uttered a long, drawn out, “Oh...”
“Yeah. So. You can probably see why it was one or the other?” I squirmed in my chair. I hoped he would understand why my thoughts went to those options. “Based on the fact that your mom really, really doesn’t like me, and your insistence on taking the family ring against her objections... it could have gone either way, right?”
To my relief, he nodded. “Yeah. Out of context, maybe I would have come to the same conclusion. But what did you hear?”
I hated remembering that night, how small and unimportant I’d felt standing outside the parlor doors. “Not much. I wasn’t eavesdropping. I came looking for you and heard the two of you. I was waiting outside to make sure I didn’t interrupt anything and—”
“What did you hear?” he asked, his tone a little firmer.