Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
I pull the zipper up her back. "Sorry if I overstepped."
"No. It's a fair question. And Rome and I never talked about it. I was embarrassed. I used him. And I felt bad about it. So, we just pretended like it never happened and… I don’t know. Do you think I should tell Danny?” She turns and looks at me. “Or would it feel like a secret I’ve been keeping?”
“Has he ever asked?” I ask.
“If anything happened with me and Rome?” she asks. “Not in so many words.”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Would you feel better if you told him?”
She nods.
“How do you think he’d hear it?”
“I don’t know. He might hear the secret. Or he might hear, ‘I’ve known I only wanted you for a long time.’”
“You’ll have to take that risk.”
She bites her lip and looks down at the dress. She doesn’t say and I'm supposed to get married in a few days, but it hangs in the air anyway. "How is it?"
"Beautiful." I step into the main room.
She follows.
As soon as her eyes go to the mirror, she knows.
This is it.
Her wedding dress.
The perfect mix of formal and fearless.
Like the woman herself.
Like their relationship.
Like the person I need to be.
Well, the fearless part anyway.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ivy
Tragically, I don't have time to devour my fake boyfriend. Cynthia and I barely arrive in time for our evening task.
Amara takes us through another dinner recipe—a pesto pasta—while the guys get to work on hiding the cake from Cynthia.
The food comes together quickly, then we all gather together in the big dining room to enjoy a big, easy meal.
"I'll let you retire early tonight," Amara says.
My shoulders fall in relief. It's been a fun day, but I'm tired.
"One question for the table. Then one question to take with you," she says. "A private confessional. I'll even look the other way on Ivy and Romeo sharing a room to discuss it."
Cynthia laughs. "Really, you're only encouraging him, treating him like a horny teenager."
Romeo adopts an over-the-top shrug of innocence. "When did I ever invite a girl overnight?"
Daniel raises a brow. It's the same gesture Romeo does. And this time, it looks the same on him. It looks similarly playful, I guess.
Amara shakes her head in that boys will be boys way women do. "You are like teenagers when you're together. Everything is about sex and shocking your mother."
"Was Daniel ever obsessed with sex? Really?" There's surprise in Cynthia's voice, but I can't place the implication.
Daniel notes it, but he doesn't seem to take offense.
Romeo laughs. "Are you kidding? He was obsessed with you."
"He was not," Cynthia says.
"He was," Romeo says. "And he always tried to spin it into this pragmatic thing, of course, the way Daniel does. ‘Cynthia and I are both on track to earn in the 95th percentile. With our heights, our child is likely to have a height in the 75th percentile. She's got such beautiful brown eyes, don't you think?’ Then he'd realize brown eyes weren't a quantifiable trait."
"That doesn't sound sexual," Cynthia says.
"Well…" Romeo looks to his mom. "I shouldn't share the rest in mixed company."
Daniel blushes. It's really cute, actually.
Amara shakes her head. "What did I say? Obsessed."
"Let me put it this way: he read a lot of books that could explain what he should do, when, and how, and for how long." Romeo raises a brow.
"Books? Or… magazines?" she asks.
Romeo mines zipping his lips.
She laughs.
Again, Amara shakes her head. This time, she powers through. "That can be the answer if you want. But at least listen to the question before you dive into the gutter. What is your idea of a perfect marriage?"
Oh, just that little thing.
Great.
Really great.
I swallow another sip of my gin and tonic. Let the cool liquid warm my throat and cheeks.
She should know better, really. She should know there's no such thing as a perfect marriage. She's been married before!
I fold my hands in my lap and adopt my therapist face. The one that says I'm listening; I'm attentive; I'm not judging anything you say as unusual or outrageous.
I try to avoid it in social situations. People find it off-putting. As they should. It's a professional mask designed to remind clients of the unequal nature of our relationship, where they are free to come and go as they please, and I am there to help without any emotional investment in their lives.
It doesn't really turn out that way, of course. Not exactly. Of course, I cared about my clients and wanted them to do well. Now, I care about my listeners, and I want the best for them.
I have to keep that to myself, for the most part. It's okay to share a little I want good things for you, as long as I'm vague about what those things are.
Otherwise, people start to mold themselves to fit what I want, and it just doesn't work. There's a lot of power in the relationship. A strange sort.