One More Night(44)
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“You look stunning,” he said.
“So do you.” She walked over to him and took his hand, threading her fingers through his. “So where are you taking me, handsome?”
“To the best restaurant in Vegas. Blue Ribbon in the Cosmopolitan Hotel just up the street. It’s called a sushi citadel. The food is said to be as close to heaven as you can get.”
She raised an eyebrow and smiled. Sushi was her favorite food. “I’m sold. Take me there.”
“It’s a ten-minute walk up the street. Or we can take a car.”
“I’m a New Yorker now. Let’s walk.”
She gestured to the door. He was about to head out, but then he stopped, placing his free hand on her arm. He didn’t want her to think that was his official proposal, so he’d have to backtrack. He wanted to do right by her, and get down on one knee tonight as he’d planned. “Hey, Julia. I’m sorry for what I said in bed.”
She narrowed her eyes, looking confused. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged, trying to make light of it. “I just got a little carried away. That’s all.”
Tilting her head, she shot him a quizzical stare, as if he no longer made sense to her. He didn’t make sense to himself. Maybe the whole day had thrown him off his game. “Carried away?” she said, repeating his words.
“Yeah. That’s all. Carried away,” he repeated, but as he spoke he had a sinking feeling he might be saying something even stupider than what he’d said when he was inside her.
Why did men have to be such idiots sometimes? But men were, and he was a card-carrying member of that persuasion that often put its foot in its mouth, and there was nothing he could do to yank it out until they reached their destination.
Julia let go of his hand. “Almost forgot my purse,” she said crisply, and moved around the bed to grab it from the nightstand. But when she returned to his side, she kept both hands on the purse.
That’s where she kept them the whole ride down in the elevator. She barely spoke to him as they walked out of the Bellagio, past the fountains that were lit up against the night, and down the street.
“Are you looking forward to dinner?” he asked, never having felt more awkward in his life. He and Julia didn’t talk like this. They didn’t make stupid small-talk. They laughed, they had fun, and they talked about what mattered. Was he going to ask her what laundry detergent she preferred next? Discuss the price of bread ten years ago? But hell, he didn’t know how to right this ship without spitting out the one thing he wanted to keep secret, so he could barely string together words in any sort of intelligent order.
When they stopped to cross the street, she fidgeted with the clasp on her purse, clicking it open and closed, open and closed. He wanted to say something to make this better.
“The food is supposed to be amazing,” he said when the light changed and they crossed the street. The sound of silence was too much. Or maybe it was the sound of having hurt her feelings that sucked.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Saturday, 8:29 p.m., Las Vegas
She gritted her teeth. The more she focused on keeping her jaw clenched as they walked, the less chance there was that she’d cry. And she was not going to shed a tear over this. Let him think she was pissed. That was better than the alternative—him knowing the truth.
The truth hurt like a cruel jester doing a jig on her chest, mocking her.
Because she’d meant every single syllable of her yeses. She’d meant every word she said in bed. Maybe that made her foolish, but she’d thought—she’d actually fucking thought—he’d meant it when he said he wanted her to be his wife. That he felt like her husband. How could he feel any other way? After all they’d been through, and how far they’d come? She felt married. She acted married, and so did he. What were all those always and only ones from him about, then? Had he gotten carried away those times too?
A tear stung the back of her eye, but she sucked it in. She refused to cry twice in a day. Hell, she rarely cried once a week. She was more of a once-a-monther. So she wasn’t double dipping in the salty tear-well today. This afternoon had been justifiable. But to cry over a proposal taken back? No way. Not gonna happen.
She should have known better. She wished she could blast out a warning to all the women of the world—don’t believe what your man says when he has his dick inside you.
They neared the two high-rise towers of the sleek luxury resort, cars slogging through Saturday night traffic on the Strip alongside them.
He tipped his forehead to the stalled line of vehicles that were puffing out fumes into the night. “Good thing we walked, huh?”