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“I feel so betrayed. Like me, his only child, his own daughter - I wasn’t a good enough choice.”
“No, no, don’t go down that road. That’s not true,” Everett says. “This has everything to do with the lies he’s told himself. It has nothing to do with you.”
“Ainsley said he’s going to go into witness protection. Isn’t that so stupid?” I wail like a toddler.
“That’s unbelievable,” says Everett, and to emphasize it he adds, “What a weirdo.”
I laugh at his word choice and it’s a brief reprieve. Tonight, I have no desire to protect the memory of my dad and I’ve decided Everett’s allowed to call my dad names. Because my dad is making this decision like a weirdo.
I take a step back from Everett when I sense his body starting to slump with fatigue. He has to sleep sitting up because of his shoulder, so we make our way to the den and I curl up on one side of the sectional while he props himself up on the other side. But I come over to him to say goodnight, smiling despite my heartache. I get to kiss him goodnight for the first time ever.
Everett locks eyes with me and smiles back. I’m so grateful for him. It’s been too long since I’ve kissed him and judging by the way he keeps dropping his eyes to look at my lips, he’s thinking the same.
“Thank you for rescuing us,” I say.
“I’ll always come for you,” he murmurs back. “Now, about tomorr-” that makes me quickly lay my hand over his mouth.
“Do. Not. Talk. About. Tomorrow,” I command. “Rest.”
“We need to,” he mumbles, his lips moving across my hand. Did he just kiss my palm? His smoldering expression tells me yes and it’s just as potent as the searing kiss he gave me at our wedding.
“And we need to talk about us,” he says, punctuating it by pressing my hand to his mouth, kissing me with each word.
“Ev, I’m so tired, you wouldn’t be getting my best,” I reply. And then I counterattack by holding his face in my hands and pressing a kiss to his lips, so short he can’t kiss me back. That’s never going to get old. “Tomorrow, we’re going to go in to the office like we always do and then we’re going to come home and then we can talk about it.”
“Better idea,” he says, using his good hand to grasp my chin and pull me back for a kiss. He’s sneaky fast, leaving me wanting more. “Everyone knows we’re married. We don’t need to hide out here.”
I nod and we both go in for a quick kiss that turns into a long kiss that makes my stomach flip. Everett backs away, only a breath’s width.
“Laina Milenna, will you go out to dinner with me?”
“Everett Park, I would love to go to dinner with you.”
I don’t know how long we kiss for. I don’t know how we don’t injure Everett’s shoulder more as we savor being together late into the night. But I do know that my heart fills to overflowing, that Everett is my anchor and my soulmate and my love. And he whispers words in my ear that echo the thoughts in my heart, that tell me he feels the same.
CHAPTER 19
Ainsley, Everett, and I walk into the Milenna offices together the next morning. The paparazzi is swarming, and even though he insisted on coming, Everett is sore with limited range of motion, so Ainsley acts as a casual backup.
Once we’re on the main floor, I turn into a tornado rushing around the office, taking in congratulations, things that have fallen off the radar, and more than a few jealous looks from women in the office who always eyed Everett.
There are calls to be made to the board members, good will to restore, and in the back of my mind, I’m keeping a running list of things that I hate about this job that I’ll want to change going forward. If I’m brave enough.
The best part of my day is knowing that at the end of it, Everett and I are going to get to go to dinner and do something as low stakes as ordering food at an Italian restaurant. When I clock out around six, I nearly collapse with relief.
Ainsley kindly agrees to act as our chauffeur for the night. Everett and I sit in the back seat and Ainsley yells at us to keep our hands to ourselves.
When we get to the restaurant, Everett holds the door for me and gives the hostess his name. While she gathers the menus, he takes my coat and scarf and hangs them on the rack by the door. Or tries to. It’s hard to do one-handed.
We’re led to a cozy crescent-shaped booth that curves around a table covered with a red and white checked tablecloth. A slowly melting candle is stuck in an old Chianti bottle and I am in love with the snug, candlelit mood.
We slide in and sit just far enough apart that I can lean on the table and look Everett in the eye with a smile.
“What?” he says with a grin.
“Are we really doing this?”
“Doing what?”
