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Mine had left when I was two. It wasn’t something I’d ever needed to worry about.
“Relax. It’s fine.”
“No. You don’t understand. We went to this, like, private department store, andnoneof the tags had prices on them.”
“I know. It’s fine.”
He still wasn’t understanding. “Adrien. We were in a VIP suite and our assigned private shoppers brought the clothesto us.”
His dimples dipped deeper, amusement flittering across his features. He hummed.
“It’s not funny. I feel terrible.”
“Really? Because you looked very relaxed when you walked in here five minutes ago.”
“Yeah, well, my masseur’s hands were pure magic,” I admitted. “He was also funny. Made me laugh a few times and it helped. Plus, all the champagne. I expect the guilt will hit me full force tomorrow once I’m sober and my muscles are back to a solid state.”
Adrien’s smile waned slightly. “What was his name?”
“Whose name?”
“Your masseur.”
Oh. “His name was Lee. He gave me his card if you want.” And it wasn’t until I tried reaching into my pocket that I realized we were still holding hands.
I blinked down at where our fingers were leisurely intertwined on my lap, and my brain just sort of... fizzled. But before I could get it to work again, something weird happened. Adrien’s thumb moved across the back of my hand in a tender stroke, and I remained fully entranced as visible gooseflesh spread over my forearms.
Five full seconds passed, and then he did it again. A spark shot up my spine, spreading to my cheeks.
What is he doing?
What areyoudoing? Pull your hand back.
I didn’t know whether it was all the alcohol or the fact that my muscles were too liquid to take orders from my brain, but instead of pulling away, my thumb moved. One stroke across the side of Adrien’s large hand.
The hairs on his arm rose in response, almost in slow motion, and something subtle in his breathing changed.
But then he slid his hand out of my grip and cleared his throat. “We’re good. They’ve stopped looking.”
My mind stumbled a step before reality hit. Adrien’s eyes were on the large window looking into the kitchen. His parents were there, at the bar, pouring amber liquid into crystal tumblers.
Heat crept up my chest, expanding over my neck and shoulders. Of course. Of course, that was… what that was.
I blinked, trying to clear my head. Apparently, bubbly alcohol really messed with me.
“Do you think they believe it?” I asked Adrien quietly, crossing my fists over my chest.
“Believe what? Us?”
“Yeah. Do you think they believe we’re actually engaged?”
He shrugged. “We haven’t given them a reason not to. Not yet, anyway. So why would they doubt it?”
I shifted an inch away from him. “Because we couldn’t be less believable as a couple if we tried. We don’t make any sense.”
A small pause. “And why’s that, Sanchez?”
I looked up to find him watching me curiously with his head tilted. I lifted a shoulder, trying very hard to ignore the fact that my hand was still tingling where his thumb had brushed it. “We just don’t. There’s no way you and I would end up together in real life. And I don’t think I’m the only one who realizes it.”
