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“I know you mentioned you wouldn’t be staying for dinner, but our chef would love your opinion on some new starters, Mr. Ashwood. I’ll bring them out, courtesy of the club, of course.”
He isn’t amused by her meddling, but I love her for it. She pours our wine quickly and then dips in a little bow before leaving us alone to talk.
I reach for my glass of wine and realize a moment too late that my hand is shaking. It’s evident to the both of us, so I clench it back and hide it beneath the table. I don’t need wine that badly anyway.
“I’ll give you until the food arrives to explain the purpose of all this cloak and dagger,” he announces sharply.
Jesus, an elevator pitch. I’d hate to face him in a conference room.
“Oh! Right. Um, well you s-see…” I stumble over my words in my effort to explain myself before Marissa returns. The appetizers won’t take long, especially if the kitchen knows they’re going to Mr. Ashwood’s table. I fight back a cringe. It’s not nearly enough time to vindicate myself. This could take all night, but his rigid expression and hard frown prove he intends to keep his word. “I br-brought you here because I wanted to let you know I’m not going back to Spain.”
He arches a brow. “I’m sure your family is happy about that.”
He doesn’t seem that enthused, and I realize I’m going out of order. My well-planned speech has turned to scramble in my brain.
“Oh no! You see—well, that is, I’m not going back to Spain because I want to give us a second chance.” Wrong, unfiltered words spill out of my mouth as quickly as they come to mind. I feel like I’m going to explode in my attempt to gain his forgiveness before he leaves. “I should have never left like I did. When you asked me to stay, that was—that took bravery, and I was so stubborn and set on the idea of leaving.”
His gaze flicks over my shoulder and my heart rate kicks up—surely the appetizers aren’t already on their way?
“There’s Marissa now—”
I lean forward over the table. “James! Please!” I cry desperately. This is ridiculous. If he really intends to get up and leave the second the food hits the table, I won’t let it arrive. I’ll fling it out of Marissa’s hands before she has the chance to put it down in front of us. “Honestly, we can’t keep doing this to each other! For once we both need to put our pride away at the same time. I just want you to see that I still care and I know you do too! Do you really have no interest in giving this a second try?”
“Why should I? What’s changed from when you left?”
“Everything!” I insist, pleading. “Everything. I left you last year in such a terrible way, but in the long run, I think it was for the best. I had growing up to do. Can’t you understand that? At times it was unbearable being apart from you, but it brought me so much clarity about my life, about my mom, about where I want to be in five years.” When he doesn’t make a move to respond, I continue, breathless. “You asked me that once, where I want to be in five years. Don’t you remember?”
His eyes soften and he nods, just once.
“Well my answer has changed. I don’t really care where I am or what I’m doing, as long as I’m with you. Surely you still have feelings for me deep down in there somewhere. You’ve just covered it up with all this—” I fling my hands in the air. “This pain.”
I heave a heavy sigh and wait for his response. After all that, he must have one, but he sits in silence, gazing at me intently as if working something out in his mind. It doesn’t look like a good sign.
I clench my fists, digging my nails into my palms as I try to stave off defeat. He wants to push me away for good because that’s easier than forgiveness, but I won’t let him do it. My voice shakes when I say, “I came here today with my heart in my hand. I came here because I think I’m in love with you, and I won’t leave until—”
“You think?” he asks curiously.
“What?” I blink, shocked that he’s finally speaking.
“You think you’re in love with me?” he asks again, leaning forward across the table, not mincing his next words one bit. “Because I know I’m in love with you.”
His words, spoken so clearly and matter-of-factly, are enough to strike me silent. I sit across from him with my mouth gaping open. Then, realizing I probably look like a largemouth bass, I clench it closed again.
