“How about Derek?”
“He hasn’t complained.” She shrugs. “It’s a good marriage.”
I’d know if she was lying. She’s always certain of what she’s worth and what she deserves. If she weren’t pleased with her marriage, she would’ve left Derek, no matter what he told her.
It’s tempting to give in and go back to Molly. Even as my heart hurts, I can point to Tara and her husband and console myself that if they’re happy enough, surely Molly and I could be too. But part of me hates settling for “satisfied” and “hasn’t complained.”
It’s tempting to throw away my pride and go back to her. Being away from Molly is even more painful than I imagined. It’s like every hour without her slices away another piece of my soul. I’m also anxious and dreading the possibility that she might never love me back—and find herself another boyfriend.
But how long would the satisfaction last?
I want to be her number one. I want to monopolize her attention, affection and thoughts, just like she’s monopolized mine. I can’t settle for less. I won’t be able to bear it if she doesn’t love me enough to say the L-word. I don’t want her to think like Tara—to look at our relationship as some kind of high-stakes poker game.
“I need to get going,” Tara says, swallowing the last of her mimosa. “Otherwise I’ll miss my flight.” She gathers her purse and stands. Wrapping an arm around me, she presses a quick kiss to my cheek and then pats me on the back. “Good luck with the brunette. And if she doesn’t respect you enough to want you, dump her. I’ll introduce you to some of my single friends. They’rehot.”
I laugh. Tara can be a good friend when she’s in the mood. “Thanks.”
She wiggles her fingers in a little wave and walks off. I sign the bill, then head out for my afternoon meetings.
I step into the lobby and start across the vast stretch of spotless marble under the glittering chandeliers. A hot prickling of the skin in the back of my neck makes me slow down and scan the area.
My eyes collide with Molly’s. She stands with her arms crossed, her face wan and dark circles under her eyes. Her hair’s pulled into a topknot, revealing the scrumptious line of her neck and shoulders. The memory of how her breathing grew shallow when I rained kisses there rips through me.
She uncrosses her arms and starts toward me. She’s in a pretty green dress that brings out her eyes and flatters her lush curves, and her feet are in the same hot stilettos she wore to the auction. Given she chooses her clothes more for comfort than looks, they’re unusual choices. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she dressed for me.
But why would she?A bitterness not even whiskey could burn off lingers in the back of my mouth. She couldn’t have made it clearer where I rank in her world.
Tara’s parting advice rings in my head, at war with my instinctive desire to run to Molly and hold her tight, swipe my thumbs over her pale cheeks and kiss her until she clings to me mindlessly.
Then I recall the state of Tara’s marriage. I’d rather die than have that between me and Molly.
My legs feel like they’re made of lead. I force myself to turn and drag myself toward the exit.
“Nicholas,” Molly croaks. She clears her throat. “Wait.” Her voice is firmer and steadier.
I stop instantly, like every cell in my body has been just dying for a reason to talk to her. “What are you doing here?”
Say you’re here for me.
Uncertainty skitters over her beautiful face. “I want to talk to you.”
“Okay. Speak.” I check my watch, to hide my reaction to her nearness. To disguise my disappointment that she’s still unsure about me—about us. “I have a couple of minutes before I need to leave for my next meeting.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Molly
I had my thoughts organized. I wrote out what I was going to say on a piece of paper and reviewed it in the car on the way to the hotel. But when Nicholas looks bored and can barely glance at me, my courage crumbles.
He taps his watch, and the corners of his lips turn down. Am I bothering him? Is the gorgeous Asian woman who kissed him and left the one he’s interested in now? He laughed at something she said. She’s more his type than I could ever be.
The possibility that I could have been replaced slams into my head like a wrecking ball, and the notes I memorized vanish from my mind. All I can think is that he was withanother woman, and maybe I was never that special.
Nicholas drops his wrist and straightens. He’s going to walk away.
“Who was she?” I blurt out.
He tilts his head, looking vaguely confused. “Who?”
