Nico felt sorry for all the poor souls who would be trapped on that airplane with Charles.
“Well,” she said, “that should do it, but what if he says the right thing and his last memory of you is one fabulous, formidable, far-reaching, far-flung, farfegnugen fart?”
“If he says the right thing, that means he’s in love. And as everyone knows, love not only leaves you deaf, dumb, and blind but olfactorily challenged. I read that somewhere. Can’t remember where. He’ll be so flooded with oxytocin, he’ll think they should bottle and sell my farts.”
Nico’s brow wrinkled. “You sure about that?”
“I once had a lover who said my farts smelled like hot cocoa with—get this—marshmallows.”
Nico laughed as she went into the kitchen and poured herself a second cup.
Charles followed and poured himself another cup as well. “I just realized something. That quote fromThe Mexicanis really more fitting for you than me. I wonder if that’s why my brain came up with it. Maybe it was actually thinking of you and Rocco.”
Nico’s mouth dropped. “There is no me and Rocco!”
Charles’s lip curled while one eyebrow made a quick jolt up and down like an ascending elevator that had suddenly been forced to stop as a result of someone pushing the red alarm button.
Nico suddenly felt uncomfortably warm.
“What’s going on with you?” Charles asked, looking at her as though her head had suddenly begun spinning around atop her neck. “Why are you acting so strange?”
“Me? You’re the one who’s acting strange!”
Charles wagged his finger. “Something’s different. Something has definitely changed. When I asked about your dream, which featured one Rocco Vittori, you said you didn’t want to talk about him.”
“So? I don’t.”
“You don’t see it.”
“See what?”
“You didn’t sayannoying, arrogant, asshole, prick—you saidhim. What happened when the two of you were locked in that room?”
“I already told you. We came to an understanding and agreed to work as a team. That’s it.”
Charles gazed at the wall in front of him. Nico felt her cheeks sizzle. She felt as though he could literally see the writing on the wall put there by the fairy dust of her dream.
Here lies Nico’s salacious thoughts about the sublime shoulders, agile arms, luscious loins, transcendent torso, awe-inspiring ass, and delicious dimples above said ass of one Rocco Vittori and all her vivid imaginings of his dreamy eyes, the cool bristle of his shadowy cheek,and that voice that hits her right between the thighs,making her swoon.
Swoon?
She hadn’t swooned. Never had. Never would.
No swoon.
“How exactly did that understanding come about?” Charles asked. “You never said.”
Nico threw up her hands in exasperation and almost spilled some coffee as a result. “We hardly had a choice. I told you what Casey said.”
Charles threw her a sidelong glance. “Something happened. I can tell. Your dream has betrayed you, Nico Angelini.”
She sighed. “We both apologized for the things we said over social media, and we agreed to work together. Shit, we have to. I know I have to or I’ll be out.”
“Which one of you apologized first?”
“He did. Now, you have to get ready, or you won’t have enough time for the methane smoothie before your flight.”
Celeste sat on the sofa, sipping her glass of red wine as Rocco collapsed into an overstuffed armchair with a GoGo squeeZ.
