He groans, then takes my hand and leads me toward the dance floor. “Is this going to be a recycled conversation I have to look forward to?”
“Maybe you should just start listening to me,” I tease, feeling the anxiety pendulum swing hard back the other way, embracing the high of just being held by him.
He didn’t choose her. He’s still here with me. And he told me the truth. That’s not nothing. That’s everything.
Right here, right now, for the first time since he asked, I think I can actually see it—our future, how we might fit. How we can make this work. I love that he promised honesty, knowing I can give the same. No secrets, no lies. Just a solid foundation.
“I promise, I will.” He leans down and kisses me, then pulls me onto the dance floor. “Right now I need my hands on these fucking hips. This dress is going to make me come in my pants, I swear to fucking God.”
I laugh as he spins me. “This is the second time I’ve danced in years. The first was two days ago. With you.”
“Let’s hope tonight ends a little differently this time.”
“I don’t know, I liked how it ended last time.”
“That was past midnight. Technically, the morning after.”
“Morning afters with you sound pretty good, too.”
We dance through three more songs before Dash and Sunshine find us on the floor, then Griffin pulls Harlow in. She seems to tolerate him, while Griffin forces her to loosen up. I catch him glancing toward Pearl a few times, but Pearl keeps her distance from Logan for the rest of the night. At some point, Dadand Jo join us, and to Jo’s delight, Logan asks if there are any traditional Portuguese dances I can teach them.
The only thing my mother taught me was this slow spin you did with your partner while clapping your fingers in the air, as if holding tiny shell castanets in each hand. Dad remembers it, so he and Jo give it a try, and Sunshine, up for anything, ropes Dash in. Soon we were all doing some poor, bastardized version of the dance. I feel silly, but the more alcohol I drink, the more fun we have. The weight Logan seemed to carry earlier on seems to lift, and it turns into an incredible night.
By the time we make it back to my room, as promised, Logan peels the red dress off me, whispering soft prayers against my skin. We fuck, and it’s tipsy, playful and endless. Later, he admits what I suspected—his room was far nicer than mine, and we’d have much more room in there and many more surfaces to cover, but I’ve grown attached to the cozy confinement of this room. It feels like our thing. When he complains we can’t have shower sex here, I promise plenty when we get home.
The following morning, I’m a little hungover, and as nice as last night was, and as much as I’ll miss this little bubble Logan and I have been in, facing Pearl after the dress fiasco yesterday, recalling my father’s total oblivious ignorance of everything, I’m feeling ready to go home. This week has been… a lot.
It’s not like anyone else will care if I leave tomorrow, and I’m sure Logan will come with me. I’m nervous but excited—once we leave, we can really start this thing between us—making plans and fitting each other into our lives.
Logan keeps his arm around me as we leave the room, and I lean into him. He kisses my temple—my new favorite thing—as we make our way tiredly through the hotel. We enter the restaurant, and I’m struck again by how completely they’ve turned the place over. Sunshine mentioned they have a crew that works through the night hours, setting up, breaking down.
I hate to think what they did with all those gorgeous flowers.
We weave past other slow-moving, hungover guests toward the main table. My dad’s seat is empty beside him, which surprises me. He spots us and waves us over.
“Sweetheart!”
“Uh, hey Dad.”
He points to the empty chairs. “I’ve barely seen you. Now get your butt over here and spend some time with your old man.”
My heart warms as we make our way around the table. I settle in beside my dad, Jo opposite him, Logan next to me. Across from us, Pearl butters a scone without looking up.
I watch her for a moment, concern curling into me. Pearl always has this perfect mask she wears in front of people. Polite, sweet, accommodating. Three things she isn’t, but like hell she’d let anyone but me think otherwise. Right now, she can’t be bothered. She’s not even trying. Her eyes stay fixed on the scone, jaw ticking, and it’s chilling.
Aside from Pearl’s strange behavior, breakfast is simple. Easier than anything has been since we got here. The wind has died down, and as Sunshine predicted, the storm broke overnight. Across the restaurant, she sits with the rest of their friends, Dash’s arm settled protectively at her back. She catches my eye and waves. I wave back.
I pick at some fruit, turning over how to bring up leaving, when Jo beats me to it.
“Rose, honey, how’s the job search going? We weren’t sure how long you were planning to stay—I was hoping through the end, but I know you mentioned needing to get back to the city.”
“Uh, yeah, I should probably head back soon. Plus, the train is like, twenty hours, so it’ll take a while to get home, and I know Logan needs to get back to work.”
His hand finds the small of my back. Across the table, Pearl’s eyes drop to the gesture.
“He could just fly like a normal person,” Pearl says, dragging her butter knife through a piece of fruit.
“Well, trains are significantly better for the environment than planes, so maybe we should normalize that.” And, because I can’t help myself, I mutter under my breath to Logan, “Private jets are a blight on the earth, anyway.”
