"This place is massive," I say, taking in the arched doorways and beautiful photo prints hanging on the walls.
"I guess? Doesn't seem so to me. Probably because I grew up here. Spent my days here after school as a kid, worked here during summers doing landscaping. At least until I started fishing. Then I'd take guests out on the water."
We're strolling down yet another corridor and Remy stops at a bank of elevators.
"How old were you when you started doing that?" I ask, following him into an elevator.
He punches the fifth-floor button. "Fourteen, fifteen. My brothers all mowed lawns and did other menial labor. But I was like a tour guide. Fun as anything, taking old rich dudes out on the water... Yeah, I'm glad Max bought the place and didn't sell it to a stranger. My heart's here, you know?"
The elevator door slides open. Yeah, his heart's here, on the boat, fishing. Everywhere but with me. And that's the way it'll always be.
I follow him to a door and he swipes a card key.
"I thought," he opens the door, "we'd have a little staycation tonight. I got us a suite. Check this out."
He flicks on the light and I enter, taking in the lavish space. It's almost as big as my house, and much prettier. Everything's done up in white and bright green, cozy yet clean. I peer into the second room, the bedroom, and Remy comes up from behind, sliding his hands around my waist.
"Thought it would be nice to spend the night somewhere different. And now we have a lot to celebrate." He presses his lips to my neck, sending tingles flowing through my body. "So freaking proud of you, babe. You killed it tonight. Knew you would. Your bar's going to be the most popular place in town."
His hands cup my face, gentle but certain, and I let my head tip to one side. His touch never makes me feel afraid, and I shut my eyes and try to let the moment carry me.
He moves me toward the bedroom, his hands warm and certain, and for a moment, I let myself believe everything is fine.
It doesn't feel right.
Not tonight, when I've had a little too much to drink.
Not tonight, when I've been nervous for hours and my stomach is still jumpy because of winning the contest.
Not tonight, when all he wants is to keep things the way they've been and all I want is to tell him how much I love him. What would happen if I told him? Would he laugh? Be upset?
Or would he reciprocate? Maybe...
I squirm away from his warm hands, tumbling onto the bed and into a sitting position. My hands go to my dress, pulling it primly over my knees. I gulp in several breaths. The times I'd tried to talk about my feelings or concerns with Brent, he'd flown into a rage. Will Remy do the same? Crap. I'm so awful at this, at voicing my emotions. Maybe I'm broken. Maybe I dove into a new relationship too quickly.
I'd been so sure of myself when we met that day at the boat launch...
"Remy." My voice is faint, faraway. The time has come. "I don't think I can do this."
He sits next to me, an astonished expression etched into his face. "Do what?"
"I need to be honest with you about something."
His brows lift. "What?"
"We need to stop this."
He grins that lopsided, casual grin. It's maddening. "What? Stop all what?"
It occurs to me that neither one of us is particularly good at communication. I'm scared of conflict, scarred by my previous relationship, and unsure of myself. Even winning the contest tonight has triggered anxiety and a racing heart. Some screwed-up fear of success, maybe?
And Remy? He's not exactly mature. Responsible? Yes, mostly. Charming? Absolutely. Knows what to do when the woman he's casually seeing is hyperventilating and emotionally falling apart?
Not so much. His eyes flit wildly around the room.
"No. We need to stop seeing each other. I don't want just this arrangement, and I'm trying to draw boundaries." The words spill out. "Iamdrawing boundaries."
"How come?" He looks around, then shrugs out of his suit jacket. He lays it in his lap and blinks at the carpet. At least he isn't vibrating with anger.
