“Oh, don’t you have a rehearsal dinner? I don’t want to keep you. I’m sure I can figure something out.”
“Nah,” he says, offering me a hand up. “I’d rather hang out with you.”
A ripple of tenderness and guilt passes through me as I take his hand.
We make our way to the hotel restaurant on the back patio of the house—a farm-to-table, upscale place. The seating arrangement is cozy and intimate: two woven deck chairs angled beside each other, facing a small round table with a view of the vineyard.
I’m usually too embarrassed to ask for substitutions, but Mark Winterson orders for me, perfectly entitled and relaxed as he specifiesexactlyhow plain he wants the chicken to be. And it’s weird to see how people listen to him.
But as the evening wears on, he seems increasingly distracted, constantly sighing and running a hand over his face. I wonder if there was some other reason he wanted to skip the rehearsal dinner, and I was just a convenient excuse.
It’s putting me on edge, and suddenly all the anxiety I’ve been shoving down hits me like a wall—about lying to him, about when he inevitably finds me out and sues me into financial ruin. About what’s going to happen to everyone at work. Aboutwhat’s going to happen to Mom if I get fired and lose access to TKCORP Slack!
“Nervous about tomorrow?” I finally ask.
He blinks at me, startled, like he just remembered I was there.
“Sorry,” he says, rubbing both eyes with one hand. “Just—you know. Family.” And he gives me a tiny smile that lets me know he’s intentionally turning my own cryptic answer back on me.
“I do indeed,” I say, raising the ginger tea with honey and lemon he ordered for me in a mock toast.
How am I ever going to find out his password this way? If I can’t get him to talk, what am I even doing here?
I have to soften him up,I think as I watch the sun go down over the green hills in the distance. And maybe to do that I have to seem softer—like a safe place for his secrets to land. Ihave to channel the part of me that likes him a little bit to put on a more convincing performance.
“It’s okay.” I reach over and run my fingers through the hair on the back of his neck, massaging the tension there. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
He lets out an appreciative hum, and his eyelids flutter closed, soaking it up. “There’s also some business I have to take care of this weekend,” he mumbles.
“At a wedding?”
He smirks like it’s cute I’m so clueless. “Whole board’s going to be here. Some big suppliers. Potential investors. Erickson’s tasked me with a little persuasion. Smoothing the way for something he wants to do.”
“I see. Big assignment.” I give the back of his neck a squeeze, and he leans his head into my palm. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Make me laugh, like you always do.” Mark Winterson bends forward and kisses me lightly on the lips. “Make me look good.” The evening is mild, but I get a chill up my spine.
We head back to our room, and part of me is dreading what comes next. But he seems so exhausted as he sits on the bed and wrenches off his tie—this business tomorrow must really be weighing on him. And when I come out of the bathroom after doing my skincare routine, he’s already fast asleep.
The next morning, I spend over an hour getting ready, the wordsmake me look goodbouncing around in my head. Finally I step out of the bathroom in the dress he chose and spin around so he can take in the full effect—but the dire look on his face makes me freeze on the spot. You’d think he’d just learned about a massive earnings shortfall.
“No,” he says abruptly.
“No?”
“This doesn’t work. It’s too much.” He waves an agitated hand in my direction. “Too much makeup.”
My knee-jerk reaction is to laugh. I worked hard on that winged liner!
“It’s just your nerves talking, it’s going to be fine,” I say breezily, grabbing the clutch he bought me off the bed. “Let’s go, I want to see the grounds.” I need to get some photos for Mom before the ceremony.
“Hey.” He grabs my arm and his fingers dig into my skin, stopping my forward movement. “I have enough to worry about today, all right? Would you just fix it?”
He releases me and I take a staggering step back, heart racing.
“Please,” he adds, voice softening a touch. “My mother has opinions about these things.”
Oh.I hadn’t quite put two and two together.I’m meeting his parents.
