“Breakfast?” he says, in a tone that’s entirely too cheery for this time of the day.
“We didn’t order any,” Jacob says over my shoulder.
“It’s part of the package, sir.” The man smiles wide. “Congratulations,” he tells us. “You two make a lovely couple.”
“We’re not—” I shake my head. “Are you sure you have the right room?”
“He does.” Jacob steps forward, taking the tray from the man’shands. “Thanks,” he says, shutting the door with his foot. Then he turns and places the tray on the desk.
I’m about to ask what that was about, but when Jacob takes off the silver covering, I have my answer.
The tray holds a carafe of orange juice, two small bottles of champagne, and two plates. And everything on them is heart-shaped. Heart-shaped pancakes, and heart-shaped sausages, and heart-shaped fried eggs—I’m not even sure how they cooked those that way.
“Oh,” I say.
I forgot. This is the honeymoon suite.
Jacob stares, absolutely dismayed, then casts a worried glance across the room. The doors to my father’s bedroom are still closed, which is a relief, but I know what Jacob’s thinking. We have to get rid of this before my father sees it.
The scent of something cinnamony floats over to me, and my stomach rumbles.
I reach for a rolled-up white napkin and grab one of the plates.
“You’re going to eat this?” Jacob seems appalled at the thought, looking at the food as if it’s cursed.
“Yes. I mean, we need this to disappear, don’t we?”
“I thought I’d just stick it back out in the hall.”
“And waste it?”
His brows scrunch together, conflict written across the lines of his face. And then he reaches for the other plate, taking the chair across from me.
I cut into a pancake and lift a piece to my mouth, savoring the apple-and-cinnamon flavor.
We eat in silence for a while, and Jacob refuses to meet my eyes.
“What were you going to say?” I ask him. “Before the food came.”
He coughs. Hard. “What?”
I roll my eyes. “Let me guess, you don’t want to talk aboutthat”—I look pointedly at the sofa bed—“either? Because I think we should just get it all out in the open. Clear the air.”
He reaches for a glass of orange juice and takes a long swallow. “I don’t see why we need to. We’re clearly on the same page.”
“And that page is…”
“That this was a mistake. That we shouldn’t do this again.”
I lean back in my chair. He hadn’t seemed reluctant at all this morning. Unless…
“Did you mean what you said? The morning after we slept together? That you couldn’t do this again because I was leaving—”
His eyes flash. “Yes,” he says, his voice hard. “I wouldn’t lie about—I wasn’t lying about that.”
“Okay.” I take another bite of my pancake. “Then I don’t see what the problem is. If that’s the reason you were staying away, it clearly doesn’t apply now. You can’t stand me.”
His jaw goes slack. “I don’t—it’s not that I can’tstandyou.”
