Page 61 of One Midnight Kiss

24

NATALIA

I’d been avoiding Fox. Things were just weird. Maybe I was making them weird. I probably was, but I didn’t know how to handle this thing between us. The sex was amazing, and I absolutely wanted him again, but there was something that felt wrong about it.

I couldn’t explain why. I was a single woman. He wasn’t really my client. He was, but he wasn’t. I wasn’t actually working alongside him every day. He was single.

But there felt like a chasm between us. Because when I thought about it, it wasn’t like he was trying to pin me down right now, either. We had been back for days and had not spoken once. We worked in the same building, but we didn’t see each other. It all felt very odd. I hated how much I thought about him. He had knocked me off my normal routine.

Which was why I was trying to get back into the groove of things. But even that proved to be impossible. Because everywhere I went, I was reminded of him. I couldn’t even go to my usual spin class without having him thrown into my face. My spin class this morning left me unsettled. Several women approached me and knew me by name from articles published about my engagement while we were in Silicon Valley. I had been shown pictures of me and Fox at the event together. We looked like a couple. The headlines about “The billionaire of the age and his bride to be.”

The spin class ladies were the last straw. I had been elevated to pseudo-celebrity status, and quite frankly, I didn’t like it. Old connections that I hadn’t spoken to since leaving New York had come out of the woodwork—like they could smell his money on me. They were acting like I was the billionaire. No one had talked to me in years, but now they wanted to be friends. Now it was all about getting my address so they could send me Christmas cards. The bullshit “how have you been” and “we have to talk more” were making me crazy.

Even at the office, any mention of HomeTech and their marketing plan made me feel hot. Like physically warm. I didn’t think anyone had noticed, but it felt obvious. I stopped myself from fanning my face, but just barely.

I pushed all thoughts aside and pulled on the pretty brown skirt I was wearing for Thanksgiving dinner at Christa’s house. I was halfway through getting ready when my phone buzzed with a message. It was Christa reminding me to bring the pumpkin pie.

I applied my lipstick, staring back at myself in the mirror. I couldn’t help but wrestle with my conflicting emotions. The logical part of me screamed that this—whatever this was with Fox—was complicating my life unnecessarily. Yet, there was another part, perhaps the reckless part, that thrived on the thrill, the unpredictability of it all. It was the same part that fantasized about him whenever I was alone in bed.

I adjusted the beige sweater and checked my reflection in the mirror. I stared at the woman I had come to know the last couple of years. The boring, colorless wardrobe and lack of any real makeup was my new identity. But being with Fox that night made me want color and excitement. It was like being woken from a deep sleep.

I was my own version of Sleeping Beauty.

But now, I was back to being the woman I was. Boring. Drab. Unexciting.

I grabbed the pumpkin pie off the counter and the bag with two bottles of wine and headed out. Thanksgiving had never been my favorite holiday, but I had spent years perfecting my “Happy Thanksgiving Face,” and today was no different. The pie on my passenger seat was already making the car smell like sugar and cinnamon, and the two bottles of wine clinked together every time I took a turn.

I felt more like an imposter than usual. It wasn’t the holiday itself—I could handle small talk about gratitude and indulge in pumpkin-flavored everything without much effort. No, it was the thought of seeing Fox again, after days of not hearing from him. It made my stomach do this weird, fluttery thing that I couldn’t stand.

I knew he was invited to the dinner. Why wouldn’t he be? He was Wilder’s brother. Of course he would be spending the holiday with his family. I thought about canceling, feigning some horrific contagious disease, but Christa would see right through that. And I couldn’t do that to her.

I parked outside Christa’s house, reminding myself for the hundredth time that I was here to see my friends, not to obsess over Fox and whatever was going on between us. I forced myself to think about the man in Paris. That was who I was supposed to be with. I needed to find my way back to him. Fox wasn’t it. He couldn’t be it.

I grabbed the pie and wine and made my way to the front door. Frank and Harriet bounded out the front door before I could stop them. Frank had a stuffed turkey toy clamped between his jaws, and Harriet was doing her best imitation of a Tasmanian devil in a cornucopia sweater. Poor dogs. Christa really needed kids. The dogs were poor substitutes.

“Alright, alright, I get it! Happy Thanksgiving to you too.”

Christa appeared at the door, wiping her hands on an apron that had little pumpkins all over it. “Natalia, hey! Yay wine!”

“That’s the only reason you invite me over, isn’t it?” I teased, handing over the bottles.

“Well, that and the fact you bring Costco pie.” She winked and pulled me into a hug.

The warmth of her embrace made me feel guilty. I should have called her sooner, told her about the ring, the proposal. Instead, I had put it off, wanting to avoid all the inevitable questions. Now, I was going to have to face the music, especially since the star of my fake engagement was standing outside by the smoker, drinking beer with Wilder.

Shit.

Part of me hoped he would fake some illness and not show up. He was avoiding me just as much as I was avoiding him. I peered through the kitchen window, catching sight of Fox in jeans and a knit sweater that looked almost too cozy. He turned, just slightly, as if he sensed me watching. Our eyes met, and he quickly looked away, focusing on Wilder again.

Weird.

Christa must have noticed the look on my face because she nudged me with her elbow. “So, you want to tell me what’s up, or should I pretend I didn’t see that?”

I pasted on my best fake smile. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Uh huh. And the rock on your finger is just a coincidence?” She raised her eyebrows, pointing to the diamond ring that felt heavier by the second.

We put the bottles on the counter. Christa handed me an opener and I quickly got to work screwing the cork out.