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“It’s just for two days, Celia, I promise. We can have whatever we want at the restaurant every day—I hear the menu is seasonally themed and rotates based on whatever the chef selects from the neighboring farms. Plus, the DelMonte has its own vineyard…”
“Okay, okay.” I burst out laughing. “It’s like you know my weaknesses are food and wine, or something.”
“Well, we have spent a decent amount of time together.” His eyes sparkle with amusement.
I lean forward and have to catch my breath when he mirrors me. “Is that why you’re asking me to do this?” I arch one eyebrow. “Because we can fake a relationship easily?”
Some expression I can’t quite read flickers across his face. But it’s only for a split second, there and gone. Then he grins. “But of course. Who better? You know more about me than anyone on the planet, Celia.” He sits back in his chair, palms flat on the desk. “But it’s a big favor. I won’t pressure you. If you don’t want to—”
“I accept,” I blurt out, before he can rescind the offer. Or worse, before he can ask someone else to do it. The last thing I’d want is to spend the weekend here in the city, picturing him off gallivanting around this gorgeous new hotel with a hot young bimbo on his arm, taking her out to fancy meals and then back to their big shared hotel room, where he’d probably have her for dessert.
I pinch the underside of my arm to keep myself from getting too distracted by my imaginary jealousy. Or by the fantasy it turns into, when I picture myself there with him instead.
“Wonderful.” Luke hesitates for a second, like he thought this would be a longer conversation. “I’ll drive. Can I pick you up Saturday morning, first thing?”
“I’ll add it to both of our calendars today.” I smile in response.
“Be sure to pack your bathing suit. And I’d say dress well, but of course, your style is always impeccable. Actually…” He glances at me sideways.
I laugh. “Yes, I can put together a wardrobe for you as well, if you’d like. Your favorite suit should be back from the cleaners by then.”
“Perfect.” Luke stands up, still smiling, and crosses around the desk to touch my shoulder. I freeze, wanting nothing more than to linger there, his hand on my bare shoulder, his fingertips strong and smooth against my skin. “Thank you, Celia. I promise you won’t regret this.” He winks. “Even if you’re stuck with me, a weekend at a luxury beachfront hotel should be worthwhile, I hope.”
His hand lingers so long that I finally work up the nerve to reach my own hand toward his, about to touch my fingers to his. But at that moment, he releases my shoulder, and my hand touches my own skin instead. I let out a faint sigh, hoping he doesn’t notice. But he’s already crossing the office behind me to open the door.
I swallow hard and manage to recover some of my vocal abilities. “I’m sure it will be lots of fun.” I force myself to stand and smooth down my skirt, before I turn to face him. I wonder if I imagine the way his eyes jump to mine, as if he were just looking somewhere else a second ago. Probably. “Even if I have to spend it with my boss,” I add with a wink, before I cross out of the office ahead of him and point to the clock nearby. “You’d better hurry if you want to make your 12:30 at this point,” I call back to him.
There’s a long silence. Long enough to make me turn back around to watch Luke as he walks to the elevator, his gaze never leaving mine. “Thanks, Celia,” he repeats. A refrain I’ll never get tired of hearing. “As always, I’d be lost without you.” The elevator arrives, but he barely seems to notice. His eyes stay fixed on me, and he opens his mouth again, about to say something.
I lose my nerve and look back at my computer screen, only risking turning it back on now that he’s on the other side of the office, too far away to accidentally glimpse what’s currently pulled up on it. When I look back up, Luke’s already gone.
3
At 8am sharp on Saturday morning, I hear a car horn tapped lightly outside my window. I stick a hand out and wave to signal that I’ve heard and I’m on my way. Then I grab my weekend bag and sling it over one shoulder, casting one last glance around my apartment and praying that I’ve remembered everything.
The bag weighs about a thousand pounds. I wasn’t sure what exactly to bring—careful research of the DelMonte’s website told me it’s a lot fancier than the type of restaurants or resorts I usually visit with friends. Those are more of the budget-resort-in-the-Caribbean variety, and even then, we normally only go if there’s some kind of package discount deal.
