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I let him hug me, because he smelled great and he had strong arms. Arms that made you feel protected. Cherished.
“We have a lot in common,” Michael said. “More than you’d think at first glance.”
“Well, we’re both great in bed,” I said, to lighten the mood.
He laughed. “Not what I had in mind. But very true.” Michael pulled back and looked at me with naked lust. “Want to prove it?”
He had no idea how much I did. My insides ached for him.
But I’d said we had to abstain the whole time and I had to stick to it because what precedent would it set if he thought he could change my mind on anything?
“I’ll pencil you in for January.”
He groaned. “Fine. I’m going to skip the salad and hit the gym. I need to work out my sexual frustration.”
“That’s a very healthy approach, sweetheart, I applaud you, though you shouldn’t skip meals.” I gave him a sweet smile.
“You’re really a witch, aren’t you? It’s the only explanation for why I agreed to celibacy.”
That made me laugh. “I wish. I’d cast a spell on the person processing my application.”
Michael went to the front closet and pulled out his running shoes. “It’s worth a shot. We really need a yes from them.”
I watched him, sitting down in the leather chair to put on his shoes. He sounded so casual, so matter-of-fact.
That he and I were a “we.”
Given what that did to my heart, I had a strong suspicion that I’d already fallen halfway in love with Michael.
No amount of sage would dissipate that.
Thirteen
I rang my mother while I was steaming clothes in preparation for a photo shoot.
“Hello, Felicia,” she said.
“Hi, Mum, how are you?”
“Dreading Christmas with the cousins. Uncle Burton is such a lech.”
“He is very quick with a perverted joke. Listen, what are you doing next weekend? Can you hop on a flight and come to New York?”
She laughed. “Not since your father left me practically destitute.”
Destitute was an exaggeration but I ignored that. “My treat. I’m having a party and I’d like you here for it.” I eyed a Chanel jacket for any pesky wrinkles remaining.
“What kind of party? You haven’t joined a cult or something, have you?”
Where did she come up with these ideas? “No, of course not. Why on earth would I join a cult? I could never shave my head.”
“It wouldn’t be a good look on you,” she said. “You had an egg head as a baby.”
That made me laugh. “You keep me humble, Mum. It’ not a cult initiation. It’s an engagement party. Michael asked me to marry him and I said yes.”
I had never once mentioned Michael to my mother. But she barely paid attention to me on the best of days. Lately she’d been having a lot of bad days that she blamed on Hugh Grant. She said his aging made her feel appallingly old. Poor Hugh, it wasn’t like the man had an agenda. Or could prevent the march of time.
She would never, ever admit she didn’t know who Michael was.
