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Five
“The guest rooms are on the second floor,” Gia was saying to Denver as they crested the stairs. It was getting late, most of the guests filtering off. As part of the bridal party, it was her duty to oversee that the guests who were staying the night had everything they needed.
“Cool. I’ll grab my stuff.” He dropped a kiss on her mouth—one that startled her since they hadn’t kissed yet. The night they’d enjoyed their first drink together had ended the way it’d started: with a demure brush of his lips on her cheek. “Yo, Natasha,” Denver called before jogging up the stairs.
Gia’s eyes sank closed. Of course the Russian goddess had witnessed that kiss. She turned, unsurprised to find Jayson there as well.
“We are staying, too,” Natasha informed Gia.
“Yippee.”
“Yes, it’s very exciting,” Natasha said, missing Gia’s sarcasm. “I’ll freshen up, but not done yet. More dancing.” She gave Jayson a limp shove on the chest and then glided up the stairs.
“Enjoying yourselves?” Gia asked him, her tone flat.
“I love a good wedding.” He pushed his hands into his pants pockets. He’d lost the jacket and bowtie from earlier, which left him in a white button-down shirt with the sleeves pushed to his elbows.
He looked good.
He rarely didn’t.
He cleared his throat. “Where’s your room?”
“Far end of the hallway.” Denver’s room was catty-corner to hers, not that she volunteered that information. “What about yours?”
“We’re in the middle.” He shot her a heated look and she could’ve sworn it was because he was thinking of the room they’d stayed in when they’d last visited her parents’ mansion. The master guest suite. At least neither of them had been stationed there tonight.
Still, the “we” niggled at her. “We” meant that he’d be crawling into bed with Miss Russia tonight.
“She’s not your type.” Gia worked to sound curious. To be fair, she was curious. She hadn’t seen him with anyone since they divorced and then he came out of the gate with a thoroughbred.
His shrug was infuriatingly blasé. “I don’t have a type.”
Hertype used to be broad, dark and handsome with a protective streak a mile and a half wide. Five o’clock shadow and short-cropped dark hair. Eyes so blue she’d felt as if her soul was being inspected by a fallen angel...
But that was when she was in love with Jayson. She wasn’t in love with him anymore.
When she’d married him she thought he understood her; that he’d allow her to be herself and forge her own way. Instead he’d attempted to corral and protect her, a lot like her father and brothers had done.
She twisted her lips in thought. “I don’t have a type either.”
“Coop! I found these in our room!” Natasha jogged down the stairs waving a pair of maracas from a Knox family trip to Puerto Rico. A keepsake. Gia felt the slow burn of anger broil her hairline. This woman needed to learn keep her hands off what didn’t belong to her.
“Hey!” Gia lifted her voice, “Those are—”
“Going right back to where they came from.” Jayson removed the maracas from Natasha’s hands and gave them to Gia. As he walked off with his date, Gia heard him assure Natasha that they’d find some other way to entertain themselves on the dance floor.
And probably, Gia thought as she stomped upstairs, they’d find a way to entertain themselves in their shared bed, too.
Ugh.
“Cool digs.” Denver shut his bedroom door and met her in the hallway Then he rubbed his hands together. “What are those for?”
“Nothing.” Gia shoved the maracas into his chest and bypassed him to walk into his room. “Change of plans. We’re staying in my room.”
She exited carrying his duffel bag and opened the door to her room next. He followed behind her, a confused expression on his face.
“Together?” he asked.
