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I grabbed her hand. “You’re gorgeous. You look amazing.”
“I look like a hooker. I know I look like a million bucks—like I cost a million bucks—but dammit, I thought I was going to spend a weekend seducing my goddamned fiancé.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Ex-fiancé.”
Ibrahim leaned in and took her other hand. “You’re sexy as hell no matter what you’re wearing, Peachy Piper.”
“Peachy?” Her laugh was strangled and watery.
His grin was triumphant. “Perfect Peachy Princess Piper. You didn’t pack anything else?”
Piper shrugged. “I had a drawer and some closet space at Peter’s house. I didn’t need to pack anything else.” This time, when she smiled, it was more rueful than bitter. “Just kidding. A bag full of lingerie and sex toys, and nothing else, isn’t quite as exciting when you’re stuck in the snow.”
I grinned at her, “Oh, I don’t know, I can think of a dozen ways to keep things exciting over the next few days.”
She tilted one side of her lips up into a weak half-smile.
I rubbed my thumb over her knuckles, only releasing her hand when the waiter brought her the wine list.
“Any preference for red or white?” When the table voted unanimously for red, Piper selected a California Cabernet Sauvignon.
Benedict’s eyes were warm with appreciation. “That’s an excellent vintage.”
By the time the waiter returned, we had turned the conversation back to small talk. He presented the glass to Piper. She tasted it. When her tongue darted out to catch a drop on her lips, I swear the three of us collectively hardened.
“Perfect,” she murmured, avoiding our eyes. We kept the conversation light as we waited for our food to arrive. Ibrahim and I knew each other well, and we’d been working with Benedict for long enough that it wasn’t hard to find things to talk about. Piper was an excellent conversationalist—well read, well informed, and funny as hell when she forgot to be embarrassed.
The third time she adjusted the straps barely holding her breasts in, Benedict pulled off his sweater and handed it to her.
She furrowed her brow.
“Piper, you’re stunning, but the only thing I’d like more than spending this whole meal watching your breasts spill out of that delectable top you’re wearing is for you to be comfortable while you eat with us.”
She set her glass on the table and sniffled for a moment, as if she were trying to hold back tears. When she would have stood up to excuse herself, Benedict snapped his fingers around her wrist. He flicked his eyes to mine. I hurriedly did the same, although, I suspected, not with the same force as him.
“Sorry,” she stammered, still crying, as she sank back into the chair, not fighting the hold we had on her. Benedict let her wrist go, then dropped his sweater over her head. I freed her so that she could put her arms through, then latched onto her hand again, stroking her knuckles and making soothing noises.
“Sorry,” she whispered again. “It’s just been an awful day, and that was so nice of you.” She sniffed, and I handed her my napkin. She attempted to repair her face as she continued to cry.
“Darling, enough,” I said, turning her toward me. “It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to admit that today was horrible. It’s okay for you to be all over the place.” Fuck, she just cried harder.
I dragged her out of her chair and into my lap, carefully arranging Benedict’s sweater over her knees before I wiped the tears from her cheeks. She buried her head in my chest. Carefully, so as not to disturb Piper where she balanced on my thigh, I brought one arm up to hold her waist, and the other to stroke up and down her back as she fell apart in my arms.
“I’m so sorry,” she whimpered.
I shushed her gently, marveling at the delicate feel of this beautiful woman in my arms. How was she so right for us? So perfect? I grabbed a clean napkin and dipped it into a water glass before swiping it over her face.
“If you don’t want to say another word for this entire meal, that’s okay. If you want us to have your dinner delivered to your room, that’s okay. Darling, we’re going to treat you like the queen you are. Do you understand? And we don’t expect anything in return. You don’t owe us shit, all right?”
She nodded against my chest, clutching my button-down shirt with her brightly painted nails. Christmas designs. God, she was cute.
By the time the waiter returned with our plates, her tears had stopped, although she hadn’t lifted her head from where she’d burrowed into my chest.
The waiter’s eyes widened. Benedict rescued him from discomfort, indicating where to drop each of the plates, including laying Piper’s steak in front of me. I guess I knew what my job for this dinner would be.
When I reached around her to cut a piece of meat, she shivered in my arms, then pushed herself off of my lap. Her face was blotchy and pink, her eyes were swollen, and she kept her face turned away from me.
“I’m so sorry, I’m ruining your dinner,” she rasped. “I’m going to take my plate upstairs.”
“Piper,” Benedict said, his voice cracking through our little alcove like a thunderbolt. “Are you leaving because you want to be alone or because you feel like an imposition?”
