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Takingthestairstohis house feels different tonight. The earlier behavior from Aria makes my stomach drop. I want to be here, so I hope he’s right about it just being a shock and not her putting a wedge in the relationship that we just started.
I press the doorbell and tap my foot, waiting for someone to open it, letting out a breath when Marc comes into view. His hair is messy, and he’s wearing a navy shirt and jeans again, but this time with bare feet.
I smile. “Hi.”
“Hi, come in.”
Stepping inside, I hesitate, not knowing how to act with him after the disastrous morning. But before I can think too much, he grabs my waist and pulls me against him.
“Oh,” leaves my lips, then he’s kissing me. I kiss him back, but I stop us before we get too carried away, not wanting Aria to walk in and be upset again.
“Come, I’m preparing a charcuterie board for us.”
“You are?” I ask.
“Yes.” He laughs. “I’m a good cook. I just don’t get time.”
“You need to work less and cook more,” I say with a wicked grin, as if I’m not trying to tell him to cook for me. Because he was already perfect before, but his cooking is definitely another tick to marriage material.
Oh my God. I can’t believe I’m having these thoughts.
“I’m trying,” he groans with his gravelly voice.
We walk into his kitchen, and he rounds the counter, grabbing some grapes to add.
“I’ve worked for so long, and yes, it made me happy, and I’m very successful, but I’m still lonely, so what’s the point?”
My brows rise and my mouth twists as I think about his words. “I can’t disagree with you there. I think life is too short to only work, but I know my career is important to me right now.”
He pours me a glass of wine, and I smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re at a different stage, and I’m sure you aren’t working twelve plus hours a day, seven days a week.”
Shaking my head, I take a sip of the Moscato, swallowing before answering. “No. Definitely not. I work nine to five, so I understand the balance you crave. I’d be tired working long days like that constantly.”
“I am tired now, and I just don’t want to live and breathe it anymore.”
“That’s fair enough,” I say.
The sound of steps coming down the stairwell has the hairs on the back of my neck rising.
I swivel and wait for Aria to enter the room. Here I am, at twenty-six, scared of a damn thirteen-year-old.
Get a fucking grip, woman.
“Hi, Aria.”
“Hi, Gracie.”
Marc clears his throat, and Aria’s eyes to flick briefly to his before returning to mine. “I’m sorry for how I acted earlier.”
Her voice is a little estranged, and it comes across as forced. I hope Marc didn’t make her apologize and pretend to want to watch this movie, because the uncomfortable well in my stomach will just continue to swirl.
I sip more wine and then say, “I’m ready forCatching Fire.”
She smiles at that and goes to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. Marc carries the platter inside, and I follow him.
“I’ll go to the bathroom quickly, but, Aria, can you set the movie up, please?”
