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“So? No one is going to card you in this place.” I shrug, waiting.
If she refuses, she’s pregnant. If she says yes, then maybe she’s not.
Or she doesn’t know she’s having a baby…
Shit, I don’t know what to think.
“Maybe a glass of wine then.” She pauses. “Are you going to drink?”
I shake my head in answer. If I could, I’d get sloshed because damn. The pressure of the last few weeks is seeping out of my body, leaving me ready to drown my lingering troubles in alcohol.
But I’m driving, so I have to be responsible.
Our server shows up and I order a bottle of wine for the both of us. The server doesn’t bother asking if we’re of age or for our IDs and I smile at Charlotte once he’s gone, feeling smug.
“See, you can drink up tonight.” I pause, hoping I’m not too obvious. “If you want.”
“I don’t know. I’ll probably just get sleepy. Wine makes me tired. I’d rather focus on tonight and enjoy it as much as possible. Spending the evening with my handsome husband.” She smiles at me and it’s like a zinger aimed straight at my heart.
I even rub my chest because damn. She looks so sweet and beautiful. Her hair shines beneath the restaurant’s gentle lights, and I can smell her. A light, floral scent that makes me want to strip her slowly. See if she smells that good everywhere.
“You’re staring, Perry,” she says after a few seconds of silence.
I shake myself from my Charlotte-induced stupor, reaching across the table to drift my fingers across the top of her hand. “What are we doing?”
Her frown is back, her lips pursed. “What do you mean?”
“The two of us. In this marriage. This relationship. It’s feeling real, wife.”
She ducks her head, smiling down at her lap for a moment, and I wish I knew what was going on in that pretty head of hers.
“Does it feel real to you?” I ask when she still hasn’t said anything.
The server shows up at that precise moment with our wine, pouring each of us a glass and I tamp down my irritation. I keep my gaze on Charlotte the entire time the server is talking, trying to silently communicate with her that I meant what I said. Our marriage feels real. Too real sometimes. Downright overwhelming, to the point that my feelings for her make my chest ache and my head hurt. I can’t stop thinking about her. Worrying about her. Wandering what she’s doing. What she’s thinking. How she’s feeling.
Does she care about me like I care about her? Or is this all one-sided?
I don’t think it is, but damn. I don’t know. I’m an idiot when it comes to this shit. Relationships. I’ve avoided them like the plague ever since I first became aware of the opposite sex and I’m completely inexperienced and unsure. I wish I had half of Winston’s confidence. That motherfucker struts into a room as if he owns it. Hell, so does my baby brother. And while I’ve had moments of confidence when it comes to my marriage, they’re always fleeting.
Well, fuck it. It’s time to put everything on the line and see if wifey feels the same way I feel about her.
The moment the server is gone after I order the six-course meal for the both of us, I grab my wineglass and lift it up in a toast, ignoring the fact that I’m still waiting for her answer. “To marriage. To wedded bliss. To us.”
She lifts her glass, her eyes wide, her lush lips parted as I hold my glass out toward hers. She taps her glass to mine, the light tinging sound it makes at first contact making me smile. “To us,” she murmurs before she takes the tiniest sip.
Hmmm.
Winston didn’t lie—the food is delicious. We’re first served a chilled soup, followed by a truffle salad with a lemony vinaigrette. The next course is caviar on thin squares of toast, which Charlotte doesn’t want to eat.
“The smell makes me want to gag,” she murmurs, pushing her plate toward mine, which I gladly take.
Hmmm again.
The entrées start next. Yellowfin tuna with avocado and ginger dressing. Norwegian king crab and rice. A steamed black sea bass, which Charlotte seems to like the best so far. By the time the beef tenderloin course arrives, she’s leaning back in her chair, shaking her head. “I’m stuffed.”
I take a bite, the beef melting in my mouth. Damn, that’s good. “There’s still dessert,” I remind her after I swallow.
Charlotte shakes her head. “I don’t know if I can manage it.”
