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“That’s...amazing of you. Thank you. I know it meant so much to her.”
“It was my pleasure.”
I take a long sip of my drink, trying to figure out how to ask him the question that’s now burning inside me.
“This connection we have took me completely by surprise,” I say. “It feels like the most incredible dream I’ve ever had.”
The corners of his lips turn up in a smile. “Sometimes it feels like a dream to me, too.”
“It just came out of nowhere, though, right?”
He furrows his brow, looking at the empty bread bowl. “I think we need more bread. Maybe an appetizer, too?”
My efforts at subtlety aren’t working, so I try a more direct approach.
“Claire said something kind of crazy on our call.”
He quirks a brow, amused. “Why am I not surprised?”
“She thinks you had feelings for me before this trip. Isn’t that wild?”
He clears his throat and looks away. “Claire’s got a theory about everything, doesn’t she?”
That’s a non-answer. I’m feeling unsettled, because usually Ben is easy to talk to and doesn’t duck questions.
“Ben, did you have romantic feelings for me before this trip?”
His laugh is nervous. The server returns and Ben looks at him gratefully.
“Hey, can we get some more bread, some...” He scans the menu. “Stuffed mushrooms okay with you?”
“Sure,” I say, eager to get the server out of here.
“Some stuffed mushrooms and a couple more drinks.”
“Right away, sir.”
He walks away and Ben grins. “Watch me throw back 2,000 calories in one setting. I’ve done it after hockey games.”
“Ben.” My irritation comes through in my voice.
He sighs and looks away. “I mean...ever? We’ve known each other forever, Stel.”
“Just answer the question.”
When he meets my gaze, he almost looks guilty. “Yes. I had feelings for you before this trip.”
I sit back in my chair, too stunned to respond. The shock of this revelation is different from finding out Owen was being unfaithful. I don’t feel betrayed, but I do feel...left out?
“Do you mean like a slight attraction, or...more?”
He takes a deep breath before responding. “More. I’m in love with you, Stella. I have been for a long time.”
I have to put my palms on the table to ground myself, my mind reeling with his revelation.
He’s in love with me. He has been for a long time. I asked him to fake marry me and he’s...
“I need a few minutes,” I say, standing up. I make it a few feet before I turn back and pick up my drink, taking it with me.
I’m going to need it.
Chapter Sixteen
Ben
* * *
I stare at the empty chair on the other side of the table as I eat my last bite of manicotti. It’s been almost an hour and Stella still hasn’t come back.
Should I give her more time or go after her? More time could mean more time to get pissed at me, but going after her would mean not giving her the time she asked for.
I decide on a compromise, placing a quick carryout order with the server and tipping him generously for not asking me if my wife was ever coming back to the table. I have a feeling Jonas gets it.
Twenty minutes later I’m checking every face at the beach, which isn’t easy to do without looking creepy when it’s dark. I finally find Stella sitting cross-legged in a secluded spot, her gaze locked onto the crashing waves.
“Hey,” I say in greeting. “I brought you another drink and some ravioli.”
I set the box and lidded paper cup down beside her and she doesn’t even look at them. So much for living my dream. Stella’s expression tells me she’s hurt, pissed, and confused, and I’m responsible for it.
“I never planned on telling you,” I say. “Nothing good can come from telling your brother’s fiancée you’re in love with her.”
“You don’t think I had a right to know?” She looks up at me, a storm of quiet fury raging in her eyes.
“A right to know? What would that have meant, Stella?”
“How long have you felt this way?”
Fuck. I was really hoping she wouldn’t ask that. I look away, considering a lie. Only I know the truth, so why not save myself from the firestorm this is going to unleash on me?
I can’t lie, though. So I try for diversion.
“Look, I’ll answer anything you want to ask me, but maybe you should have some food first.”
I sit down beside her, reaching for the box of pasta.
“Ben.” She pinches the bridge of her nose and I suddenly wish I’d brought a drink for myself, too. “You can’t smooth this over with ravioli. I know you don’t like confrontation, but answer the question.”
I balk at that. “I don’t have a problem with confrontation.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me you had feelings for me?”
“Because what’s the point?” My voice rises. “You chose him. You were marrying him. Why blow up my family and face your rejection?”
