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“I guess that’s fine.” She flips a strand of hair over her shoulder. “Well, I think I should get out of here. I have my own dinner plans to get to.”
“Oh. Okay.” I force my smile to stay in place. “I’ll text you later to talk about Wednesday.”
“Sounds good.” Ashley leans forward and presses a light kiss on my cheek. “See you later.” She looks over her shoulder and lifts her hand in a brief wave as she walks away. “Bye, ladies.” She is already halfway down the hallway before Heather and Jane finish their goodbyes.
I watch my best friend’s departure, feeling uneasy.
It’s not uncommon for friendships to change, especially when people experience different life events. But the sudden shift in our relationship has taken me by surprise. We’ve been so close for years, and now I feel like I hardly know what’s going on with her. Honestly, I feel like a bad friend. I hope that lunch on Wednesday will start us down the path of mending what we once had.
Because even though I know Ashley can be a little selfish and prone to inappropriate behavior, that doesn’t change the fact she’s always been there for me. I’m not ready to give up on our friendship. And I can only hope she feels the same way.
Chapter13
Declan
I’m in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the pasta primavera I know Catarina enjoys, when I sense her arrival behind me. The wedding dress fitting ended shortly after my departure, and my fiancée has spent the last couple of hours resting in her room.
Jane told me Catarina had a good time trying on dresses which pleased me far more than I expected. I tried to tell myself it’s because her happiness means she’ll be more likely to comply with the stringent safety measures I’ve put in place to negate Luis Diaz’s threat, but the truth is I want her to be happy to marry me. I’ve felt this way for months, but it came to a head following our weekend together in Newport.
Her delicate floral scent mixes with the aroma of the sauteed vegetables on the stove in front of me, filling my nostrils with its enticing scent and triggering the memory of the first time I smelled the aroma at Mystique. I never thought that night would lead here, but it’s been a long time since I’ve regretted the events that led Catarina into my life. And I’m determined to ensure she feels the same way. No matter how long it takes.
“Good evening,” I greet when she doesn’t say a word. I glance over my shoulder to where she stands near the double-wide, stainless steel fridge. I do a double-take when I see the low-cut cocktail dress falling over her frame. The baby blue fabric is cinched at the waist to accentuate her slender waist.
“I’m overdressed.” Her cheeks are pink as she sheepishly gestures to her dress. “I assumed we were going out to eat, but I realize now how silly that sounds with everything that’s going on.”
“You look gorgeous,” I reply automatically. “And I promise, the moment it is safe to do so, I plan to take you out in the city every night. If only to show the rest of society what a lucky bastard I am to be engaged to such a stunning woman.”
The color in her cheeks deepens, but so does her shy smile. “You’re exaggerating.”
“I don’t exaggerate.”
She shakes her head ruefully, then approaches the stove. “What are you making?”
I return my attention to the vegetables in the pan, pushing them over the warm surface with the spatula. “Pasta primavera.”
“That’s one of my favorites.”
“I’m aware.” I feel her eyes on the side of my face, but I keep my attention on the pan in front of me.
Catarina is warming up to my flirtations, but I know her well enough to know that if I’m too forward, she will clam up. And I’m tired of the distance between me and my future wife. We’ve made progress, but there’s still so much we need to learn about each other before we reach the level of comfort I expect to have with my future wife—the level of comfort I hope she wants to reach as well.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“If you’re in the mood for wine, you can pour us each a glass.”
“Sure.” She moves to the wine fridge tucked underneath the kitchen island. “Red or white?”
“White.”
“Any preference on the type?”
“Surprise me.”
I hear her open the fridge and take out a bottle. Then, she slides the drawer next to it open to retrieve the automatic opener. The fact she’s aware of its location fills me with satisfaction. Despite her reservations about moving into the penthouse, she is gradually making herself at home.
“I take it you enjoyed the dress fitting?” I ask, keeping my attention on the stovetop in front of me.
Her hesitation is brief. “I did.” She opens a cabinet to take out wine glasses.
