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She’s by far the most beautiful woman in a sea of Beauties.
We move from the foyer to the ballroom, where we’re welcomed by a gracious hostess. She hands us a sugar-rimmed glass, a bright pink cocktail swirling inside. I feel the rhythm of the music, the warmth of her skin, the energy that’s building between us. I know that this night is going to be memorable.
As we glide further into the room together, I look into her eyes and know she’s feeling the same way.
I have to take a sip of my drink to push back the emotions in my tightening throat. The liquor is sweet. Like her lips, her tongue, her kisses. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too,” she says. “I wish it was under better circumstances.”
Her fingers dip into the links of the necklace as she fiddles with it. She looks away. I know she’s thinking of him.
I want her thinking of me. Only me.
“If there were different circumstances,” I say, “you and I never would have come to Greece together, though, would we?”
She gives the necklace a gentle tug. “I guess not. That’s true.”
“Let’s stay in the moment,” I say.
This moment. My favorite moment of my life that I’ve had so far, other than my sister telling me she was pregnant. Might be tied with that.
I need her in my arms. I take her glass from her hand, setting it next to mine on a tabletop.
The music swells as I wrap my arms around her. She encircles hers around my neck. We glide over to the middle of the floor, our bodies swaying with the sound.
She stares up at me. “Thank you for bringing me here. It’s so beautiful. I love it here.”
“I love—” My words choke off in the back of my throat. Wait a damn minute. What was about to come out of my mouth? I swallow, hard, pushing the emotion down. “Having you here. It’s been awesome. I’ve always flown to the Parish solo.”
“Any sexy Greek hookups when you arrived? I’m sure there’re plenty of beautiful women eyeing you.”
Is she teasing or a little jealous?
“It’s an island,” I say. “All family. I’m usually working and only take breaks to surf or play a game of baseball. I don’t recall meeting any outside women when I’ve come.”
“Nice,” she says, kissing my lips. When she pulls away, I study her face. Is that a hint of relief at my words? It’s kind of nice, thinking she might be feeling the same kinds of things I’m feeling for her.
I’m so close to telling her I love her.
The words are on the tip of my tongue.
I usually run from love. My biggest fear in life is ending up like my parents. I think of those pills on my nightstand. I’m nothing like my father, a stealing addict. I eye the beautiful, strong, brave woman in front of me.
She’s nothing like my mother.
Maybe I shouldn’t fear love itself, but only falling in love with the wrong person.
And she’s the perfect person for me.
I do love her. I’m in love with her. I’m not going to let fear take that away from me.
But where do I stand with her? How does she feel about me?
Before I confess my love for her, I need to know…
“What happens to us?” I ask. “When we leave here?”
So much for living in the moment.
