But I couldn’t say any of that. Couldn’t seem to find the words. I left it up to him instead.
“About tonight...?”
A sudden flash of uncertainty froze his features, betraying his true colors. He was just as mixed up about all this as I was. Just as confused. Neither one of us knew what came next.
His brow tightened for a moment, before he deliberately smoothed it clear.
“I’ll never cross any line you don’t want me to,” he repeated softly.
I considered this. Considered it for a long time, as he knelt before me on the broken tiles of the run down coffee shop. The night around us was still in full-swing. The streets of Barcelona had come alive, and the two of us were caught in the middle of it. Smudged nightclub stamps on our wrists. Thin, dampened shirts. The smell of sweet liquor and coffee on our breath.
It was only then that I realized our fingers were laced together. At some point, during my silent contemplation, he’d reached over to take my hand. For a second, I simply stared, baffled by how strange a sight it was.
Then...baffled by how natural.
“Okay,” I said suddenly, surprising both of us at the same time, “let’s do it.”
His entire face lit up, but he fought to keep it under control.
“Abby—you won’t be sorry. I swear it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I pushed to my feet, “I’m sorry already. You and I are both nuts if we think this whole thing isn’t go down as some colossal mistake.”
The two of us shared a grin. Then, after a hesitant pause, he leaned down and kissed my cheek. My eyes widened in surprise, but he simply shrugged—flashing a mischievous grin.
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“What? You are my girlfriend now. I might need some practice.” He winked. “We want it to look real for the cameras, after all.”
Like I said...a colossal mistake.
Chapter 3
IN MY TWO YEARS OF working for the Hunter family, I’d been inadvertently exposed to many of the perks of ‘high living.’ The wardrobe, the parties, the exclusivity. I’d once stood by and watched as a museum docent—eager to please—had actually removed a dinner jacket of John F. Kennedy’s that Nick had been admiring, and slipped it over his shoulders. (A jacket that, moments later, Nick had accidentally doused in champagne. But who was counting?)
Point was, although I wasn’t typically accustomed to being ‘spoiled,’ there were certain customs of the rich and the famous that I had come to very much enjoy.
None so much as the private plane.
“Well, that’s it for me.” I collapsed on a leather recliner the second we stepped on board, throwing my purse down beside me. “Wake me when we get back to Manhattan.”
Nick chuckled and took a seat next to me, nodding to the pilot that he was ready to take off. “See, you look like one of my girlfriends already.”
My lips twitched up in a grin, as I peeked out from beneath my complimentary sleep mask. “Tell me...does gifting me this plane technically count as ‘spoiling?’ Or is that a little above and beyond.”
He laughed again. Something he had been doing ten times more of since I officially said yes to his crazy little scheme. “You want the plane? It’s yours.”
“Perfect.” I tilted my head back like a lazy queen, calling out to the pilot. “In that case, Jimmy, I’m ready to go.”
Nick grinned indulgently. “It’s Ethan, actually.”
“Oh, Nicholas,” I took off the sleep mask and flashed him a smile, “how can I keep up with so many names that make your day-to-day life that much simpler?”
As he laughed yet again, a bemused voice crackled from over the speakers.
“Please take a seat as we prepare for take-off. In honor of Ms. Wilder, we’ll officially be experiencing a bit more turbulence than usual...”
I flipped him off with a grin as my phone buzzed in my bag. While Nick wrangled us two glasses of complimentary champagne (as if we needed any more to drink tonight), I dug around just in time to see my mother’s name light up on the screen. My face wilted for a moment as my finger hovered uncertainly over the two options to reply.