Page 21 of The One Who Got Away

White pillar candles were lined up one by one. Like breadcrumbs.

I knew he was at the end. I could feel his presence as surely as if he was right behind me, whispering my name.

With each step, I got a little less bold and a lot more unsure of why I was here. Why was I playing along with a romantic evening with my ex? How many women got the Pretty Woman treatment? How many thought they’d finally found their golden ticket? Or worst...how many had loved Lincoln Carraway?

Every step that pulled me closer to him reminded me of the walk that never happened: the walk down the aisle. The naive happiness and wide-eyed stupidity turned into a knot of bitterness that took root in my chest. It took up residence in the place where my heart was supposed to be. The heart that he’d so callously dismissed with little more than penciled scribblings about ‘not being ready.’ From the stylist, to the dress, to the candles, to the annoyingly sweet music that hummed from some unseen source. This night was like honey. Decadent enough to rot my teeth right out of my mouth.

I lingered in the center of the room. I knew it was the center, even without much more than candlelight to guide me, because I felt some beautiful future spinning around me. A life where entire restaurants were rented out for a party of two. Where dashing, sexy-as-hell billionaires wooed girls like me from itty bitty towns in rural NC. Fairy tales. But this was real life. And Lincoln Carraway wasn’t a white knight in shining armor.

I strode forward, anger simmering beneath my facade of glee and adoration. My leading man rose from the table that was arranged just for us. Rouge-colored roses were scattered underfoot, and I couldn’t deny that my eyes devoured him one spoonful at a time. His hair was slicked back, turning him into some gothic perfection from a classic novel, but his suit was very much from the now. It was some designer’s brainchild, tailored and made for Lincoln. The way it was cut made his broad shoulders sing and his torso called to me, begged me to slip my fingers beneath the expensive threads. Tear it from his body so I could get to his flesh.

That’s what he did to me: he made me forget that I was angry, furious, and my body betrayed me, craving the last thing I should crave. Things like his lips on my skin, his breath in my ear as he told me to bend over and spread my legs.

That throb deep inside stopped ticking when that lazy, confident smile of his deepened. He thought he had me in the bag.

He was in for a fucking surprise.

“Cat,” he said smoothly, holding out his hand. Static electricity rippled through me when our fingers touched. And that was just the beginning because he pulled me close, tipping my chin up so I had to look into his eyes, shining like a light at the end of the tunnel. Looking at me the way a woman wants to be looked at by a man. Like he’d go to war for me. Like he’d slay dragons. Like he’d never love again because I was the beginning and the end.

I turned my head right before our lips met and his lips grazed a spot just beside my mouth. Close enough that I could still taste him.

I kept my voice steady as I stepped back and slipped my palms down my hips. That was my tell, a nervous tic that I hoped the dark ambiance hid. “Hello, Lincoln.”

If he felt the sting of my diss, there was no sign of it on his face. He just held out my chair like a proper gentleman. I followed in kind, holding my breath as he pushed me closer to the table like I weighed nothing at all, a shiver dancing down my spine. I could barely breathe, anger dueling with lust and my own secret desire to believe in all the sappy Disney stuff I pretended annoyed me. When a second person appeared, a woman dressed in a suit and a grin that said she still believed in fairy tales, I sighed to myself...with relief.

“Welcome, Miss Wilkes!” she said brightly. The candlelight flickered over her excited, hopeful features. “What can I get you to drink?”

I glanced at Lincoln across the table from me. His expression was solemn. Whatever words he’d left out of all those letters and emails, words that had built up over the past five years, were about to be laid bare.

“Red wine,” I told her with a tight, forced grin. “The whole bottle.”

Chapter Seven

We hadn’t even put in our orders and I’d already given up the charade. I’d convinced myself that he was the enemy, he was the one that was being childish, thinking a measly apology could change the past. But I was the one with my arms crossed against my chest like a petulant child who refused to eat her veggies.

Our waitress, still sweet-as-pie and shocked by the fact that I wasn’t delighting in this romantic dinner, gave it one last shot. “Are you sure I can’t get you something to eat?”

I felt Lincoln’s eyes burning like coals, but I shook my head and kept my voice polite. It wasn’t her fault that she was waitressing for a party of one. “I’m fine with the wine, thanks.” As soon as I said the word ‘wine,’ that tickly warmth that foreshadowed tipsiness hit me. “Actually, a glass of water would be great.”

Her unsure gaze darted to Lincoln, like he could salvage the dinner or say something to make everything magically okay.

Lincoln collected my menu and slipped it over his own. After making us watch him skim the menu with a single finger, he finally spoke.

“I’ll take the soup to start and she’ll have the macaroni and cheese.”

I kept my mouth closed, but my nostrils and glare made the waitress linger.

“Our macaroni is really yummy!” she piped reassuringly, adding a smile at the end.

“She’ll love it.” Lincoln’s tone closed the subject and the waitress fled, leaving us to deal with the building confrontation that had begun when I’d passed on his kiss from earlier.

Who are you kidding? This confrontation has been building since the day you didn’t say I do.

I couldn’t stand looking at him, with those soulful eyes that swirled with everything from lust to regret, thick lips that promised to kiss away every sorrow...and refresh my memory. Those lips used to start fires, and the only remedy, the only way I made it out alive, was to just succumb.

The other ‘s’ word flared in my mind.

Submit.

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