Page 47 of Tied Up in Riches

“I don’t think so. I have a feeling he’s a big softy, and we just have to prod it out of him. If it takes tears, it takes tears.”

Emma laughs, and the glow of the phone reveals the smirk Marcus is trying to hide. “Still. You helped enough. Thank you.”

“Anytime, Em. Feel free to call me whenever. And I do mean whenever. Especially if you have a gut feeling my mom is peeling the last of my sanity off like a scab.”

“I’ll let Marcus handle that part.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “Talk to you soon.”

We both say goodbye and the call ends, disconnected from Emma’s end.

Marcus’ large hand grips around the sides of his phone as he drops it to his side, leaving the flashlight on and illuminating the wall space behind him and casting a shadow across his face.

“Thank you,” he tells me.

“For what?”

“For comforting Emma.”

“It’s nothing. You could have easily done it just as well.”

“I doubt it.”

“With all those mindset books on your shelves at home, I’d bet you’re full of pep talks.”

“Quieting inner voices is not my strong suit.”

“I imagine you’d succeed at anything you set your mind to,” I whisper, not knowing how I mean my words–although I know they are true in any sense.

The light from his phone screen blacks out, the decrease in a sense heightening the others. His slow, steady breath pushes the air around us. His nearness makes my skin tingle, a wave of heat rushing through me.

Silence.

A controlled breath from Marcus.

A held breath from me.

“I hope that’s true,” he murmurs and all of a sudden he feels closer. I can see him–the light from his phone flashlight still dully echoing around the room. But I can’t see him–not well enough to know what he’s thinking anyway. I think his eyes dart to my mouth. I think his tongue barely peeks out to wet his lips. Does he want to kiss me too? I think he grips his phone tighter because a shadow crosses the edge of the light like his finger slipped in front of it.

We’re in near darkness, but he doesn’t seem to notice. The lack of light makes me feel like I should be cold, but I’m not. A fire flickers through my veins, and while it seems to be burning inside me, it’s doing nothing to shed light on what’s happening outside. Nothing moves but his chest rising and falling, still in steady breaths. He’s hardly affected by this, by me.

In confirmation of my thought, he clears his throat. “Since we don’t have anything else to do today, do you mind if I go back to the hotel and get some work done?”

I breathe out a sigh of resignation. I don’t know what I was hoping for when I brought him down here. I don’t know what I expected from him on this trip outside of his “boyfriend” duties. “Yeah, of course.” Marcus makes a move to climb back into the dumbwaiter. “I want to make plans with Cam anyway.”

His body shifts along with his phone light as he twists from where he has one foot on the platform back to me. “Who is Cam?”

Did he mean for that to come out with a hint of jealousy? Doubtful. I’m reading into things. “My best friend.” I grin at the thought of seeing him. He came to visit me twice in Thailand, but it’s been over a year since I’ve seen him. “Come on.” I hop onto the platform, not waiting for him to hold his hand out for mine. “You can meet him.”

Twenty minutes later, we’re back in the lobby of our hotel. I don’t see Dad anywhere but spot my oldest friend immediately. Cam styled himself after the Backstreet Boys when we were thirteen, and he never strayed too far from the look. Somehow, it still works for him, even at twenty-four. The man always has a date lined up.

“Babe! Where have you been my entire life?!” he screeches.

“Waiting for you.” I fling my arms around his neck, and he squeezes me tight around the waist.

He pulls back, taking a moment to take in Marcus. He scrubs one hand over his mouth, eyes widening. “Shit, girl. Who is this sweet and spicy apple turnover?” I let out a laugh but don’t manage another word before he continues. “He gives you that vibe, right? Like dark and a little mysterious but in a warm and cozy way like drinking hot apple cider on a porch and looking into a dark shadowy forest. I’d go into his forest.”

“CAM!” I slap him, hard. He shrugs.

“Can’t say I’ve ever been described quite so poetically,” Marcus muses, stepping forward and stretching out his hand with a smirk. “Marcus.”

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