Page 88 of David's Proposal

Other than the money––I comment in my head.

Is he giving me something to fall in love with?

In a flash I get a brief review of last night.

I liked him at the door, knocking, waiting, holding a bottle of wine, and showing up unannounced after spending the evening with me.

He felt like an old friend who stopped as if I was some kind of safe haven.

I enjoyed our conversation and the fact that he wanted a dim room as if that would make us feel closer to each other.

We brought up some important topics, having no problem negotiating a new deal.

He seemed honest when explaining the role‘Pam’would play in our story.

So far, I have no reason not to believe him.

I liked that David a lot.

As much as I liked the man who went to the pharmacy in the middle of the night and tended to my wounds before keeping my legs draped over his lap, the way he did last night.

I even liked how he took me last night.

How he derailed me into finding myself in front of him on my knees.

I didn’t mind it for a second and loved that shift and break in our routine. It was like a comminuted fracture in my expectations.

I found it sexy. Outrageous. Overwhelming. Yet, such a turn on. In a sense, he took away from me the softer version of himself.

And after giving in to him, he wiped out that impression that he had handed me something real.

To paraphrase Eve, he’d given me something to fall in love with before taking it away from me.

“It’s probably smart,” I say, abandoning my ruminations.

She looks at me.

“Not to give her anything,” I say. “Especially if it’s an arrangement, and they both know it won’t last.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

Footsteps ring in the corridor as Dahlia approaches the room.

“Anyway,” Eve says quickly. “David is a riddle, and if you happen to solve it one day, I’m sure you’ll be in for a big surprise. It’s just a feeling,” she adds as Dahlia pushes the door open.

“I’m done,” she says, and we all head back.

13

LIZ

“Where were you?”Terry asks as I claim my seat at the table.

“I was outside with the girls. We had ice cream in the kitchen,” I say, my mother’s stare burning holes into my face.

Her gaze lingers.

“Things all right?” she asks.

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