Page 102 of Playing Flirty

A number of powerful emotions fought within me for supremacy. Sheer panic seemed to be winning. But fear wasn’t far behind.

“Can you give me a few days? I want to speak to William and respond to Patrick. Please? It’ll be sorted before the wedding.”

“Have you figured out what you want to say to Patrick?” she asked.

“I wish I didn’t have to think about any of this.”

Neema sighed, and when she spoke, her voice was free of concern. “You deserve to shut down that brain of yours sometimes.” She grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. “So, is he as good as we all assume he is?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

I burst out laughing and shook my head.

“It’s not?”

“We haven’t actually done that, yet. But…” I hesitated as blood rushed to my cheeks. “He’s very good at other things.”

“Dammit, I knew he would be. That jerk.” Her laughter shook the bed. “I was really hoping he’d suck at something.”

I hated secrets, and being able to have someone—especially Neema—know about William sent a whoosh of air back into my collapsed lungs.

“So, what’s stopping you anyway?” she asked.

“I don’t know…” I thought about what William kept saying. “We aren’t ready, yet.” To lighten the mood, I added, “And for your information, you’re constantly getting in our way.”

Neema grinned. “What? When?”

“Literally every time we’re alone. That day you came home and found William there…” I covered my fiery face.

“No, what?” Her eyes grew wide, her smile even wider. “You were supposed to be sick.”

My cheeks were so hot that I could fry an egg on them. “Even the balcony.”

“Rose! You saucy minx!” A shocked laugh escaped her. “I can’t even picture you doing that.”

“I don’t want you to picture it!”

As if a pipe had burst on the secrets I held, I told her everything: when things started with William, where it started, about the secret kisses, and even the dreams about William.

I did, however, leave out the part about the syrup.

That was our little secret.

Round 34

Our gossip was interrupted when a knock on the door jolted us upright.

Neema stumbled to the door, red-cheeked from all the laughter, and found the events coordinator.

“The area’s been prepared for you as per your fiancé’s request,” the woman said with a beautiful smile. “If you’re ready, I can take you down there now.”

We followed her outside to a flat, green, and very well-maintained lawn where the ceremony would take place. Stretched behind it was the villa itself, which served as a stunning backdrop.

Rows of white chairs were assembled on either side of a long aisle leading to a white arch decorated in pink flowers. Lining the courtyard were flowering dogwood trees, scattering white across the green. We were assured everything would be lit by fairy lights. The goal was “magical,” so that last point was nonnegotiable.

Giddy with excitement, the skip in Neema’s step returned, and the thought-nado, as my mother called them, in my head slowed the moment my eyes found William. It was like a part of me slotted into place when he arrived.

And I realized I needed to tell him that. I wanted to tell him that.

“Williaaaam,” Neema called, a playful smile on her face. “You made it!”

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