Page 82 of The Player's Obsession

As we leave the room, I quote a Prince song, “So tonight we’re gonna party like it’s 1999.”

Oliver does the same. “I got a lion in my pocket and baby, he’s ready to roar.”

We’re both laughing when Oliver scoops me up and carries me to the elevator, not caring who sees.

* * *

Dinner does not disappoint.The service is spot on and the food is melt-in-your-mouth delicious. I had to force myself to stop eating. I’m not used to the first course, the second course — like they do in Italy.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, when he sees me put down my napkin like I’m throwing in the towel.

“I feel like we’re dining in Italy where food just keeps showing up. Like unwanted house guests, you love them but not all at once. Italy is one place I’ve never been, but I want to go someday.”

“Really? Me too. I haven't traveled overseas much. Do you have a passport?”

“Yes, it’s never been used. My goal is to use it before it expires. I still have a few years before that happens.”

The atmosphere inside the restaurant harkens back to the days of the Rat Pack, minus the smoke-filled rooms. The piano man plays Sinatra and Dean Martin tunes softly in the background. It’s the type of place a man takes a woman to propose, quaint and intimate. With that thought, I feel queasy. We’re together all the time. I’ve never been subject to such intensity.

“How have things been on the social media front? Has it quieted down?” I ask.

“Honestly, I’ve been too busy to pay attention. Travis thinks there’s trouble in paradise between the bride and groom. If that’s the case, it will take the spotlight off us, if it hasn’t already.”

“Would Serena really do that to her best friend?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. I have you, and you have me, and tonight is going to be spectacular.”

I blush. Do I have him?

My heart flutters when he leans close enough for me to smell his manly cologne. I offer him my lips. He gives me a sensual kiss, and I taste the cabernet on his tongue.

The check arrives, spoiling the moment. Oliver charges it to the room account, and we decide to walk through the hotel and peruse the shops. My heels make clicking noises on the tile floor as we walk hand in hand past empty rooms that are probably used for conferences and special events.

“Did you know there is a theater here?” he asks.

“Really? Who would want to come here and go to a movie?”

“Well, it’s a theater for performing arts. It’s used more in summer. There are billionaires who love the coast of Maine and the water need somewhere to see the latest plays.”

“Oh. Gottcha. I’m not in that tax bracket.”

He chuckles and shrugs his broad shoulders. “I can’t help if I was born into privilege.”

“Lucky you,” I tease. We wander into a store without realizing it’s filled with designer handbags. When I see the name Chanel, I remember Lucinda joking that it’s a French word for, “You Can’t Afford It.”

“I can’t believe these price tags. They’re insane,” I whisper making sure the salesclerk with her nose in the air can’t hear me.

He leans close and whispers, “Do you want something? Anything? Just tell me.”

“I’m fine. What you’ve given me is more than generous.”

“All right. Well, it’s nine o’clock. We can head up to the top floor if you like.”

“Wow, the night went so fast,” I say, taking his arm.

“I overheard someone say a U2 cover band is performing up there tonight.”

“No way.”

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