Page 198 of Lovers' Dance

Matt grimaced. “Nathan’s and Bella’s engagement party. They’ll never forgive me if we fail to attend.”

I grimaced, too. “Sunday, then. We leave on the 23rd and come back on the 29th. Do those dates work for you?”

He gave me a quick nod of his head. “I’ll sort it later today. Hannah and Stuart own a condo in Central Park West. They hate staying in hotels when they travel to the States with the twins. Do you want us to stay there or at a hotel—”

“I’ll be expected to stay at Aunt Cleo’s,” I advised with reticence, forget the fact his sister owned a place in the upscale Central Park West area. Matt’s eyebrows shot up, and I tried to smile at him. It was more a sickly sort of pout. I continued. “I don’t have my apartment back home anymore, and she’ll expect me to stay with them.”

Matt rubbed his temple while exhaling slowly. “I see. You have told your family I’ll be accompanying you?”

I avoided his wary gaze.

Matt’s eyes widened. “Madison. Have you not told them?”

I sat up, clutching the covers to my chest. “I was thinking of it being a surprise…” My voice trailed off weakly as Matt’s stubble-covered jaw tightened. He did not look happy. I sighed and twisted over to grab my cell from where I’d left it on the bedside table. “I’ll call Aunt Cleo. It’s around eleven thirty pm there. Someone should still be awake.”

“Good,” Matt said in exasperation. He shot me a disappointed look and slid off the bed. He picked up his discarded towel and wrapped it around his trim waist. “I’m going to get something to drink. Would you like anything, Madison?”

I shook my head, trying not to focus on the substitution of my Christian name for his usual “poppet”. Matt was mad, and he had reason to be. It had been weeks since the invitation to accompany me home had been extended to him in my quest to show the man I loved that I actually did love him. Weeks of me finding a reason to avoid notifying my aunt that I would be bringing company. Weeks of me visualizing the many ways things could go terribly wrong.

With trembling fingers I tapped the screen and made the call. Oh, thank you, Jesus. Answering machine. Deliberating over the wisdom of leaving the message took half a second. I might be a coward, but it was better to let her assimilate the fact via message I was bringing my decade older, white boyfriend home for Thanksgiving. Definitely better.

I hung up the call, put my phone on the bedside table and slumped against the pillows, head covered by my arms as I groaned in frustration. Matt found me in that position fifteen minutes later.

“I take it the news didn’t go over well,” he mused, shutting the bedroom door with his foot while balancing a tray of orange juice and croissants.

I was peeking at him from under my arms as he came over to the bed and placed the tray next to me.

“It’s fine,” I mumbled. “I left a message.”

“A message?” he asked, and a quick check confirmed the twin eyebrows of doom were lowered.

“I guess they must be sleeping,” I said, uncovering my face and smiling at him. “Are those croissants for me?”

Matt nodded.

“The orange juice, too?”

He nodded. “To replenish the energy you lavished upon me.”

I grinned and reached over for the orange juice. “What are you going to do with your day off, hon?”

Matt got back in bed, minding the tray with a cautious eye. He was a bit undecided when it came to eating in bed, but he let me do so without complaint.

“Work,” he said blandly.

I frowned, knowing he would be doing exactly that and not liking the thought. Matt took extremely good care of himself. The man had a physique that would make a Greek warrior weep with envy. He ate well and worked out.

But he worked hard, and it was a stressful job he had. Being co-president of his family’s empire was consuming. Constant and consuming. Maintaining their wealth and power was a mantle that had been passed to him and Adam from the hands of their father and, of course, Grumps.

He worked hard and it worried me immensely. Stressed out business tycoons had strokes all the time, even if he was only thirty-seven.

“No, you’re not.” I put the juice back down and scowled at him.

Matt arched an eyebrow at me. “I’m not?”

I shook my head vehemently, tangled curls whipping about my face. Matt reached out to finger my hair.

“You work too hard, Matt.”

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