Page 9 of Falling for You Again

“He’ll have faith in me.”

A voice crackled through the PA system and announced the cabin was being prepared for landing. The flight had gone too quickly and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to my new friend.

Aaron leaned into my shoulder. “That’s a good list we’ve got.”

“It is.”

“Your ex is wrong,” he said as we returned our seats and tray tables to the upright position.

“How so?”

“You’re witty, intelligent, and kind. Definitely marriage material.”

His compliment hung in the air between us, and my champagne-soaked brain wanted to hear more. I wasn’t used to receiving compliments. “Am I compassionate and respectful too?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I do.” He punctuated his conviction with a sharp nod.

I studied his beautiful face, chewing on my bottom lip, and an idea blew into my head with such force that my eyes widened and my lip popped from my teeth. I didn’t know where the thought had come from or why I didn’t stop myself from speaking it out loud. But there it was, appearing out of thin air like an unexpected twist in a bestselling novel.

“Marry me.”

“Say what?” Aaron lurched back with a nervous laugh.

I stared at him wide-eyed and in complete shock at myself.

I should have retracted the offer, laughed it off as a joke. Instead, I blinked, determination sharpening my resolve. Call it a temporary escape hatch or drunken bravado. Maybe I just wanted to postpone returning home to face the consequences I’d created. Maybe I desired to do something outrageous and unforgettable. Or maybe I just needed to prove something to myself. I wasn’t sure what, but deep down, despite all Uncle Bear’s warnings in his Bearisms, I craved a genuine connection with someone. And something with Aaron had sparked to life, like a tiny flame on a delicate piece of flint.

I argued my case. “If you honestly believe I’m marriage material, somebody worth spending a lifetime with, a great catch, if you will—someone you could share a passion with and wouldn’t choose work over relationship for but believe it’s possible to balance the two—then as soon as we land, marry me for one full day.” In that moment, I wholeheartedly believed that if we could be for each other everything described on our list, we could have a relationship that worked. Even if it was for only twenty-four hours.

His gaze narrowed. “Is this a dare?”

I leaned in close until we were nose to nose. “It’s Vegas, baby.”

He leaned back and studied me. I had no idea what he saw or what was going through his head. Maybe it was our list.

“You did put adventurous and playful on our list,” I challenged.

A mischievous glint danced in his eyes, a waggish smirk tugging at his lips. He gave me his hand and the shock of my life. “You’re on.”

Chapter 5

Not So Fashionably Late

The following night, Emi and I arrive at the Park Plaza, glammed up and relatively on time. The gala is lit with a twenty-piece orchestra and cashless bars serving up premium cocktails. Trays of fancy appetizers and champagne-filled coupe glasses float through the glitzy crowd like cruise ships on the ocean’s surface. Tuxedos mingle with sparkling gowns as guests browse tables laden with gift baskets and other big-ticket items for the event’s silent auction.

I deliberated coming until the last minute, despite my initial determination. Tonight might not be the ideal time and place to confront Aaron. I could have called him, but I didn’t want to chance leaving a voicemail that wouldn’t be returned. And a text could be ignored. What if he refuses to see me? No, regardless of how nervous I am, I need to ask for his help in person. Even Emi agreed I had to come. He’ll remember how important Artisant Designs is to me when he sees me. He’ll feel my urgency vibrating off me. Of course, I couldn’t explain this to Emi.

She still doesn’t know how Aaron and I know each other. Nobody does. We agreed to keep our week together between us. It isn’t every day you marry someone you just met, let alone on the same day you jilted someone else. We’d acted rashly, and our behavior would reflect poorlyon our families and businesses and ourselves. I imagine if Uncle Bear knew, he’d have all the more reason not to pass down Artisant Designs to me. Last thing he’d want is someone at the helm with a history of acting irrationally and irresponsibly.

I don’t like lying to Emi, but as far as she knows, Aaron is an acquaintance, someone who runs in the same industry circles and who I met at the Contemporary Furniture Fair in New York several years back.

Emi’s bare arm brushes mine as we take in the festive ballroom. “Do you see him?”

Despite the extra three and a half inches with my slingback heels, I still can’t see over the sea of bodies. “Not yet.” But I know he’s here. The Savant House’s gala is one of our industry’s premier events. Close to six hundred people attend each year, many eager to wire unseemly amounts of money for the auction that Savant will sink into their foundation for the betterment of the planet. Every executive and board member should be present. But Aaron is the only one who might listen to me.

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