Page 77 of The Love Hoax
“Best. Time. Ever.”
The smile he gives me sizzles my insides.
Anna and Steph come by. “You two have a good night. See you on the big day.”
She gives me a peck on the cheek and Steph squeezes my hand. “Thanks again. You know, for the pep talk.”
When the others have left, Adam and I take the elevator to our room. I say, “About the bed?—”
“I’ll take the sofa.”
That was fast.
His quick offer sparks an irrational pang of hurt. “Thanks,” I mumble.
My feelings are a tangled mess. I want nothing more than to be close to Adam. The near-kiss in the pool, the realer-than-real Facetime kiss in his kitchen, the smoldering lip lock in the Salt Lake City hotel. And the dance tonight.
Was it all method acting? Adam immersing himself in the role of loving fiancé? My gut tells me otherwise. He’s either an Oscar-worthy performer or . . .
He feels it too.
There’s something intense happening between us, a chemical reaction. No, it’s deeper than that. It’s genuine. And yet.
I don’t want to get hurt again.
For no reason I can explain, memories of that day, years ago, come flooding back. Returning home early from work. My phone’s dead battery. Entering the house, a bag of Chinese takeout in one hand, my briefcase in the other. Another woman coming out of my bedroom, her hair mussed, her lipstick smeared. My husband frozen in place, his mouth producing a pathetic, “Oh.”
Stepping off the elevator, Adam looks at me with concern. “Are you okay?”
“Mmhmm,” I manage, doing my best to recover quickly.
We’re at the door when I ask, “What did you want to tell me earlier on the dance floor?” A flicker of hope courses through me.
Adam purses his lips. “It can wait until tomorrow.” Then he smiles that glorious, sexy smile.
Seems tomorrow is going to be a Big Day in more ways than one.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Evie
Ilook out the window at the rows of white chairs draped in satin, neatly lined up on the expansive lawn. With a cloudless, cerulean sky above and a forest of evergreens that begins at the edge of the property, it’s a spectacular day for a wedding.
The Nordic Center’s lodge is both elegant and rustic and while Steph and Brad are taking photos, soft-spoken guests with champagne flutes in hand mingle inside. A harpist plays gently in the corner of the room. I accept a canapé from the tuxedoed waiter balancing a tray of hors d’oeuvres.
I found a stylist in town who twisted my hair up into a loose chiffon. When I returned to the hotel, I slipped into the magnificent emerald green, hip-hugging gown waiting for me in the armoire. With a light shimmer the dress hits just above the tips of my new strappy heels. I am Cinderella at the ball.
I’ve barely seen Adam all day. He was already off the couch and out the door by the time I woke up, feeling groggy. Despite the ouzoand late-night dancing, it took a long time to fall asleep. I spent the wee hours pondering what Adam was planning to tell me today. It didn’t help a whit knowing he was sleeping mere feet away. Memories of his sultry kisses ran through my mind on a sleep-depriving loop. The desire to tiptoe to him, quietly cuddle in his arms lingered until at last, I fell asleep.
I’ve spotted him twice, a blur of black and white, going in and out of the caterer’s kitchen. Clearly, he’s busy helping carry out all of Steph’s wishes. Or demands.
The bride is certainly one of a kind. I wonder how she and Brad met. Steph certainly found the yang to her yin in Brad, reminding me of the adage,There’s a lid for every pot. I make a mental note to ask Adam about the couple’s backstory when the opportunity arises.
“Hello, Ronna, koukla mou.”
Somehow I hadn’t noticed Anna’s arrival. The Greek phrase she used is, well, Greek to me but given the tone, I suspect it’s a term of endearment.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Anna asks, gesturing around the room. Her jet black hair is now stick straight, her dress, though the same shade of green as mine, is far more revealing with a plummeting neckline. With large dangling earrings, rings on each finger, and heavy eye makeup she resembles Cher of the seventies.
