Page 90 of One Time in Paris
A thrill passed through her at his words, and she felt herself growing wet.
“So how did you imagine me?” She traced her thumb against his, awed by how much larger his hands were than hers—his practically engulfed hers. But she’d never compared her hands to Aiden’s. Never walked anywhere with him, holding his hand.
Like a couple.
“Untouchable. A very bad idea.”
She slowed, hesitation curling through her. “And now?”
“Still a bad idea.” He raised her hand and kissed the back of it. “But worth every obstacle.”
She couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his gaze, but a warmth filtered through her body, surrounding her heart and peeling back some of her walls.
They came to a food booth and stopped. “Don’t laugh, but I’m going to get a hot dog. Only because the other options sound too sweet. Do you want anything?”
“Water. I’ve had so much sugar today that I feel like I can’t get enough of it.”
“You may be the cheapest date I’ve ever taken out.” He grinned and ordered.
Once he’d paid, she turned her back to the booth and leaned against it, looking up at him. “Is that what this is? A date?”
“Well, as close to one as we’ve ever been on. If you don’t count our night of obliterated, drunken vows.”
“Still hard to believe we skipped the dating part and went straight toward lifelong commitment,” she said with a shake of her head.Or that, for now, Aiden is still technically my husband.
That thought did something funny to her.
Just like when he’d called her his wife in Nashville. “So what do you want to do after this, husbee?”
He choked out a laugh. “Husbee?”
“Yeah, I don’t know. Husband sounded too stiff. Though maybe that would suit you more.”
“Whatever you want,wife.”
God, why do I like the sound of that so much?
It was completely ridiculous. She wasn’t looking to get married, and they were barely in a relationship or whatever this was.
Yet the word wrapped around her, grounding her with a sense of security and comfort. Of something that she couldn’t name. Something—someone—that was hers. Of belonging.
“I think maybe I’ll take a tiger after all,” she said, accepting a water bottle from the man working the register. “I’ve heard—supposedly—Aiden Camden is a crack shot with a rifle. At least, that’s how he used to brag when he was in the military. Before he became a stuffed suit. Maybe he’s lost his skills now, though. It has been years since he probably even held a gun.”
He took the paper food tray with a hot dog, French fries, and soda and balanced it on one hand as he walked toward the condiment table. “You make me sound ancient. But fine—you’re on. I’ll win you a stuffed tiger. Your curse will be having to carry it around this damned carnival.”
“Like I said, you’re awfully cocky for someone who’s a lot of talk.” Isla looked around for a game booth with rifles. Finding one, she tugged him by the elbow toward it, a girlish feeling of enthusiasm starting to move toward her.
“Hang on, impatient wife. Your husband is eating.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “I’m going to have fun with these nicknames until our divorce.”
“Annulment,” Aiden said, then took a bite of hot dog. “Meaning technically, the whole thing never happened.”
She frowned, not loving the way that sounded. Of course, they needed the annulment, but it allhadhappened. Maybe they could erase it on paper, but otherwise? That was impossible.
That night in Vegas had changed both of their lives.
Sobering, she looked away. A group of teenagers passed, laughing and shrieking. Despite the cold, the girls wore high crop tops, and the boys—pimple-faced and lanky boys clutched their hands or had their arms around them. Maybe notsoinnocent but free. Without anything really weighing them down.
