Page 113 of The Proposal
I gasp. “Did he tattle on me? That fucker.”
Renn laughs. “I guarantee no one has ever said that to his face and gotten away with it.”
“Just wait until I see him.” I pull his head against me and hug him. “How was your physical? I need to know you’re okay, and whatever you want to discuss has nothing to do with that. Humor me.”
“I’m good.” He pulls away. “Healthy as an ox. Very capable of giving you a baby, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I smack him. “I’m worried about your other head, thank you.”
“It works good enough to know a damn good thing when I see it.”
He holds my gaze, my words from the night on the plane to Australia returning to me.
“A nice man knows a damn good thing when he sees it.”
I reach for his hand, entwining his fingers in mine. His eyes are soft and full of an emotion that melts me from the inside out.
“He knows a damn good thing when he sees it. And … he loves me.”
My eyes search his, begging him to tell me what I want to hear.Tell me you love me, Renn. Please.
“My brain is fine,” he says softly. “But I love it that you worry about me.”
The irony of him using the wordlovein the wrong context is not lost on me.
I sigh. “Of course, I worry about you. I’ll worry every time you take the pitch. How long is your contract? A year? Is that right?”
He brings my hands to his lips and kisses them. Then he lets them go.
“Dad bought the Arrows today.” He lifts his wine and downs the whole glass. I watch him curiously as he refills it. “I just thought you’d want to know.”
I start to ask him why I’d care … but stop.
My stomach hits the floor.
If he had his meeting today and it went well, and if his father’s deal is done—and if the media isn’t as bad as we expected—then our marriage isn’t really needed anymore.
My lips part, assisting my brain with keeping me alive by allowing my lungs more oxygen. Still, it feels like the room is void of it. Like I’m quietly suffocating.
“So,” I say, clearing my throat. “Does that mean …”
“No. That’s not what that means.”
I grip the edge of the counter. “Renn—”
“We’re both tired. Today has been stressful—for me, at least. All I’ve looked forward to since I left the house this morning was coming back to you tonight.”
My sight grows cloudy.
He stands between my legs, tipping my chin up with his finger. “Tomorrow night, we talk. Promise me you won’t panic until then.”
“Should I plan on panicking then?”
He holds my face in both hands and kisses me slowly, deliberately. This isn’t one of his hungry kisses. It’s not fueled by lust. It’s triggered by something else, something deeper and more meaningful.
Something I’m too scared to name.
“How hungry are you?” he whispers against my lips.
