Page 44 of Take 2
“Well, anything with you is like playing darts blindfolded and drunk. The only way to hit the target is to throw a lot of darts.”
“I’m not that complicated, actually.”
A skeptical laugh bursts out of him. “You’re joking, right? Get you thingsI know you like—you’re pissed. Bring you to Monaco to meet a dream director of yours—you’re suspicious.”
“Rightfully so!”
“Kiss youwhen you explicitly told me you wanted me to—you complain.”
“What exactly was the logic behind throwing me into the sea?”
“That nothing else works, so why the fuck not.”
“Maybe if it’s so difficult tomake it work,it’s not meant to work.”
His knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. “Going out of your way to find fault with everything is not fate stepping in.”
We don’t speak for the rest of the drive. Or when we walk through the hotel. Or in the elevator.
Preston goes right into his room without a word and shuts the connecting door to mine. I toss the bag with my wet clothes into the bathroom and collapse face-first onto the bed.
I’m not finding fault witheverything. There were no faults with that kiss, though it was still pretty cocky ofhimto call it perfect. But perfection is poisonous. When the weather is crappy, being wrapped up in someone else is the best way to spend a day. Sometimes, the sunshine illuminates flaws. Surrounded by all things sparkly and grand, anything that’sjust finelooks like shit. Here, I’m like a Kraft American single trying to fit in on an artisan cheeseboard. Hell, that’s what I am back in LA. I’m never going to be as perfect at this place orThe Golden State.And Preston won’t either.
Maybe he knew that, hence the stupid prank. I needed a shock of cold water to bring me back to reality.Or to cool down the burning attraction.
Ugh. Weak as my attempts may be, this is the hardest I’ve ever tried to not sleep with someone I wanted. And I do want him. Unfortunately, a guy who flies me halfway around the world probably isn’t looking for something casual. Being on this trip in this place puts infinitely more pressure on it than I’d feel in our normal lives, and I really don’t have time to catch feelings for anyone, much lessPreston Greene.
Like you’d have given him the time to try at home?
Oh, shut up, me.
Somehow, he’s caught the barrage of mixed signals I’ve thrown in stride. I’d probably have pushed myself off the boat too at this point. I groan and push myself up. How many of the grudges are valid again? They seem to be losing their defensibility.
On the dresser is a small, plain paper gift bag. I go to it and find my writing gloves. Not new writing gloves—mine. Soft and well-worn with text from “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” printed on them.
He called the airline.
I rub my forehead and let out a slow breath.
If not for our history, again, I can’t deny I’d be falling for him. Replaying the night he won that first Oscar I was nominated for isn’t doing its job of keeping me angry at him like it used to. So, am I brave enough to fall? Falling into the intense blue of the Mediterranean replays in my mind. It was cuter than I gave him credit for. But isn’t the love interest supposed to catch the girl when she falls, not push her?
Chapter Eighteen
Seven Years Ago
Iblinkatmyreflection. I look the part. Hair meticulously styled into beach waves which could never ever be achieved at the beach. It’s down because that’s prettier, and because it’s too short to be tied up.Stupid move, Mirabelle.Makeup, heels—all set.
“Mira! Come here, come here, come here!”
I exit the bathroom to join James in the living room.
“Look! Diane Kruger is wearing a onesie, too! Depressed shopping resulted in red carpet ready.” He gestures to the navy jumpsuit I have on with its sheer skirt that opens in the front. It’s like a superhero cape but from my waist.
“It’s not called a onesie.”
“Whatever.”
The back of my hand brushes over the skirt in slow motion. Everything has been in slow motion. “Hers was probably a little more expensive.”
