Page 80 of The Love Rematch
Emily falls back against the bed and throws her arms over her face in surrender.Move to Los Angeles? What the hell am I thinking? This is insane. I’m insane. HE DOESN’T WANT ME.
But on some level, he does.
And that’s what makes it so damn frustrating.
“Emily!” Nina calls as she knocks on the door. “You ready?”
“Almost!” Emily squeaks back as she rolls half-naked from the mattress. It’s their last night in Rome before they leave tomorrow to start filming the hometown dates. Most of the supporting staff will return to LA, not needed for the remainder of the season, so it’s tradition to have a big send-off celebration. The suitors have to stay locked up in their towers, but apparently, the lead is always invited to join.
After her terrible solo date with David where she sent him home before even making it to dinner—a real shame, because the vineyard was gorgeous and Emily could have enjoyed about ten more glasses of wine if not for his incessant attempts to grope her—and a long, albeit entertaining, group date watching the guys pretend to be gladiators in theactualColiseum—she’s still pinching herself about that one—both leading to the excruciating puzzle ceremony that concluded about an hour earlier, Emily isn’t really in the mood to go out. All she wants to do is curl up in her robe, order about six helpings of tiramisu off the room service menu, and pass the F out.
Instead…
“Emily,” Nina sing-songs.
“Two minutes! I promise!”
Her makeup from filming is still intact. The elaborate updo her stylist insisted on won’t come out without the help of a chainsaw. All she needs is an outfit.
Easy.
Simple.
Except when she slides open the closet door, nothing works. Her shirts are too colorful. Her dresses are too patterned. Everything is bright. Everything is cheerful. Everything is soEmily Ann Peterswhen all she wants to do is crawl out of her skin and be someone else for one night. Not Jake’s ex. Not the lead of the show. Not the bubbly, sweet girl too afraid to push buttons. Someone no one knows. Someone unpredictable. Someone new.
She pulls open the door.
Nina gives her once over. “You’re in a bra.”
“I am.”
“I’m not sure that’s going to work for dinner when the Pope lives like five blocks away.”
Emily rolls her eyes. “Can I borrow something?”
“What?”
“I don’t know. A skirt? A dress? Anything.”
Nina eyes her again, brow furrowed, then shrugs. “Give me one sec.”
True to her words, she returns no more than a minute later and shoves a black bundle into Emily’s arms.
“Try this.”
Emily throws on the skintight black racerback tank, then slides the ruched leather miniskirt up her legs. She’s taller than Nina, so it’s a bit shorter on her, but when she looks in the mirror a grin widens her lips. Her legs look long as hell, especially with the added inches from her leather booties. More importantly, she feels sexy as hell. Edgier. Different. But not too different, especially after slipping on a crystal-covered gold headband from her line and her electric-blue motorcycle jacket. Emily adds on a pair of studs and slides a few of her affirmation bangles over her wrist like a soldier preparing for battle—beautiful, strong, confident, enough. Then she heads for the door.
“You look like moto-Barbie,” Nina says, then grins. “I like it. Let’s go.”
Everyone is waiting in the lobby. Jake does a double take as she steps off the elevator. His gaze drops to her legs and stays there, as if mesmerized by every inch of her exposed skin. A flush warms her cheeks. When he finally meets her eyes, the message in his is clear.
You’re not playing fair.
He’s got a weakness for her legs—always has, always will. It’s why she wore so many miniskirts in high school.
Emily smiles back.Nope.
He turns away with a scowl and follows the group out the door, careful to keep his distance. They sit at opposite ends of the table at the restaurant—Emily with Nina and Trish, Jake all the way at the other end with the assistants. She sneaks peeks while they eat, noticing for the first time how slowly he sips his wine while the people around him guzzle. At the end of the meal, he declines the limoncello. Everyone else sports the bright eyes of a healthy buzz—heck, Emily herself is feeling nice and tipsy—but not Jake.
