Page 19 of The Placeholder
I brush my calloused thumb across her swollen lips, feeling their plush softness against my roughened skin. “I think the finale might be better if we wait until our weekend away—when I get back from Chicago.”
Her slight pout nearly undoes my resolve, blood rushing hot through my veins as she draws her bottom lip between her teeth.
“I need to get up early tomorrow,” I explain, my voice a low rumble as I press a kiss to her forehead, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her hair. “And when we finally make love, I want to take my time with you. Hours, not minutes.” I trace the curve of her cheek with knuckles that have known violence but now crave only her softness. “I want to map every inch of you with my hands, my mouth—discover what makes you sigh, what makes you screambeneath me. And that deserves more than a rushed night before I leave town.”
Understanding dawns in her eyes, along with something else—anticipation. She nods, sliding off my lap but keeping her hand intertwined with mine.
“Promise me something,” she says, her voice soft in the dim light.
“Anything.”
"Call me every night while you’re gone.”
I lift our joined hands to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Wild horses couldn’t stop me.”
CHAPTER 10
DELLA
Three days after Axel left for Chicago, I find myself sitting across from Betsy at one of our favorite cafés, Persephone’s, a tiny bistro tucked between a bookshop and a vintage clothing store. The afternoon sun streams through the windows, highlighting the steam rising from my vanilla latte.
“So,” Betsy says, leaning forward with a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. “Tell me everything. And don’t you dare leave out a single detail.”
I feel a blush creeping up my neck, warming my cheeks. “We’ve been talking every night while he’s been in Chicago. For hours.” I wrap my hands around my mug, savoring its warmth. “He calls right at ten, like clockwork. Last night we talked until two in the morning.”
“Look at you,” Betsy says with a knowing smile. “Your whole face lights up when you talk about him.”
I bite my lip, unable to contain the smile that seems permanently etched on my face these days. “He’s just... different, Bets. He knows what he wants and goes after it.No games, no uncertainty.” I stir my latte absently. “When we’re together, I feel like I’m the center of his universe. Like nothing else matters to him.”
“That’s how it should be,” Betsy says, nodding sagely. “Conor was the same way. He looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘I’m going to marry you someday.’ I thought he was nuts.” She laughs, the diamond on her left hand catching the light as she reaches for her cappuccino. “Turns out he was just sure.”
“Axel told me he doesn’t do casual,” I confide, my voice dropping to a near whisper despite the ambient chatter of the café. “That first night, he cooked dinner at my place. Said if we were going to do this, it had to be something real.”
Betsy’s eyes widen. “Wow. And you’ve only known him what—a month?”
“Three weeks,” I admit, feeling a flutter in my stomach. “Is that crazy? It feels crazy. And yet... it also feels right.”
“When you know, you know,” Betsy says with the confidence of a woman wearing a two-carat engagement ring. “Some men just don’t waste time once they find what they’re looking for.”
I think about Axel’s hands—strong, capable, slightly calloused—and how gentle they’d been on my skin. How he’d stopped us before things went too far, wanting our first time to be perfect. “He’s taking me away this weekend. To that luxury resort in the mountains—Blackwood Ridge.”
“The one with the private hot tubs on every balcony?” Betsy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Damn, girl.”
The waitress arrives with our shared dessert—a decadent chocolate lava cake with two spoons—placing itbetween us with a flourish. The rich scent of dark chocolate wafts upward, mingling with the coffee aromas around us.
“He gets back tomorrow night,” I say, digging my spoon into the cake and watching as molten chocolate pools onto the plate. “Then Friday morning, we leave for the weekend.”
“And you’re ready for this?” Betsy asks, her tone softening. “After everything with Jared...”
I nod, surprised by my own certainty. “I’ve never been more ready for anything. It’s like I’ve been sleepwalking through relationships until now, and suddenly I’m wide awake.”
“Speaking of the wedding,” Betsy says, seamlessly changing subjects, “we’ve finally settled on a venue—that converted barn in Hudson Valley. The one with the fairy lights and the?—”
“Della.”
The voice slices through our conversation like a blade. My spine stiffens as I look up to see Jared standing beside our table, his lean frame casting a shadow across the chocolate cake. He’s wearing a new shirt—probably from that boutique on Madison he loves—his dark hair meticulously styled.
“Jared,” I say, my voice flat. “What are you doing here?”
