Page 49 of One Small Secret

“At the risk of disappointing my employer, I didn’t bring any work to do on New Year’s Eve.”

He grimaces. “I have one thing I need to finish up, and then I promise I will be at least a little fun on this trip. It shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

“Take your time. I brought a book.” I pull my Dictionary of Difficult Words out of my backpack and make a big show of opening it to the first page.

Ruben is already absorbed in whatever he's working on and doesn’t notice.

Three pages in I hear him chuckle. I look up.

“That’s the book you're reading?”

I shrug. “I read it most days. It’s quite enlightening.”

“Read any good words yet?”

“Acrophobia”

“Sounds almost like a fear of spiders, but I would never guess that. You would tease me for weeks.”

“True, I would. And unless there are spiders on this plane, acrophobia has more to do with what we're doing now than arachnophobia.”

“Fear of making an irrevocable mistake?”

I scrunch my face together at his reply. What do mistakes have to do with this trip? “Fear of heights.”

“Ah, of course.”

Ruben keeps his computer open, but every so often he asks about another hard word, and we guess definitions and make fun of each other’s answers. The flight is five hours long, and he doesn’t finish his one hour of work. Perhaps I should feel bad about that, but he's smiling more than I’ve seen him smile in the past three days, so I don’t think either of us is disappointed.

When Ruben booked his table at the R Lounge overlooking Times Square, he also booked a room. He walks me to it and hands me the key card. “Is an hour enough time to get ready?”

“I haven’t had an hour to get ready since Moira dropped off Axley. It’s plenty of time.”

“Great. I’ll get ready in my friend Bernard’s room. He’s just down the hall.”

“He won’t think that’s strange? That you aren’t getting ready with me?”

“I told him that since this is our first official public outing, you wanted to surprise me. Apparently my secret girlfriend is sentimental like that.”

“I’ll make myself look good, then.”

Ruben eyes slide down me. The motion is quick, not like his playboy perusal he used to tease me with. “You look amazing already.” He gives me a short smile and then looks down the hall. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

An hour later I’m fastening a delicate gold chain around my neck and inspecting myself in the full-length mirror. My black silk dress hugs my body as if it was made for it. Because it was. This dress was one of my last splurges before I left Vietnam, and I wasn’t certain I would ever have a use for it. From the front, it looks perfectly respectable. The straight wide neckline lands just below my collarbone and connects to inch thick straps wide on my shoulders. But from the back? Well, it pretty much doesn’t have a back. When you order a dress to fit your body, it turns out the tailors can measure the lowest possible spot a dress can hit without showing your underwear. It is scandalous, and perfect for a ritzy New York New Year’s Eve party.

It has only taken me six views of a YouTube tutorial to make my hair look somewhat close to what I’d envisioned. Ruben offered to hire a hairstylist, but I declined. With all the pictures that are certain to be taken tonight, maybe I shouldn’t have, but what was done was done. My hair pulled to one side in loose curls looks pretty darn good. This get-up may just work as well as some of my moves on Ben’s couch.

There are three business-like raps at my door. I open it.

Ruben is in a tux, looking very Ruben Palmer. His hair is styled perfectly, with just the right amount of shine, but instead of cinnamon, he smells like the cologne from his advertisements. He’s as breathtaking as any of the locations I’ve scouted, and I one hundred percent agree with the rest of America. I’d stay in any room this man advertised. I motion for him to come in and say the first thing that pops into my head. “Will you please text me a picture of you in your tux later tonight?”

He laughs. “We’re going to be together all night.”

“Yeah, but not tomorrow, and I'm getting a little bored with your last picture.” Not true, by the way. Not true at all. But I do limit the amount of time I spend staring at it. Otherwise I just start to feel voyeuristic. I wouldn’t have to limit my time staring at him in a tux. “Let me grab my shoes.”

I turn around and Ruben sucks in a sharp breath, then releases it right away. I set a hand on my hip and look at him over my shoulder. “Everything alright?”

He yanks his head up and makes a concerted effort to look me in the eyes. His right hand reaches for the doorframe and clamps down on it like he needs something to anchor him. “Yes. Everything is alright…great…ah…hunky dory.” He grimaces after he says that one and I don’t blame him. “I’m good.”

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