Page 47 of Rise

He dug his knuckles into his calf until the cramp subsided. Megan went to get water for them both. “Too much wine and not enough hydration,” she chided, handing him a glass.

He took the glass and drank from it.

“Okay,” she said. “Something’s wrong. Tell me.”

He tried not to get distracted by her naked body kneeling next to his. Her breasts and hips were perfectly in proportion, perfectly rounded. Her body on his, the second time they’d made love right here in this bed, had been the ideal blend of heavy and pliable. Shit. He was gettingreallydistracted.

“Nothing is wrong,” he said. “I would like to know if… What will happen now? And I don’t think either of us has the answer to that.” She might, of course, if the answer was to throw him out forever. But he couldn’t say the words.

“Where’s your phone?” she said in a non sequitur. “Actually, where’s my phone? I didn’t take it last night. Where did I leave it?”

“I—how does that answer me?”

“We’ll see what the reaction was to the fundraiser. And if anyone cares that you stayed over last night.”

“I do not want to make decisions based on what the public says about us,” he complained, knowing he sounded like a petulant child. He’d signed up for this, and it was his fault if he’d given in to her last night and broken the rules.

“We won’t,” she said. “But the reaction will tell ushowto go on making our own decisions.”

He wasn’t sure he followed her, because that “vice” comment was still racing around his head. If the press was up in arms that he’d spent the night here so soon after “breaking up” with Nikki, would Megan use that as a reason to send him away?

But he’d follow her lead until he could ask the question directly. Megan opened her phone, and a cascade of pent-up texts began to ping onto her screen.

“Yasmin,” she said resignedly. “Yeah, she’s a little mad.”

“Notthatmad or she would have called.”

“I guess so. The usual I-wish-you’d-tell-me-first story.”

“Like we planned this.”

Megan gave him her halfway smile. “Maybe I did plan this.”

He laughed and stroked her arm. “You are not that artful.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“It is exactly what you should be.”

“Good. Because I—” She looked down at his hand on her arm. “I would be real, real happy to do it again.”

He had to ask. “To prove to Yasmin that you can’t be controlled? Or because you want to be with me?”

She started back. “You think that’s why I invited you here last night? To put one over on Yasmin?”

He knew he was fishing for compliments, for assurances. But Megan’s opinion of himmattered. He didn’t want to be just a step on her journey to independence. He wanted… he didn’t know what he wanted. Just not to be pushed aside when she found it convenient.

Megan’s face was serious as she looked away from him, and then her hair fell over her shoulder and hid her. Alessandro moved it back; he didn’t want any partitions between them right now.

She shifted so she faced him again. “I invited you in last night because I wanted very, very badly to. Honestly, I wasn’t thinking much beyond that at the time. I wasn’t thinking about Yasmin or my family—”

“Thank God,” he put in, and she smiled.

“Right. So, honey,” she said, taking his hand in a more tender than suggestive way, “I choose you. I don’t know what happens next. But right now, I choose you.”

Alessandro couldn’t speak. Her words sank so deep, they stole his voice. He gathered her into his arms, burying his face in her loose, thick hair. “I choose you,” he repeated.

“Good,” she said matter-of-factly, but she sank into his embrace.

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