Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
At fifteen-‘til, I get a message from Jace just letting me know that he will be at the restaurant before seven-thirty, so he’ll wait for me at the bar and come out to walk with me inside. I don’t respond to the text. Instead, I gather the strength I’m going to need to make it through the evening, leave the engagement ring he gave me a week ago on the counter, and lock the door behind myself.
Chapter 34
I Think I Messed Up
Being emotionally numb is something I’ve gotten used to in my life.
Not that I don’t feel the heavy weight of sadness and anger in painful situations. It’s more like I’m able to flip the switch to my emotions so that no one else can see how much pain I’m truly in.
I did it when my dad died. Even as young as I was, I remember knowing I couldn’t show my mom how upset I was when she told me he was never coming home, because she would feed off my hurt and hurt more.
I did it again when my mom was diagnosed with cancer, sitting next to her and holding her hand when the doctor confirmed her worst fear and mine. I shoved down the urge I had to rage about how unfair it was that she would have to suffer for any reason and the fear I had knowing I could lose her.
And tonight, I’m doing it again, ignoring the pain in my chest and keeping it at bay until this is over and I’m alone.
I’m sure a psychologist would tell me that my way of dealing with heartache is not healthy, but sometimes you have to do what you can just to make it to the next moment when things will hopefully be a little easier.
As I walk toward the awning for Acquerello, I draw in a breath and hold my clutch to my stomach, which is churning.
On the drive over, Jace called, but I didn’t answer. Instead, I sent him a text telling him that I would let him know when I arrived at the restaurant. Of course, I’m not doing that.
Before I can place my hand on the copper handle that will open the door to the restaurant, it’s pushed out toward me, and a man wearing a tux gives me a warm smile.
“Welcome,” he greets with a thick British accent, allowing me inside. “Do you have a reservation this evening?”
“I believe so, but I’m meeting someone at the bar,” I tell him, and he motions for me to walk past the podium to the bar that is just a few steps past the door.
I spot Jace sitting on a barstool, and like he knows I’ve arrived, his head turns my way. His eyes flare with heat that is difficult to ignore as they roam over my body, and I wish I wasn’t so affected by him. But it makes me feel somewhat better that he seems to not be in control of his reaction either. Even if he can’t see this going anywhere, it’s obvious he’s still attracted to me.
When he gets up and walks toward me, my heart starts to pound. I’ve never seen him wearing anything but shorts and a T-shirt until tonight, and I now know I was right about him being almost unrecognizable in a suit. And the expensive-looking garment looks good on him.
“You look—” He takes my hand in his, and it takes all my effort not to pull away from his touch. “—stunning.” His eyes move down my body. “Jesus, Penny.”
“Thanks.” I use moving my bag as an excuse to get away from his touch. “Sorry you had to wait.”
“That’s okay.” He frowns. “You were supposed to call so I could walk you in.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt if you were having a drink.” I glance back to the podium. “Should we see about our table?”
“Yeah.” His frown stays in place as he rests his hand on my lower back. I hate that I love his touch so much.
A cute waitress with a pixie cut shows us to our table a moment later, and he holds out my chair for me before taking his seat.
“So what did you want to talk to me about?” I ask as I make myself busy with fixing my napkin on my lap.
“So impatient.”
“Just curious,” I say quietly, then look up at the waitress when she comes over and asks if we’d like a glass of wine or anything else to drink while we look over our menus.
Knowing I’ll be driving myself home after this, I order water, and he orders a scotch, then when she walks away, he takes an envelope out of his pocket and pushes it across the table toward me.
“That’s yours,” he says, and I stare at it like it’s a viper ready to strike out and inject me with its poison. “I know we agreed on fifty, but I added a little extra.”