Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“There she is,” he said, catching her.
“I love dancing!”
“I can tell.” Gently, he brushed a few sweaty strands of hair from her eyes. Her tiara was crooked, and he smiled, straightening it. “If only you were more outgoing.”
“That was the nicest group of people. I’m so exhausted, though.”
“How many proposals did you get out there?”
“Only a few.” She fixed her focus on his lips. “Came over to hear your offer before I went back with an answer.”
He looked closely at her, at the tipsy glassiness of her gaze and the blissful elation in her smile. “Then I guess I can’t let you go back out there.”
“Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
He wanted to kiss her—to really kiss her like he had last night in the hot tub, with depth and heat and hunger—and knew that if he sat here much longer, he would. He would tip forward, fall into her, and maybe never be able to find his way out again. He’d started to lean in when the first firework shot across the sky, signaling the end of the festival. They both blinked away, looking upward to where a flash of color exploded overhead, followed by another, and another. They watched for a moment, Ren having gone still in his lap, before she looked over at him, a halo of golden sparks raining down behind her.
“I didn’t think this night could get any better,” she said.
“Proposals and fireworks. That all it takes?”
“I never did hear yours, by the way,” she said, running her finger along his jaw.
“How about this: We get out of here and go back upstairs, put on our pajamas, brush our teeth, and have a slumber party?”
“No one made an offer even a fraction that good,” she said, closing the distance to kiss him. “Take me upstairs, Edward.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
REN
Never in her life had Ren so ardently wished for the gift of telekinesis. With such a power, she would simply reach over with her mind and tug the hotel curtains closed. The blinding stretch of light between the drapes stabbed like a hot spear through her skull, even with her eyes closed.
Desperate for relief, she rolled over, colliding with a wall.
No, not a wall. Fitz’s bare chest. Ren groaned as rising consciousness brought with it a pounding headache. “Ow.”
A laugh vibrated behind Fitz’s breastbone. “She wakes.”
She groaned again.
“Stay here.” Fitz rolled from bed, blessedly removing the cloying heat of his body, and she stretched out, seeking the relief of cooler sheets. Water ran, bare feet padded across the floor, and Fitz was back, a demon, turning on the light.
“No. Darkness only.”
Another rumbling laugh. “Take these, and drink this.” She heard him set something on the bedside table.
“I think I’m sick,” she mumbled.
“I think you’re hungover.”
“Why aren’t you hungover?”
“Because I weigh fifty pounds more than you, and we only had two glasses of champagne.”
Weakly, she pushed up on one elbow. When a cool breeze from the air conditioner blew over her bare arms, she realized she was in her usual pajamas. But Fitz wore only those brain-melting shorts he slept in. And nothing else. “You’re shirtless,” she said, staring as it sank in: She’d slept pressed against his skin all night.
“Thanks to you.”
Her gaze jerked to his. “You mean I took your shirt off?”
He planted two fists at the edge of the bed and smoldered at her. “You were very insistent.”
She let herself imagine pulling his shirt off, reaching for the button of his jeans. Her face flamed. “I was?”
“Yes. But I stopped us.” He leaned closer, whispering, “When we do those things, I want you to remember how good it was.”
She fell back down face-first into the pillow, mumbling, “Don’t be sexy when I might throw up.”
Fitz laughed, straightening. “You feel terrible because you’re dehydrated, and your blood sugar is tanked. You’ll feel better with some carbs and caffeine in you, I promise. Come on.” He gently urged her to sit up and take the painkillers. “We’ll take things nice and slow and see how you feel. Okay?”
“I feel like a new human,” Ren said, dropping a wadded-up wrapper on the tray.
“McDonald’s is the hangover cure straight from the gods.”
“I think I read that somewhere: The first ever golden arches were on Mount Olympus.” She drained the last of her Coke, and Fitz laughed, standing to take their tray to the trash bin. “Fitz!” she called, and handed him her empty cup. She noticed there was something in his posture, a tiny hitch in his shoulders, that made her feel like she’d just done something wrong.
It poked like a thorn in her palm as they walked back to the hotel, and even though they were talking and laughing and everything in his demeanor seemed fine, she knew him well enough to know how easily he put on a smooth cover, how the Fitz he showed to the world wasn’t the Edward he showed to h—