After a minute or two, Armando has us lifting into the air. A sense of vertigo seizes me as I watch the people on the ground get smaller and smaller. I think I might throw up if I keep staring at them.
“Hey,” Roman steps behind me, pulling me back to his warm chest. The sensation grounds me despite the heights we’re soaring to. “I’m right here.”
It shouldn’t make me feel better. But it does. Having him hold me and hearing his voice gives me a tether. A shiver rolls through me at being this close to him.
“Close your eyes, I’ve got you.”
A couple of minutes go by, and I’m becoming increasingly comfortable with staring at the floor of thebasket when Roman lets out a soft “wow.” I slowly lift my eyes to see what he’s looking at, and my stomach bottoms out when I see how far up we are as the lush hills slowly move past us below. It has to be one of the most breathtaking things I’ve ever seen in my life, but it also scares me shitless.
“Easy there, Sparky,” Roman laughs and draws a smooth circle on my back with his hand. I’m clasping his other arm so hard I feel bad. Just not bad enough to actually loosen my grip. “You’ve got this,” he whispers. And I’m sure it’s because Armando is on board with us, but he also presses a kiss to the top of my head.
Chapter Forty-Two
ROMAN
When we finally return to solid ground, Clover looks like she’s about to either puke, cry, or possibly do both at the same time. I’m not convinced that she won’t kiss the grass as soon as she’s out of the basket.
Looking down at my forearms, I suppress a laugh when I see angry little crescents dotting them. Evidence of Clover clinging to me for dear life.
“Thanks, Armando,” I say, pressing a couple of hundred-dollar bills into his hand. A hot-air balloon tour wouldn’t normally be my thing, but it was fun to have an excuse to hold Clover like that for an hour.
“That was...” I start.
“Fucked,” she mutters.
I chuckle before pulling out my phone and snapping a picture of her doubled over with her hands on her knees. I’m not sure what prompts me to do it, but there’s something about this that I want to remember. Capture and be able to look back on later.
Before I have time to put the phone back into my pocketand ignore the world outside of Napa Valley, a text from James rolls in.
James
You’re right, this is definitely the look of someone who despises the woman he’s sitting across from.
There’s a link to aCelebrity Scenearticle. Reluctantly, I open it up as Clover continues counting her lucky stars that she’s back on the ground.
Spotted: Roman Everett and his leading lady Clover Daly cozy up over dinner at the Los Castillo Hotel & Vineyard in Napa Valley. Witnesses say the two were flirting with each other, and the sexual tension was unmistakable. We’d say get a room, but it appears they did.
At the top of the article is a photo of us at the wine tasting. Clover is drinking from one of her wine glasses, and her focus is elsewhere. Meanwhile, in my case, you can tell that all I see is her.Fuck.
Me
It’s called acting, dickhead. Try it sometime.
“I swear to God, Janine keeps inching her way up my shit list,” Clover says. When I turn back toward her, some more of her normal coloring has returned. “What’s the next form of torture she has in store for us?” She looks down and gasps, grabbing at my forearms again and running her fingertips along them. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to dig my nails in like that.” She smooths over the skin as if trying to gently wipe the littlefingernail marks away.
I open my email and quickly scan the itinerary Janine sent us.
“She booked us another winery tour and tasting.” It’s not that that would be bad, but another idea strikes me. “How do you feel about going off-book?”
“So long as it keeps us on terra firma, I think I’m down.”
“Let’s go.” I smile.
The bar is packed, and it’s so loud that Clover and I have to lean in to one another’s ears and yell just for the hope of being heard. This dive bar is the last place Janine or my father would’ve wanted us, and something about that makes it even better.
The crowd has an electric energy to it, buzzing and cheering loudly after every song. With walls plastered in overlapping music posters from years ago to more recently, the venue has so much character I could happily sit and drink and observe who comes in and out. The distinctive smell of cigarettes permeates the air, even though the building, of course, doesn’t allow smoking. I have a feeling that rules are more like suggestions here, anyway.
It takes me a minute to realize my fingers are twitching; instead of wanting to reach for a cigarette, all I can think about is how much I want to touch Clover again.
