“Only good things,” Neil adds, leaning into to press his lips to my cheek. My body warms. “Let me show you this painting.”
The excitement in his voice is contagious. Neil is a huge lover of art, a gift passed down from his mother, according to him.
“I got it from here, Grace,” he tells her, taking me by the hand and leading me to follow.
“I think she wanted to talk to you about the piece.”
“Too bad,” he says, sounding not the least bit apologetic.
“Glass of champagne, ma’am?” a waiter stops to offer me as I move past. I start to grab for the offered glass but stop myself when my gaze catches sight of Neil. “No, thanks,” I say, trying to keep the regret out of my tone.
The waiter moves on, and I move to continue following Neil, but he stares at me. “You wanted that glass of champagne.”
His voice isn’t accusing but observant.
My immediate response is to lie and deny it, but he reads too easily into my expressions, and I don’t want there to be any lies between us.
So, instead, I say, “It’s no big deal,” and shrug.
“Why didn’t you take it?”
“It’s just a glass of champagne. Probably not the good stuff anyway,” I attempt to joke.
“It’s top-shelf. I know because I helped Grace pick it out.”
Frowning, I tilt my head to the side. “You chose the alcohol for the night? How?”
He shakes his head. “Not important. What is important is that you didn’t take a drink when you wanted to. Just like when we go out to dinner, you skip the wine menus, often telling the waiter not to bring it.”
His hold around my hand tightens slightly when I move my gaze to avoid looking him directly in the eye.
“Why?” he inquires again.
“Because.”
“Because you think you’ll tempt me by drinking in front of me?”
“Yes,” I finally say, feeling weird but relieved at the same time. It’s a habit I picked up when trying to help my sister.
Neil lifts his head, searching for something behind me. He waves his free hand, and as I turn to see who or what he’s waving at, that same waiter from moments earlier appears at my side.
“She’ll be having one of these,” Neil says to the waiter as he lifts a flute of champagne. He hands the glass to me with a smile playing at his lips.
I hesitate before taking the glass, prompted by the earnest look in Neil’s eyes. A part of me feels guilty for taking it.
“Thank you.” I nod to the waiter before he heads off.
“It’s not your responsibility to withhold yourself from indulging in things you like because I don’t or can’t have them.”
“I feel bad for enjoying something that you can’t participate in.”
He shakes his head. “Trust me, babe, there is no more enjoyment for me in alcohol.”
“Was there ever?” I ask, interested in his take on his addiction.
He nods. “At first, there was immense enjoyment, or so I thought. Even when it got to the point that I was getting arrested or having my license suspended for DUIs, I still thought it was fun. No one else around me did, though. Eventually, the fun ran out.”
“That’s when you stopped.”
