I frown. “You are?”
“Did you need to pack first, or did you just want to wing it?”
He knows.
He knows I’m testing him to see if I can discover another unhinged piece of him.
However, I reply, “Wing it. I’m sure he’ll want to leave right away.”
“Absolutely,” he agrees. “He didn’t want to come to Prague anyway.”
Ouch.
Bronte moves, causing a sense of unease to slither down my spine when I realize he’s starting for the door. “Coming?”
Damn it.
I stride for the door because he can’t be serious. Bronte is not going to let me go after he tricked me into marrying him, brought me to Prague, and requested New Year’s to make my final decision.
There’s no way.
None.
However, the door is open when I turn the corner. Bronte is holding the knob as he patiently waits for me to waltz through.
And it feels like a prison sentence going back to Bobby.
The thought of going downstairs and seeing his face makes me sick to my stomach. But something inside wants to continue forward.
To test us both.
If I see Bobby, I might scream.
I might slap him across the face and leave him in the lobby because there’s zero way I’m going anywhere with him.
But I want to see if Bronte would let me.
I wish to see if he’s going to give me free rein to make my own choice, while his brother’s ego believes I’m going to flip sides to what is familiar or if we’re even going to make it to the elevator.
I enter the hallway and only have to walk a few feet to the elevator. Bronte’s behind me, I can feel his broodiness emitting from his frame as I push the button for the thing to arrive.
And it doesimmediately.
Shit.
The doors slide open, prompting my curiosity to either fuck this all up or walk into a bigger issue for the night.
Like I said, seeing Bobby would be like throwing myself down a flight of stairs for the hell of it. It’ll hurt all the way down, I’ll chastise myself for not being more careful and regret the aftermath.
Nonetheless, my stubborn feet enter the small space with Bronte on my heels to test my theory of howfarmy husband is going to allow me to get away with this.
So far, he’s acting like it’s no big deal and can't wait to be rid of me.
Wedging myself into the corner, I bitch at myself for doing this in the first place because a Christmas movie and baking cookies sounded really nice.
It was sweet.
And I’m being the biggest and most ungrateful piece of crap right now.
