Why are you nervous? You’ve come this far; you should let all those feelings of being a fraud and faking it go. Hell, most people are faking something nowadays.
Yes, I’ve come this far, but I’m nervous because I can’t ignore the very real feeling in my stomach I get whenever Tristan looks at me. Since that day in his room—no, let’s be honest here, since that morning I walked in on him in the bathroom—it’s like something old has been stirring, waking up slowly.
Tessa
Is it the fake engagement still eating you? Or is it the man himself?
My gaze finds Tristan as he makes his way to the business lounge’s exit.Damn. That ass.Faking anything will always eat at me, even faking a smile for guests. But Tristan nibbling me? I’d take that any day. The mere idea sparks a trail of pleasure down my spine. He’s been nothing but a gentleman and incredibly sweet in his efforts to nail his training. We’re a team and in this together. Problem is, I’ve always been a sucker for tall, dark, and handsome guys. And Tristan was the first, the prototype on which all my other romantic expectations were built.
My teenage infatuation never came to anything—pretty much the opposite of that—so it’s a bit much to realize that, five years on, I have the same nervous flutter in my stomach when Tristan looks my way. I have miles on me now and should know better than to let that intense gaze and sincere smile, that six-pack and pair of pecs turn me into a pile of mush. Never mind his arms and hands…Ugh. As long as we don’t touch, I can keepmyself in check. But on the last flight, I fell asleep with my head on his shoulder. Bad start to a business that’s already tainted.
Me
Nothing’s eating at me. I need to get there already. We get along and won’t be in each other’s way much. We don’t have time off during the contract. It’s full-on for twelve weeks. I have no clue how booked the hotel is. Maybe there’ll be a night or two with no guests. I hope so!
Tessa
Keep your eye on the goal, bestie, and you won’t cock up.
Wise words. What Tessa means by “cock up” is left open, though, and I can’t let my imagination go there. With a sigh I text that I’m off to have a shower. Then I head for the private bathrooms and sign in with the hostess. Half an hour later, I’m done and feel ready for the next leg of our trip. As I return to the lounge, I spot Tristan. He’s sitting in another set of twin seats, in the vicinity of where we sat before.
“You were right,” I say as I park my bag next to his. “Best shower ever.” I’ve never traveled in style like this before, but Tristan has for sure.
As I sit down, I glance at the two fresh glasses of Prosecco on the small circular table between the two seats. “Is one for me?”
“Yes.” His eyes bore into to mine, but then he looks away, sweeping his gaze over the room. A smile hovers on his lips. “I have something for you.” This time he pins me with those warm brown eyes I could practically melt into, leans forward, and takes my hand.
“What?” My gut tells me something is about to happen that I’m not prepared for. And didn’t I just decide things would be easier if Tristan didn’t touch me, and I didn’t touch him?
He slips his free hand into his pants pocket, pulls out a small, robin’s-egg blue box, and flicks it open with his thumb. “We still have time to change it if the size isn’t right.” He drags his teeth over his bottom lip. “Or if you totally hate it, of course.”
I tense as a hot blush spreads like wildfire over my face. My heart is all over the place, but mostly it’s hammering in my throat. “What did you buy?”
But I already know what he bought. He holds out the open box and a small but dazzling solitaire sparkles up at me.
Anengagementring.Holy Mother of God and all the saints in a row.
“I know we’re doing this for the show, and after the time at Ne’emba we’ll go our separate ways, but I don’t want you to feel—” He breaks off and blinks, looking shy. Our hands quiver. “Lexi, I know we never plan to say vows or anything, and I’m the last guy to put a ring on a woman’s finger, but I can’t go in pretending without you having this.”
Oh my God.“I…” Words are trapped in my throat, unable to get past the rapid beating of my heart.
He brushes the pad of his thumb over my knuckles, and the tender touch makes my knees go weak as he waits for me to say something.
“The ring isn’t a fake,” he says softly. “I know how you feel about doing this, and getting you a real ring is the least I can do.” He gives a deprecating chuckle as his gaze jumps between my eyes and our hands. “Crap. This could make you feel worse, not better. I seem to be good at doing that…” When I still say nothing, he lets go of my hand and takes the ring out of its box. “Here, let’s at least check it for size.”
The moment is surreal. Tristan’s skin is warm and rough against mine. He slips the ring on my finger, and a rather sensual tingle spreads through my body. Because his touch is intimate—slow and deliberate.
“There.” He releases my hand, and suddenly my palms are all sweaty.
“You shouldn’t have,” I finally manage as I meet his gaze. “At the airport, of all places.”
“I didn’t have time before, and it bugged me. This is our last chance.” He smiles. “Do you like it?”
What a question. This is no ordinary engagement ring. It’s aTiffany. “You’re crazy,” I murmur. “But God, I love your type of crazy.”
He laughs. “You like it then.”
“I love it.” I touch the ring and feel it for fit, and it sits just right, as if he knows my fingers, my hand, my body. “It’s perfect.”
