A tiny tremor raced through him. It was wonderful to be in love.
* * *
It was nine-thirty, and Gideon couldn’t stop thinking about Fiona. He’d been a good companion this evening, making conversation, complimenting Rachel and her team—which was well-deserved—but now he was getting a bit antsy. He firmed his lips, jutting his chin out, just as Rachel turned to look up at him. He immediately rearranged his features into a more relaxed expression, but he saw the question in her eyes.
“I think I’d like to get some air,” she told him, squeezing his arm.
“All right.” He nodded to their companions while feeling mild surprise.
It was very unlike Rachel to want to leave the spotlight, but she seemed strangely unlike herself tonight, and he thought, in a moment of guilt, that perhaps she was annoyed with his lack of attention this evening.
Indeed, once they had stepped outside into the crisp autumn night, she looked up at him, scrutinizing him with sharp eyes.
“Are you all right tonight, Gideon?” she asked, slipping her hand from his arm and stepping back to look directly at him. “You’re so quiet.”
An easy smile crossed his face. “Just a bit distracted,” he responded. “I’m sorry if it was noticeable. I hope I didn’t make you feel awkward.”
“No, no. I know you’d rather be elsewhere. Thank you again for coming with me, even though things have changed. I know all of this talk about finances and awards and milestones can become tedious, but it’s going to be well worth it.”
A smile curved her red lips, reminding him how attractive he found her…when he wasn’t thinking about a redheaded woman with wildly curling hair. “I’m nearly ready to leave myself—I’ve already made my excuses. All I have to do is say goodnight to Blake, and we can go.”
“Great.” Though it seemed odd she was willing to cut the evening short, Gideon wasn’t about to question her desire to leave early.
Moments later, they were in his Mercedes, gliding silently through the streets of Grand Rapids.
“I hope you’ll come up for a drink,” Rachel commented idly as they pulled up to the valet parking at her high-rise condo not far from the river.
Gideon would have refused, but he felt more than a bit guilty about his distraction this evening—it was such an important night for her, and he’d been barely there. And it was early yet. Hardly past ten. “A quick one would be nice.”
Rachel was unusually silent in the elevator, and Gideon stood with his hands plunged into his pockets, staring at his gleaming black shoes as the car rose to the sixth floor, again, feeling the familiarity of the situation. Once inside her spacious condo, Gideon stripped off his tux jacket and loosened the hand-tied bow tie around his neck, stuffing it into one of his pockets.
Rachel was more deliberate: she slipped off her shoes and, tucking them under her arm, took off the one-carat diamond earrings she wore, gathering them into the palm of her hand.
“Help yourself,” she said unnecessarily—for Gideon had already made his way to the gleaming glass-topped bar to pour a short whiskey. He made her a drink as well—her usual dirty martini with a double-olive garnish.
As he turned back, absorbing the scene in which he was in the midst, realization zipped through him. They moved about with the ease and familiarity of an old married couple—he flinging his clothing on the sofa, she divesting herself of earrings and shoes without a thought for him as a guest. He helped himself to her bar, even going to far as to pour her regular drink.
It was a routine. It felt natural…yet it did not.
If he hadn’t met Fiona, would he have gone on along with this arrangement until his five-year-plan indicated it was time to get married?
And then would he have asked Rachel? Someone like her, for certain.
Ifhe hadn’t met Fiona.
Gideon took a large sip of whiskey, suddenly uncomfortable. Wordlessly, he handed Rachel her drink, then sank onto a thick leather chair, hanging his hands over his knees.
She took the glass, stirred it with her finger, then took a quick sip and set it on a nearby table. “I’m glad you came up,” she said, looking at him with a sudden intensity in her expression. “We need to talk.”
Oh Jesus.
Gideon’s head begin to pound and he took another drink. “Oh?” he replied belatedly, trying to keep an even expression on his face.
She raised her glass to her lips, sipped, and then, frowning, pulled it away. “Are you still seeing that redhead—Fiona? How’s it going?”
Gideon swallowed. What was she up to? “Things are fine. We’re seeing each other. Occasionally.”
Why he chose to downplay his relationship with Fiona wasn’t clear to him in that hazy moment, but perhaps it was merely an attempt to keep Rachel from feeling bad. The last thing he wanted was her crying on his shoulder again.
