Coffee sounds good. Food, however, does not. I may never eat again.
Paisley rises, pulling Klein up with her. "Let's leave these two alone. I'm sure they have some big emotions to work through and they don't need an audience."
Klein wraps an arm around Paisley's waist as they head for the door. "Meet us in the lobby in an hour."
"An hour?" Paisley squawks. "But?—"
"Don't worry, Ace, I'm going in search of coffee for you right now."
Ugh. Klein is so good to her. Which is great, obviously, but alsoew. I can't take it at the moment. The hotel room door opens, and they disappear through it.
Quiet falls around the room, but it is so loud, bouncing off the vacated seats, careening from the unremarkable picture on the wall. Finally, I drag my eyes to Dom, still sitting at the end of the bed. Hunched shoulders, hand on his forehead, thumb rubbing circles over his temple.
"So..." I don't have anything else to say. I'm reeling, stunned, stumped.
Dom turns around, propping one bent knee on the bed, eyebrows raised. "Guess you're my wife for the weekend."
Wife.
Absolutely not.
The memory trickles in, making me hot and uncomfortable.Dom's mouth on mine to conclude the short ceremony. A searching kiss, extracting from me a response I should have been embarrassed by.
Anger flares, not at the annoyingly handsome face of the man looking at me, but directed inward. And that anger makes me uncomfortable. Hot. On edge.
"I'm not your wife," I grit.
I know Dom doesn't find this funny, but his good-naturedtake it in strideexpression fades. A muscle in his jaw clenches. "You are, actually. That is a fact, plain and simple, and wishing for it to be untrue won't make it less true."
Dom strides, long-legged and lean, to the closet. He opens it and reaches in, producing my yellow dress.
"Did you hang that?" I ask.
"Someone had to," he responds irritably. "You left it in a puddle on the bathroom floor."
Great. My dress is wet. I have to wear that thing out of here. "Why was there water on the ground?"
"Not literally," he mutters. "You took it off and it puddled at your feet." He mimes pulling something down his body and letting it go, and I guess the ending to the motion is that it wouldpuddle.
"I'm sure you'd like to go to your room and get ready for brunch," he says, tossing the garment on the bed.
He disappears into the bathroom, door closing softly behind him.
I have been kicked out. Summarily dismissed. I don't blame him. I would've done the same. Still, it rankles me. I want to be mad at him. If I'm not mad at him, I have to look too closely at my part in all this, and I don't want to.
I shuck the shirt, don the dress, and find last night's heels lined up in the closet. Wincing as I step into them, I step jerkily to the bathroom door, saying with a raised voice, "See you at brunch, Satan's Errand Boy."
His answering sigh is so loud I hear it through the door. "Unfortunately so, Menace."
Menace? I like it. Has a ring to it.
Threading my arm through my purse straps, I pass the closet. The shirt Dom wore last night, the one he had to purchase so we'd be allowed into the club, hangs neatly from the rod.
The soft fabric glides smoothly off the wood hanger. I toss it over my shoulder. Behind me, the soft sound of fabric hitting the ground. Then I exit the room, my feet complaining with every step.
This is my first walk of shame, and it is one for the record books.
CHAPTER 8
