“Great,” she says without a trace of enthusiasm. “Then I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks. I should let you get back to your pasta.”
“Right. Yeah,” she says. “Have fun.”
“I will.”
When I get off the phone, I sit staring around the plush white carpet and the large windows that are so clean you could eat off of them—well, if they weren't upright, that is.
The ball of tension in my gut has now tripled in size. As much as I can't admit it to anyone else, there’s a tiny part of me that’s worried I may be within range of serious heartbreak. Honestly, I’m a little freaked out that Imay, in fact, want the full meal deal—the marriage and the kids and the falling asleep next to each other every night, and sipping coffee together in the morning, and getting irritated with him for leaving the toilet seat up, and the knowing he's mine every damn day for good. But knowing him the way I do, I don’t think he’s going to want any of that. And it’s not like I can admit to him thatIwant it. Not after pretending I’m totally supportive of his ‘lone wolfiness.’ I can’t be that girl that suddenly says, ‘I love you just the way you are, now change everything.’ I can’t even be the girl who says ‘I love you’ because he doesn’t believe in love. Dammit. Why did I get on this plane?
32
Operation Ruin Your Chance at Happiness
Pierce
I am currently sitting in the back of a limo parked just off the tarmac at the private flight hangar of the Valcourt International Airport. It's an unseasonably cold, grey November morning, and I find myself wishing it were warm and sunny for Emma's arrival. I glance at my watch for the third time in under a minute, bouncing my knee with nervous energy. After months of no contact, I've made a leap of faith that for some reason feels absolutely right.
If all goes well, by this time tomorrow, Emma and I will be celebrating our new future together with her as the head chef at Intermission, the top restaurant in all of Avonia, which I acquired last week. It's a prime piece of waterfront real estate that borders downtown Valcourt. The view of the North Sea is one of the best in the kingdom, and, better still, the kitchen was designed by the three-time CEDA Grand Prix Award winner, Johann Petersburg, who apparently in the culinary world is a pretty big deal. The front of house, as they call it in the business, is trendy and elegant, with a modern sleek design, and it has a rooftop terrace that allows patrons to enjoy the view along with their dinner on a warm day. It’s fully staffed, wildly popular, and is waiting for Emma to slide in and make it her own.
Once word gets out that I own it, it should be nearly impossible to get a reservation for years to come, especially becauseThe Fire of Knightscomes out next month, just in time for Christmas. Sullivan and Stone have pulled off a publishing miracle, pushing back all other publications by two weeks so they could do a rush print on the hardcover.
Speaking of Sullivan and Stone, that’s where we’re heading right after I show Emma Intermission. We’re meeting up with Gwen Sullivan to score Emma a book deal so Carib-Asian cuisine can become the best thing since sliced garlic bread fresh from the oven. Then, finally, I’ll whisk her over to my fortress of solitude so she and I can have incredible ‘we’re starting the most amazing life together and living our dreams’ sex non-stop for the next several weeks.
Yes! The plane is pulling up. I do a quick breath check and decide another Listerine melt-away is in order, even though I’ve used nearly an entire pack in the last ten minutes. I am pathetically nervous and excited. My heart feels like it’s going to pound right out of my ribcage and onto the car floor.
But, seriously, why should I be nervous? I’m about to give Emma everything she's ever wanted. How could she possibly say no?
* * *
As soon as the door to the plane opens, I get out of the limo and hurry to the bottom of the staircase. I get there in time to see her as she comes through the open doorway. Unable to wait any longer, I take the steps two at a time while she rushes down them. We meet in the middle, and I wrap my arms around her waist while she crushes my mouth with hers. We kiss like that soldier and nurse in the famous photo from after World War II. (Except not quite because I read somewhere that the nurse didn’t know him, didn’t expect him to kiss her, and totally wasn’t having it, whereas Emma is most certainly having this.) If it weren’t so bloody cold, we’d strip down right here and go for it on the stairs.
When we pull back, I say, “My God, you're beautiful. I almost forgot how stunning you are.” I kiss her again, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of her warmth against me and breathing in the scent of her skin.
“Thank you. I have to say, that greeting was worth flying halfway around the world for,” she says in a slightly breathy voice.
A particularly big gust of wind reminds me that she must be freezing, being in no way used to this kind of weather. I pull off my wool coat and wrap it around her shoulders. “Come on. Let's get you into the limo.”
“I won't argue with you on that one,” Emma says. “How about next time you come to me?” she asks, following me down the steps.
“I may have an even better idea,” I say as we hurry across the tarmac.
“What?” Emma asks.
“I'm afraid it’s more of a show than a tell sort of thing…”
We make out in the back of the limo the entire way to the restaurant. By the time we arrive, I've all but forgotten our destination and am now wishing I was taking her straight home so we could do all sorts of catching up without any further delay. But then I remind myself that the whole point of this is to show her this is more than just a fling. I’m going to give her everything she's ever desired, andthenget on with the sexy sex.
The limo stops in front of the darkened one-story brick building bearing a long black awning that reads “INTERMISSION” in muted gold letters. Through the large front windows, you can see the perfectly set empty tables waiting for patrons. Excitement overtakes me and I feel like this is the moment before the moment that will change my life forever. I look down at her with a wide smile, happiness bursting inside me.
“It doesn’t look like they’re open yet,” she says, turning to face me.
“You’re correct. They’re not.” I dig around in the pocket of the coat Emma is wearing and pull out the set of keys.
She stares at me, looking adorably confused and small in my wool jacket. “Did you rent it out so we can have a private meal?”
“Not exactly,” I say as I unlock the front door. Silence and warm air greet us when we walk inside. I lock the door behind us and flick on the lights. “This is considered the trendiest, best restaurant in all of Avonia. Everyone who’s anyone is seen here on Saturday night. It seats eighty inside and the rooftop patio seats another forty during the warmer months. The kitchen has been designed by Johann Petersburg. Have you heard of him?”
