“Probably. It’s a small town.” And Trey was one of the family.
“So?”
“So, nothing.”
“You two hook up at the wedding?”
Drunken Wedding Sex. “No.”
“But you did. Before.”
“One time. Three years ago.” I took a deep breath, steadying my knife against the die edge. “It’s over now.”
Over almost as soon as we started.
Paris, Then
I turned my head against the hem-stitched pillowcase. At some point during the night, after we made love for the second time (in front of the mirror, hello!), Trey had opened the balcony windows to let in thesoft Paris air. The morning light stole through the sheer under-curtains, bathing the room in a gauzy, golden filter.
He lay on his back beside me. I released a breath I hadn’t been aware I was holding. He was so beautiful. Those chiseled lips, those exaggerated hands, like Michelangelo’s David, all finely formed of smooth, thick marble. One sculpted arm was raised above his head, revealing the soft, black hair underneath. I hugged myself. He was not a statue. Not a fantasy. Theodore James Laurence III was next to me, in the flesh, in my bed. In his bed, which was ginormous, by the way.
My blood thickened in my veins, sweet and slow as honey. I was besotted with his body. I wanted to nuzzle his armpit, lick his collarbone, start at the top and work my way down. The way he had last night. The thought made me blush, heat flowing everywhere.
I’d had sex before. Not as much as my reputation suggested. But I’d resigned myself years ago to the fact that I would never have Trey. So I tried to have something. Normal relationships.
But Trey was different. Special. With Trey, there were all these feelings.
His eyes were still closed. He had thick, tangled lashes, ridiculous on a guy. When he looked at me with those hot, dark eyes—like he saw me, the real me, the grown-up Amy Curtis March, taking me with those eyes, making me hot and confused and happy—I felt special, too.
I shivered, overcome with lust and happiness.
Would he want me to go with him to Italy? There was nothing actually keeping me in Paris. No real job. No apartment. A brief regret surfaced at the thought of what I might be giving up. I stuffed it to the back of my mental closet like last year’s sweater. Momma said love meant thinking more about your relationship than your ego.
I would be happy with Trey anywhere, I decided. So. First Italy—Modena wasn’t exactly Rome or Florence, but maybe he would agree to a side trip—and then home to tell the family. What would Meg think? What would our mother say? What would Jo...
My mind skittered. Well. Jo was in New York, pursuing the career of her dreams. I probably wouldn’t see her until she came home for Christmas. Surely by then we all would have had time to get used to the idea of Trey and me?
She’d probably be my bridesmaid. All my sisters would be bridesmaids. If part of me recognized that planning my wedding after one night of sex (fabulous, amazing, rock-my-world sex) was a little premature, I reminded myself that this was Trey, after all. I’d loved him all my life. Family was important to him.
I could give him family. He could have mine.
The thought made me feel warm and mushy inside. He was practically one of us already. I pictured him asking to speak to Daddy, imagined finally having my father’s approval, and melted a little more.
I reached out my finger, trailing my touch along Trey’s lovely arm. Tracing his beautiful mouth.
His lips curved in a smile. His gaze, warm and sleepy, met mine. He murmured, “Jo.”
I froze. The warm puddle inside me turned to icy slush. “What did you say?”
His eyes opened fully. “What?”
“You called me ‘Jo.’”
“I... What? No. It was a mistake.”
“You bet your ass it was.” I scrambled off the bed, almost falling on my butt in my eagerness to get away.Shit. I was naked. Exposed. I snatched at the top sheet.
“Amy, I’m sorry.” He sat up, the sheet falling away. “I didn’t mean it. It didn’t mean anything.”
