They won’t fit. There’s too many to process. I swing from ecstasy to regret in the space of seconds and all I want is to take things one step at a time instead of tumbling headlong down the stairs.
And now I can’t even get a clear view of this beautiful man without him staring back at me. Annoying. “Could you stop looking at me, please?”
“I’m only looking at you because you keep turning my way.”
“It’s very hard to form a complete mental picture of my fiancé if he insists on staring back at me every time I glance in his direction.”
He leans over to take my hand from my lap, pressing a kiss to my palm—a tiny gesture that makes my stomach feel insane. My body remembers every touch he’s bestowed on me and clamours for more.
But the driver pulls the car to a halt, getting out to open my door before I’m ready. My cheek’s already ragged from being chewed the entire drive here and now I can feel my pulse fluttering high in my neck.
As I exit, Micah comes around to meet me and draws me closer to his side. His fingers link through mine and even that slight gesture makes me fall apart inside.
Inside the restaurant, he greets every person at every table by name. Men, women, children. They all get his dazzling attention. Within minutes, I’m introduced to so many people I can’t keep them straight.
Not that I need to. Micah’s attention to detail means that every time I fumble, he’s there to provide a name or title or list of connection points tying people together. With the same casual ease he used with me the first night, when I was ill, he effortlessly charms everyone in sight.
In their turn, the people I’m introduced to are welcoming. The constant patter of small talk eases me into their circles and I exchange compliments with so many people that soon I’m flush with praise.
No wonder he’s good at business. I wish I could sit back and watch him work, appreciate his style and manner without the strain of having to be good enough to stand by his side.
On the other hand, having his arm slung around my shoulder, being included in every conversation, asked for my opinion, seeing how he listens to my responses, is its own soft joy.
Meeting this many people should be overwhelming, leaving me strained and anxious. Instead, I feel a cheerful buzz and see how he engenders the same response in others, too.
Our seats are at the back of the restaurant, where the tables are on a raised platform. It means we can see everything and in return, everyone can see us.
I think of all the wives and girlfriends I’ve watched trailing their husbands over the years. Always a step or two behind, their children invisible.
Tonight, there’s none of that. Micah doesn’t hide me; he’s showing me off. Beaming with pleasure that I’m at his side. Telling everyone of importance that I’m worthy of their time and attention because I matter to him.
I make more connections in the space of the first two hours than I’ve made in the rest of my life.
“Is everyone so open all the time up here?” I ask when we’re close to finished with our meal. I give a small wave to Warren, who sits at a table nearer to the front of the restaurant, allowing him an unobstructed view of the entire space. “Back home, we’d never be so bold while out in public.”
“This isn’t public,” he confides to me, laying his hand over mine. “A member of the syndicate runs this place, so it’s no different to dining at the Quess’s restaurant.”
At the mention of Marigold’s surname, I feel a dent in my delight. For years, I don’t think I’ve gone more than a day without speaking with her or Gabriel. Now, suddenly, I’m disconnected from both. A bevvy of new acquaintances does little to bridge the gap.
“You have a phone, remember?” Micah says, reading my mind. “That’s how most people stay in touch.”
“And I’m allowed to text and phone her?” What I don’t say is she’s also Gabriel’s friend. It’s hard to imagine we can steer clear of referencing him in our conversation.
“You’re allowed to exercise your judgement.” He arches his eyebrow and leans close enough that his breath caresses my cheek. “Is there a reason you think I’d want you two to fall out of contact?”
“I don’t know.” My nose scrunches as I give him a mischievous grin. “You still haven’t finished telling me what is and isn’t allowed in our arrangement.”
“Ah, yes.” He buries his face in the side of my neck and growls, making me wish we were home, near a bed, wearing far less clothing, and minus the audience cutting glances our way. “If I remember correctly, you distracted me.”
“Idistractedyou?Funny, that’s not how I recall things going.”
“Terrible to lose your memory so young. But don’t worry, I’ll still care for you.”
“Do you?” The laughter falls away and my voice turns very small.
Micah puts a finger under my chin and tilts my head up and suddenly I don’t mind his eyes being glued to my face. Not when they’re full of this much heat, this much longing.
“Yes, I do. Very much.”
