How considerate of you!Or… is this an opening? Is he hoping to join me in the tub?
“OK,” I say slowly. “Sure.”
He disappears into the bathroom, and seconds later, I hear the sound of water running.
I’m still wondering what he’s up to when he peeks out. “All set.”
“That’s very sweet of you.” I pad across the soft carpet into the prettily tiled room.
He wipes his hands on a towel. “Enjoy!”
And then he steps out and closes the door behind him.
Oh. So, not an opening after all.
The tub calls to me, steam curling up invitingly. I peel my dress off, tie my hair into a high bun and slide in. There’s nothing like a hot, rose-scented bath to wash away the tension from the day.
What’s that sound on the other side of the door?
I strain my ears. Footsteps. A chair scraping against the floor. Drawers opening and closing.
What is he doing out there?Rearranging the furniture? Looking for something? A condom? The idea makes me smile, and then wonder.
Am I prepared for intimacy if that’s what’s on his mind?I don’t think so. We haven’t even kissed yet.
Would I like us to kiss?
Yes. That was my revenge plan all along—me and my hot new husband kissing on camera, Mike watching our passionate kiss at home and hitting himself.
Except, if Antoine kisses me now, Mike won’t see it.
Do I care?
I feel like I should.
But I don’t.
Fifteen minutes later, I dry off, comb my hair and wrap myself in a fluffy white bathrobe. When I reenter the bedroom, Antoine is standing by the window, looking out. He’s unbuttoned the cuffs of his cheap shirt and rolled the sleeves up.
He turns to face me. “Wow, you look reborn!”
“It was a great idea,” I say, plonking myself onto the bed.
“Water is a miracle worker when you’re tense.”
I scoot to the headboard, lean on the pillows and stretch my legs. “You must be tense, too, unless you’re used to cameras filming your every word and move.”
“Not at all. I’ll take a shower later.” He pours us some more wine. “Tension and fatigue aside, do you like being filmed? Do the cameras make you feel like a celebrity?”
I grimace. “I dislike the cameras more than the hiking—and I dislike hikinga lot.”
He smiles that boyish smile of his. I try not to gawk.
“We should finish this rosé, shouldn’t we?” he says, handing me my glass.
His fingers brush mine before he pulls his hand back and sits down next to me on the bed, his back against the headboard and his legs stretched out. He’s close enough for a quiet conversation, but too far for more.
I raise my glass. “To our escape!”
