My hair is straightened and then I go to the garment bag. The dress Mindy sent is floral, floor-length, and satin with a slitthat goes nearly to my crotch. The upper part of it is a corset, one that has my rack on display in a way evenI’mnot sure about.
“Bex,” Theo shouts. “We have to be down there in five minutes.”
“Ugh,” I groan. “Fine.”
I finish my makeup quickly and then emerge from the room, a big heap of awkward.
It’s our wedding day all over again—me making a ton of effort for something he thinks is a big fucking joke. Something I’msupposedto think is a joke but no longer do. Not as much as I should.
I’ve never cared about someone’s opinion of my appearance. It’s that Idocare about his that’s making this unbearable.
Theo is on the couch, already in a tux—lovely, suave, slightly in need of a shave. His gaze locks on mine for a moment too long.
“I feel silly,” I announce before he can make fun ofme.
He swallows as he rises. “You’re stunning.”
I fight a pleased smile. It means more to me than any compliment I’ve ever received.
We’re taken by car to the Eiffel Tower. Theo shepherds me through the crowd and onto the elevator, and we ascend to the viewing platform, where Lars is already set up to film us watching the sunset.
From this height, the city resembles one of those miniature replicas, the Seine curving like a ribbon through it, the roads running in perfect diagonals from the Arc de Triomphe, like the spokes of a wheel from its axis.
I wish I could have come here with Theo alone. I wish that instead of pretending to enjoy it, we couldactuallyenjoyit.
The cameras are annoying, but even worse is the guide who accompanies the experience. She tells us how many meters high the tower is, among other things I don’t care about. Fortunately,the champagne seems to be unlimited, a bribe to keep us listening.
And by the time she’s done…it’s possible I’ve had a lot of champagne.
“Okay, let’s get you guys doing a toast and then we’re out of here,” says Lars.
I grin at Theo. “What are we toasting to?”
Theo grins. “Unconsummated marriages? They seem to be the best kind.”
“Sex would definitely ruin it,” I reply, and his gaze catches mine.
Is he thinking the same thing I am…that it would be interesting to put that to the test?
“Guys, let’s do that again,” Lars says. “Fewer references to consummating marriage this time.”
We clink our glasses together.
“To marriage,” I announce, “which isn’t nearly as terrible as I’d anticipated.”
He sips from his glass. “Almost pleasant, at times.”
“Okay, kiss and we can call it a night,” Lars says.
I glance up at Theo. Yes, we kissed this morning, we kissed in Italy, we kissed at our wedding. I’m not sure why this one feels different. As if it matters.
He leans down, spreading his palm along my jaw.
I want that hand to stay right where it is—on my face, pushing back into my hair—as his mouth presses to mine.
I want to keep gripping his jacket so I can remain on my toes, seeking that mouth, not ready to let this end. I want to hold his quiet, surprised exhale inside me forever.
“Well done, guys,” says Lars. “Extremely convincing. You’re finished for the night. Go enjoy Paris.”
