"Mmm." She stepped closer, fingers walking up my chest, leaving trails of heat through my shirt. "Too busy for me? That's criminal." She leaned in, lips brushing my ear. "We should have more fun. My place is ten minutes away."
This was the script. This was where I said yes, where I let her lead me out of the party and into my car and back to her apartment. Where I’d lose myself for a few hours in something physical and uncomplicated.
But then for some stupid reason, I asked, "Have you ever thought about getting married?"
The words came out before I could stop them.
She pulled back. Blinked. "What?"
"Marriage." I heard myself continuing, like I was watching from outside my own body. "Settling down. Being serious about someone."
She stared at me for a second, then threw her head back and laughed. When she looked at me again, there were tears in her eyes. "Are you drunk?"
"Stone cold sober."
"Then you're having a breakdown." She shook her head. "Xavier Dubois doesn't do serious. That's why I like you." Her hand flattened against my chest, pressing gently. "Drop it. Let's go back to my place, and I'll help you forget whatever existential crisis you're having."
It seemed I was full of stupid decisions tonight, because instead of letting her take the lead, I said, "What if I did? What if I wanted to be serious? With you? What if we…"
She kissed me.
It was meant to shut me up, and for a moment it worked. Her lips were soft and insistent, her body pressed against mine, and I let my hands find her waist on instinct. This was familiar. This was easy. This was the Xavier Dubois everyone expected.
But my heart wasn't in it.
I went through the motions, kissed her back, but I felt nothing. And the part of me that would have twitched by now was oddly calm.
When she pulled back, her eyes searched my face. Whatever she found there made her frown. "Call me when you're fun again." She stepped away, smoothing her dress. "This version of you is kind of depressing."
I watched her disappear into the crowd and ran a frustrated hand through my hair. What the hell was happening to me?
"Did she just reject you?" Isaac materialized at my side, eyebrows climbing toward his hairline. "That might be a first. Did I just witness history? Should I mark this date on my calendar?"
I was in a bad mood already. "I'm leaving."
"What? It's barely midnight."
I was already walking toward the elevator, weaving through the crowd, ignoring the voices calling my name.
The elevator ride down was quiet. The lobby was quieter. My car was waiting where the valet had left it.
I took the long way home. I needed the time to clear my head and figure out what the hell I was going to do about this unfair ultimatum. I was running out of time. And I was still in the very same spot I’d been three months ago.
No romantic prospects whatsoever.
Damn it. If Grandmother took another property off my inheritance, then I might just call it.
I hadn't expected this to be so difficult. I was Xavier Dubois. I was a catch, supposedly. Women had been throwing themselves at me since I'd hit puberty. I'd spent my twenties drowning in attention, in options, in the absolute certainty that I could have anyone I wanted whenever I wanted them.
So why, now that I actually needed someone, did every woman in Manhattan seem to be running in the opposite direction?
Maybe it was the desperation. Women could smell that, couldn't they? The difference between wanting them and needing them. B-something had sensed it immediately.
Great. Wonderful. Excellent feedback.
I still hadn’t figured it out when I walked into my apartment. It was dark when I walked in. No grandmother lurking in the shadows, thank God.
I stripped off my jacket and dropped it on a chair. Poured a whiskey I didn't want. Stood at the window and watched the lights and felt the walls closing in.
