Page 70 of Wedding or Not

“I fell asleep for ages!”

“It wasn’t that long. I wasn’t doing anything.”

“You weren’t?”

He cocks his head to the side. “No. I read and then dozed off a little while too.”

I perk up. “You did?”

“Yes, I did.” He laughs and pulls me into a half hug. “Only you, Ella, would get all anxious and guilty about taking a nap.”

The spa and dinner are just as good as they were yesterday. Once again, we eat at the dining table on the balcony, and the view and the evening air are incredible.

Tonight I feel a lot more rested.

I’m not going to fall asleep.

We finally get to have sex.

We sure as hell better, as far as I’m concerned.

I take another bath since it’s relaxing and I can make sure I’m fully clean, shaved, and fresh-smelling.

Then I put on another pretty nightgown—just as unsexy as the one I wore yesterday. Except this one is white with a little ruffle on the neckline and hem.

I don’t put on my bathrobe this evening.

Wes is on the couch again, working on his laptop, so I walk out so he can see me.

He glances over once and then focuses back on his laptop.

After a moment, as if his mind has caught up, he looks again.

Then again.

Then he stares.

He’s flushed slightly, and so am I.

I have no idea what to say, so I don’t say anything.

“So it’s on?” he asks.

Amusement bubbles out of me. “It’s on.”

He closes his laptop and jumps off the couch with remarkable speed. “I’m going to take a quick shower so I don’t stink. If you haven’t changed your mind by the time I come out, it’s definitely on.”

I don’t change my mind.

But I’m nervous and excited and jittery with a momentum that’s both emotional and physical, so I can’t stay still enough to get into bed. I pace from the mirror—to make sure my reflection is still pretty—to the window and then back again. Over and over again until I hear the shower turn off.

He definitely rushes through the process in there. It’s only six minutes before he’s coming out.

He’s wearing a pair of black boxer briefs. His body is lean and firm and attractive—long arms and legs, a mostly flat belly, and a scattering of hair on his chest and leading down beneath his waistband.

I take a ragged breath.

“Still good to go?” he asks, holding himself motionless.