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“Okay.” I place the cloth napkin on my lap, stalling for time. “What’s going on?”
“Well, according to Dad, it looks like we’ve finished our job of convincing everyone we’re happily married. We don’t need to go anywhere else or take more pictures.”
“Oh.” He had me meet him out here to tell me it’s over? What am I going to do now?
A wrinkle forms between his brows. “I thought you’d be happy.”
I nod, but it’s too shaky to be believable.
“You didn’t even like attending those events,” he says, clearly at a loss for why my lower lip is suddenly trembling.
“You’re right,” I manage to choke out, a tightness settling in my chest.
“Am I missing something here?”
A fat tear rolls down my cheek and I hastily sweep it away before he sees it. I need to get myself under control. I knew in my gut this day was coming, despite his reassurances otherwise. “Everything’s fine.”
He grabs hold of my wrist before I can wipe the next tear away. “Serena, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to leave,” I whisper.
“What?”
I swallow hard, little knives already inside my throat. “I want to stay with you.”
He stares at me, his brows furrowed down, and just as he opens his mouth, another woman enters the room, presumably our server.
“Can you give us five minutes?” he asks her before she even approaches the table.
She glances between us and nods, backing out without a word.
He moves his hand up to cover mine, and I grasp onto the lifeline he offers, not caring if it’s only a temporary comfort. “What else do you want?” His voice is soft, soothing, but I can’t tell if it’s meant merely to placate me or because he genuinely wants to know.
I set aside the churning of my stomach, the tight band across my ribs, focusing on his question.What do I want?There’s a pull inside me to confess, to tell him everything. I’m tired of hiding it. And at this point, what do I have to lose?
“I want to keep bringing you your Scotch every night.” To feel needed, appreciated by someone. “And watch funny shows with you again and hear you laugh. It’s so rare.” I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of hearing his deep chuckle.
“What else?”
I brush the back of my free hand across my cheeks, the wetness there mortifying. I close my eyes so I don’t have to look at his serious face anymore. “I want to have dinner together every night and go to sleep in your bed.” It’s like the words are being ripped from me somehow, needing to come out. “I want to wake up wrapped up in your arms. I want to see the way you look at me when I wear sexy lingerie for you.”
His grip on my hand tightens, but he stays silent. Every part of me is screaming to run out of here right now and stop making a fool of myself, but how will he know how I feel if I never tell him?
“I want to belong somewhere. With you. I want us to be together. For real.”
His hand slides up my arm until it’s cupping my jaw, and I cautiously open my eyes, finding him watching me, an unreadable look in his eyes.
“Did you think I was telling you I wanted to end things?”
“You said we’re finished.”
“With the pictures and pointless events. Not with each other.” His thumb sweeps across my cheek and over my lower lip, a rush of longing running through me. “I’m not finished with you. Not even close.”
“Really?”
He nods seriously.
“I want a dog too,” I blurt out, the thought coming from nowhere.