Page 26

TWENTY-SIX

Blake

THE LOOK on Ella’s face when we walk into the dining room is worth every hour of planning and every pound I’ve spent. If I could bottle up her smile for all my dark days, I’d be sitting under sunny skies needing sunscreen. Her eyes are unblinking as she takes in her surroundings. The room is filled top to bottom with floral arrangements, featuring the same flowers I’d brought to her earlier. It rivals the Royal Botanic Gardens in Kew. I’ve never bought a woman besides my sister flowers before, so this is a first for me.

“How did you—” Her face crumples into a scowl. “Wait. Did you just assume I’d come to dinner with you? Is that why you were wearing a tuxedo?”

“Josie told me I’d look more distinguished and serious in a tux,” I admit with a chuckle. I don’t mention that she also canceled their dinner plans tonight, so I knew Ella would be available. “And it’s been like this since Wednesday.”

I cashed in a lot of favors to get celebrity floral designer Paolo Berlusconi to bring my vision to life. Well, my vision was filling the room with a ton of flowers. Paolo’s vision was to bring Ella’s personality to life through flowers. He’s used to creating floral installations for celebrity events and royal weddings, so this was a walk in the park for him. Lucas claims I’ve cleared out every flower in the entire country to make this possible. He may not be wrong, but I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I’d chosen yellow tulips for how happy she makes me, purple hyacinths for forgiveness (and it’s her favorite color), amaryllis for her beauty inside and out, and white camellia for affection and adoration.

Ella walks around the room slowly, her amazement growing. She keeps glancing back at me, confirming she’s not imagining everything and that I’m still there. Convincing the hotel manager to shut down the dining room for the past week was no easy feat. And then making them put every table but one in storage so Paolo could work his magic … I don’t think McAllister will be allowed to stay here ever again.

“They’re beautiful, Blake.”

“You’re worth it.”

She stays silent as we make our way over to the sole table in the center of the room. She’s in boxer shorts and a sweatshirt with mismatching socks peeking out of her hotel slippers. Her hair’s in a haphazard bun and she’s not wearing an ounce of makeup. She’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.

I love that she didn’t feel the need to change into something different. It was me who had to insist on changing for dinner. We’d been in the elevator down with a group of girls who looked like they were going out for a night at the club. They’d given Ella a not-so-subtle once-over and she couldn’t have cared less. She even complimented one of their purses.

She’s unapologetically herself and that might just be the sexiest thing about her.

There’s a McDonald’s Diet Coke waiting for her when she sits down. Finding Diet Coke instead of Coke Zero in Europe was a challenge; finding a McDonald’s Diet Coke instead of Coke Zero … nearly bloody impossible. But Ella says their “pop” is superior to all other forms—plastic bottles, glass bottles, aluminum cans (both mini and full-sized), liters—so that’s what I got. There’s a ranking system I’m completely unaware of because I don’t drink soda.

I don’t need to see Ella’s legs to know she’s sitting cross-legged. She happily sips on her drink as four waiters come out from the kitchen carrying trays of food. I wait patiently. They set down spinach artichoke dip, matzo ball soup, spaghetti and meatballs, garlic and parmesan roasted smashed potatoes, cornbread, and every single flavor of ice cream known to mankind. Two appetizers, one main, two sides, and dessert.

Her face lights up, making the hundreds of flowers look dull in comparison. It sends a jolt of warmth straight into my stone-cold heart.

“My death-row meal for when I’m sad,” she says softly.

It sounds ridiculously morbid out loud. As if this colorful room is really a ruse for a hidden electric chair.

“Can we just call it your favorite meal? ‘Death-row meal’ sounds entirely unromantic.”

“Nope.”

Her eyes move back and forth between me and the food like ping-pong paddles during an intense game.

“You were right when you said I was too blind to see what was right in front of me”—I break the silence—“but I really hope I’m not too late.”

She rests her cheeks in her palms. “What’s changed, Blake? Because a month ago you were dead set on staying single. I meant it when I said I can’t do casual with you.”

I nervously push my fork around in the pasta. Inhale. Exhale. Ella puts her spoon down on the table, giving me her full attention. Knowing I beat out matzo ball soup pushes me forward.

“You know how I said my mum left when I was a kid?”

Ella nods but stays quiet.

“I-I guess I always felt like it was my fault or something I did, y’know? Then my dad pretty much gave up on being a parent, so I always thought something must be really wrong with me if neither of them wanted to be in my life. It was easier to push you away than pull you close because I didn’t want you to realize what they both did. That I wasn’t good enough or worth sticking around for … then you’d leave too.”

Ella gazes at me softly, her head tilted slightly to the left. “Of course you’re good enough, Blake,” she says affectionately.

“Am I?” I shrug. “Couldn’t get two parents to stay and they’re the ones who are supposed to love you unconditionally.”

The beautiful girl in front of me is out of her chair faster than I can ask her what she’s doing. Ella curls up in my lap and snakes her arms around my waist, squeezing me tight. I feel like a ton of bricks has been lifted off my back. My arms instinctively wrap around her, pulling her against me. It’s a puzzle piece finally falling into place.

“It’s ridiculous how enough you are, Blake Hollis.”

Her words calm my rapid heartbeat. Ella’s a terrible liar and right now her face is completely open and honest. I intertwine my fingers behind her back, keeping her close.

“My sister hired a private investigator to look for our mum last year,” I admit slowly. “After having kids of her own, she wanted to understand how she could just up and leave us like that. I know my dad wasn’t the greatest guy, but to leave us ? Just didn’t make sense.”

“Did she find her?” she asks gently.

“Turns out she’s remarried and lives just outside London. Even has a few stepkids. All this time, she was less than a three-hour drive away but never tried to reconnect.” I take a moment to collect myself. “I always held out this ridiculous hope that she’d show up and apologize, ask how we’re doing, say she’s proud of us, and want to have some sort of relationship. Now I realize how terribly pathetic that was.”

“It’s not pathetic,” Ella answers. “Not at all.”

I’m not sure I can even get words out. The air feels too thick to swallow.

“We reached out to her,” I say after a minute of silence. “Want to know how that went?”

Ella rubs the back of my neck, her fingers expertly massaging out the tension that’s building.

“She’s glad we’re both happy and well, but she doesn’t think reconciliation is in her best interest,” I whisper. “She only wants to focus on the future, not the past. The past, meaning us. As if we’re not important. Like we’re collateral damage or something.”

“Look at me.” Ella places her hands on either side of my face. “Anyone who doesn’t fight to have you in their lives is a damn fool, okay?”

I nod slowly, not sure how to tell her that those words mean more to me than anything. “It really fucked with me and that’s why last year … ” My words trail off.

“It’s okay,” she tells me. The sigh I release is grateful; I really don’t want to dive further into what a mess I was. “I figured something happened. I just didn’t know what.”

“Then you come along and you’re all smiles and sarcasm and sweet and sexy. And it scared the shit out of me how much I liked you, how much I wanted you to like me. I’ve been scared of falling for you, and you breaking my heart. I’d be lying if I said it still doesn’t scare me. But what we have is real and special and yeah, pretty fucking scary, but not having you in my life is even scarier. I’m ready to admit how much you mean to me. I’m still working through a lot of shit, but I want to do it so I can be the guy you deserve.”

“And you’re sure you don’t just want a fuck buddy?”

Her voice sounds nervous, like I’m going to suddenly change my mind. It may have taken me an extra few weeks to realize it, but now I’ve never been so sure of something.

“I promise you I don’t want casual. Or friends with benefits, or no strings attached. I want so many strings attached we’ll look like marionettes.”

I can see the bottled-up doubt inside her fading away. “Or a tangled-up ball of yarn.”

“There’s a lot of shit I don’t know, but I do know for certain my life’s better with you in it.”

Ella suddenly scrunches up her nose. “Dating your biographer isn’t going to be good for your image.”

“It’ll look better than me humping and dumping my biographer,” I point out. “I’m not worried about how you’ll affect my image, El.”

“What if we get into a fight and I write mean things about you?” she argues. “I bet you’ll worry then.”

It takes every ounce of control I have not to roll my eyes at her. “Ella, are you seriously playing devil’s advocate to try and convince me to not want to be with you? It won’t work, love. I’m all in.”

She bites her lip. “Then I’m all in too.”

Happiness spreads through me like nirvana, releasing me from the past month of stress and worry. Ella tips her head up, looking at me with those sparkling eyes. She rewards me with one of her stomach-flipping smiles. Knowing it’s because of me? Better than winning a damn Grand Prix.

The air crackles with electricity as I cup her jaw, searing my lips to hers, kissing her with all the words I can’t say, but need her to know. To think I almost missed out on this. No-holds-barred kisses just as pure as her heart and dirty as her mind leave me wanting more no matter how much I have already. If I wasn’t such a gentleman, I’d have Ella out of her clothes and on the table by now.

“You have no idea how badly I want you.”

I’m aching with need, the bulge in my pants impossible to ignore.

“Here’s the thing.” Ella shoots me a mischief-ridden look. “You have no idea how badly I want to finish that matzo ball soup.”

The force of my sudden laughter knocks my head back. I’m not sure if I should be offended or not. Ella’s commentary used to throw me off my game, but now that I don’t need any game, I can just enjoy it. She leans into my chest, the weight of her like a security blanket, then leisurely kisses a trail down my cheeks, my neck, my jaw.

“It tastes just like my grandma’s recipe.”

I groan. “Can you not talk about your nan right now?”

She smacks my arm playfully, happily dipping a pita “chip” in spinach artichoke dip. The chip versus fry and crisp versus chip issue has reached a standstill.

“It is your grandma’s recipe, by the way.”

The chip drops out of her mouth and onto the plate. She doesn’t seem to notice. Her face changes rapidly from surprise to confusion, not staying on one for too long before jumping to the other.

“What? How?”

“I asked.” I’m enjoying this way too much. “Your mum requested me on Facebook a while back and I accepted. I sent her a message asking for it.”

Mrs. Gold didn’t believe it was me. I guess Ella told her there was no way it was my real Facebook, so when I asked for the recipe via messenger, she wanted proof it was actually the Blake Hollis. So we FaceTimed. I spent about thirty minutes explaining what an idiot I’d been and once she seemed satisfied that I was serious about Ella, she gave me the recipe.

“I seriously can’t believe you did all of this.”

“Believe it, baby.” I grin, undisguised charm weaving its way through my words. “I’m down to finish dinner, but can we take the dessert to go? I can think of a few more ways to show you how sorry I am.”

Her bubbly laugh vibrates through the otherwise quiet room. It sends a burst of warmth straight through my veins. If I could mainline the sound, I’d happily stay high for the rest of my life.