Page 21 of Marrying Mr. Wentworth (Austen Hunks #3)

Twenty minutes later — Christopher

“ E verything okay in there?” came Christopher’s voice from the hallway.

Meg and Ellie had left, and I was still agonizing over what Ellie had said. Now Christopher was at my door.

“Peachy,” I called back. One thing was certain. I needed to stop drinking alcohol. No good could come from it. I grabbed a cherry soda and cracked it open with the kind of focus usually reserved for disarming bombs.

“Are you pacing?”

I immediately stopped pacing. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

I opened the door with a stare sharp enough to pierce Kevlar. “I got a drink from the minibar. You want to make that a federal offense too?”

He raised his hands. “Just making sure you’re okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Because you almost kissed me earlier.”

“What?” I turned immediately so he couldn’t see my face go red. He followed me into the room and the door shut behind him.

I perched on the edge of the ridiculous pink-and-gold couch and took a long sip of my cola. He sat on the opposite end, relaxed, infuriatingly confident, legs stretched out like he had all the time in the world and knew I’d break first.

“So…” he said casually, “do you want to talk about earlier?”

I glared at him. “There is no earlier.”

His brows lifted. “I’m pretty sure I was there.”

I leaned forward. “Let me explain how this works. I float too close in the pool, you get some eye contact, maybe a shared moment of nostalgia and—poof—suddenly you think we’re about to rekindle some destiny-fueled romance.”

“I mean…yeah,” he said with a shrug.

“Look,” I growled, “just because you looked vaguely charming doesn’t mean I was going to kiss you.”

His grin deepened. “Vaguely charming. That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me in a decade.”

“I was being generous. ”

“So generous,” he said, nodding solemnly. “The humanitarian work continues.”

I rolled my eyes, took another sip, and pointed my nose in the air. “It meant nothing.”

“Sure,” he said, leaning back like he was trying not to smirk. “Totally meaningless. That’s why you practically climbed out of the pool like you’d just touched an electric fence.”

“I didn’t want to get sunburned.”

He tilted his head. “Right. Nothing says ‘I’m emotionally unaffected’ like a full-body sprint away from a kiss that didn’t happen.”

That was it. I was going to throw something.

My soda. The room key. Possibly myself off the balcony.

“Just admit it,” he said, voice suddenly quiet. “It did mean something. And it scared you.”

I went still.

His eyes were on mine now, serious. Steady.

Too honest. Too knowing.

“I’m not scared,” I said.

“Then prove it.”

I narrowed my eyes. “How?”

“Have dinner with me tonight. Just us.”

A slow, skeptical blink. “Like a date?”

“Like a married couple who can’t avoid each other for another twenty-four hours,” he said. “And who could both use a meal and a ceasefire.”

I wanted to say no.

I should’ve said no.

But my mouth said, “Fine. One dinner. That’s it.”

He smiled like he’d just won a game I didn’t even know I was playing.

“It still meant nothing,” I added.

“Sure,” he said, as he stood and walked to the door. “That’s why you’re still talking about it.”

He didn’t look back.

And I was already losing.