Page 16 of Take 2
Chapter Fourteen
“H appy Mother’s Day!”
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Mom says from the other side of the world. “And thank you. What are you up to today?”
‘Good morning’ because why would my mother think I’m in Europe? “Nothing much. Just working and wishing I could have mimosas with you.”
“I guess I’ll have to drink enough for us both.” She’s probably well on her way to doing that.
“That sounds fair. I’ll let you enjoy brunch. Tell Daddy I say hi.”
“Okay, Bella. Love you!”
“I love you, too.”
I end the call and shoot a Mother’s Day gif over to Ryan’s mom.
After all these years, we still text each other for birthdays, Christmas, and Mother’s Day.
I slide my phone into the pocket of my dress and go back in from my balcony.
A small blue purse already holds my wallet, room key, and ChapStick, so I slip it onto my shoulder and knock on Preston’s open door before peeking in.
He’s in the desk chair, twisting back and forth as he talks on the phone, his side of the conversation pausing while he listens to replies I don’t hear.
“She needs to mind her own business, but I’m so glad you have a separate chat to talk about me.
… Don’t give me that mother-daughter bullshit.
… I’m an adult! You’ve watched my movies.
Worse words are in them. … But I wrote the words.
… Yes, I know. … Okay. … Love you too.” The call ends.
“Where to?” I ask.
“Dinner.”
Except dinner is not just dinner. The wine pairings with each of the six courses ease my anxiety over not being dressed up enough for this restaurant but also make me laugh too loud and too often.
On our way out, I hang onto Preston’s arm. “We are those Americans right now.” There’s no denying it.
He laughs and lays a finger on my lips. “Well, turn your volume down.” Part of me wants to pull that finger into my mouth. Too much wine.
The cool night air on my face revitalizes me, but not enough to counter the swaying of the ground. Our driver recognizes us, and thank goodness for that because I don’t remember him.
Preston guides me to the car, and I whisper, “I still can’t believe we’re riding around Monte Carlo in a Mercedes instead of an Aston Martin.” I get into the car, and he goes around to the other side.
“Which Bond girl would you like to be?” Preston leans over the center console toward me.
“ Golden Eye really doesn’t have the best options.”
“Any Bond movie then,” he says. “Doesn’t have to be in Monte Carlo.”
I consider a moment. It’s a question I should be able to answer quickly, but putting together movies and characters and actress names is a little complicated right now. “I was always partial to Jane Seymour as Solitaire.”
“Good choice.”
Bond girls and martinis drift through my mind. Adventures and glamor and women a million times sexier than I could ever be.
“No,” Preston says. “You’re sexier than all of them.”
I scrunch my nose. “Did I say that out loud?”
He pats my hand. “We are going to take aspirin before bed.”
The car stops at our hotel. I don’t think it was far enough to warrant driving but walking right now wouldn’t have gone well. Preston appears at my door faster than I could possibly manage, and I worry that I am way more drunk than he is. That is unacceptable.
I take his hand as I rise out of the not-Bond car. In the elevator—the next place I’m aware of, though that doesn’t make sense—I say, “You are not as drunk as me.”
“I think I’m pretty drunk. I’m not sure what we had for dessert.”
My eyes narrow, and I lean into him as I poke his chest. “You’re just saying that.”
“Why would I do that?”
The elevator opens, and I loop my arm through his firm one to support myself on the walk down the hall. “Because you don’t want me to realize you just got me drunk.”
“It’s actually against my own purposes to get you drunk.” He reaches into my purse and takes out the key to tap the lock. It blinks green, and we stumble into my room. Or I stumble. I’m not convinced he isn’t stone sober.
He walks me to the bed, where I drop as ungracefully as possible, but I’m still offended when he immediately turns away and goes into the bathroom. He returns with aspirin and a French brand of water that probably costs more than the whole bottle of pills.
I swallow two with a swig of water and look up at him. “Weren’t you trying to get me in bed?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It was implied.”
“Not like this.” He gently removes my hand from the waistband of his pants, which went there without my permission. “You’re a little drunk.”
“You’re supposedly a little drunk, too.” I said ‘supposedly’ right. I’m sure of it.
“Also a problem.”
I pull myself up to my knees so I’m close-ish to his height. I brace my hands on his broad shoulders and try to focus on his eyes. “You want me.”
“Of course I do.”
“So here I am.”
He shakes his head. “If you’re not going to be able to walk straight afterwards, it’s not going to be because of wine.” Only Preston Greene would be mean enough to say sexy things as he turns me down.
I run my hand through his hair and frown.
“What?” he asks.
“Your hair is so freaking soft. It’s not fair. Why do you get to have better hair than me?”
“I don’t.” He brushes my hair behind my ear. “Your hair is beautiful.”
I lose myself in his eyes and figure I should always be drunk so I can get away with this. “This is the part where you kiss me.”
He smiles and kisses my forehead. Then he gently pushes me back down onto my ass and takes my shoes off.
I pout at his tender actions. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
“Damn actors going off script.”
He reaches around me, and a chuckle escapes him as he unzips the back of my dress. “I’m no actor.”
“Of course you are. You’re acting like you don’t want me.”
Backed away from his task, his eyes settle on my face. “Actually, I’m doing a terrible job of hiding that I want you way too much.”
“Very un-Bond-like of you.” I slide my hand up his chest to rest it on his neck.
“Not like those are the only movies filmed here, Mira.”
“Wasn’t one of the Fifty Shades movies set here?”
He rolls his eyes at my attempt to bring this back to sex. “Also, Justice League , Ocean’s Twelve , Iron Man 2 .” Preston backs away to the door to his room. “Good night, Mira.”