Page 21 of The Best Wild Idea (Off-Limits #3)

Silas

The moment we arrived at our suite, Jules disappeared into her side and locked the door.

I heard the ripping of the envelope followed by a stone-cold silence.

Silence that stretched on for an hour while I paced around and tried to keep myself busy, wondering what she was going through on the other side of that door, until I finally heard her shower turn on.

At some point, she must have ordered room service, because shortly after hearing the water turn off, there’s a knock at our door.

A tall, lanky man wearing a smart maroon uniform rolls in a cart with two silver domes sitting beside a bottle of dark, red wine and a few empty glasses.

“Danke schoen,” I say to him, slipping the worker a few extra bills for delivering the food before shutting the door behind him.

Then I hear Juliet’s bedroom door crack open. She appears in a fluffy white robe with her wet hair combed back from her freshly scrubbed face.

“Did you order dinner?” I ask.

“Oh,” she says, not moving to get the tray. “I ordered that thinking I’d be hungry by the time I got out. But that hasn’t happened yet. I was starving until I read that letter. Now, I can’t tell if I’m still hungry.”

“Jules,” I say, sounding more stern than I mean to sound.

Her eyes flick up to mine, but she looks exhausted. All the fight — the bravado and toughness from earlier — is gone.

“You read it?” I ask, walking toward the cart to open the bottle of red wine to offer her a glass.

I don’t want to scare her back into her room, afraid her disdain toward me will keep her locked up in whatever bedroom she’s checked into over the entire length of our trip if we keep going like we are.

“No, I thought I’d fly all the way here and then toss it out the window,” she says, sighing but staring longingly at the glass I’ve filled. I side-eye her for a beat, not handing her the glass until she cuts the sarcasm. “Sorry,” she relents. “Yes. I read it.”

Without a word, I close the space between us and hand her the glass, then grab another empty one for me.

“And?” I ask.

“He said he wants me to have fun ,” she deadpans.

I snort before I can stop myself. Her head cocks to the side.

“Sorry,” I say into my hand. Then I bring the glass up to my lips, distracting myself from unleashing into a second full-blown chuckle.

The irony of that statement, mixed with the deflated look in her eyes, is too much.

I quickly pull the glass back as a wide smile stretches over my face, and, before I can stop it, I let another snort roll out.

“What’s so funny to you?” she asks, but when our eyes meet, I can see humor lifting her eyes too, fighting to stay hidden.

“Jules,” I start, “I can’t think of anything less fun than taking a trip with a guy you hate in place of your late fiancé. So, for him to suggest that to you is almost comical. No, not almost . It is comical.”

I take a big swig of the wine, before clenching my teeth in an effort to stop laughing, but I can’t. Another chuckle escapes me.

Her lips turn, tempting a smile, but she holds strong by biting her lip back before it can go full-blown rogue.

“Glad you get a kick out of that,” she deadpans again.

“What else did he say?” I ask, hoping she’ll let it all out instead of keeping everything about him bottled up. I know from experience how toxic that can be.

“That you were a real piece of work at school,” she adds before making her way over to the couch in the sitting area. She plops onto it and takes a long gulp from her own stemware, turning the inner half of her lips a deeper shade of red.

“Is that right?” I ask, following her lead. I sit in the chair farthest away from her, fully aware that I’m treating her like a caged animal. One wrong move and she might retreat back into her habitat, only to be coaxed out again with red wine and sustenance.

“He said you brought him out of his shell.” She looks down at her glass and swirls it around a bit.

“And that every time you two got in trouble at boarding school, he believes his parents were slightly proud of him because it meant that he was having fun. With you, he enjoyed a memorable childhood, which is what they really wanted for him when they sent him.” She finally smiles and her blue eyes pool in mine.

“I’m glad he got to have that experience with you. ”

I think back at the memory of meeting Grant for the first time.

That day I walked into our dorm room and saw this stiff kid sitting with his back to me.

His maroon tie all cinched up around his neck, even though classes wouldn’t be starting for two full days.

Then the way he looked at me like I was an undiscovered specimen from one of his biology slides — something he’d never seen before.

I’d only ever felt invisible while home.

What I’d never told Grant in those early days of our friendship was that he was the first person to look at me like I was anything worth seeing.

I needed him as much as he needed me, and we fed off each other from the moment we said hello.

Him needing someone to pull him out of his shyness, and me needing a true friend, which is exactly what he turned out to be.

“I might have pulled him out of his shell, but he gave me what I needed the most back then,” I admit to her, taking another long sip of my wine.

It’s going down smooth and quick. We may need to dive into whatever’s under those silver domes pretty soon so we don’t immediately get drunk off this burgundy.

“And what was that?” she asks. “A wingman? Someone to follow you around on all your silly antics just like you needed after—” She cocks her head, stopping before she says after your father died .

And although it’s not exactly an invitation for a full-blown conversation, or really one I want to have, I’m happy she’s willing to talk to me at all right now.

“I needed a friend,” I answer, shrugging.

“If I think back at my life before meeting Grant, the first word that comes to my mind is lonely . Then invisible . I was an only child, raised by a collection of nannies and a father who was married to his business. I always had a hunch that I reminded him of my mother, so Dad rarely looked in my direction. By the time I arrived at Fox Glenn, the only long-term companion I’d had was trouble.

Grant was the first friend I ever had. He kind of took the place of family and friends in my head.

And my heart. He was like a brother to me. ”

She lowers her glass onto her lap and scrunches her nose.

“I never knew that about your childhood,” she admits. “I only ever heard stories from after you met.”

“I’m sure Grant never really talked about my past all that much,” I say, brushing it off, wondering why I felt the need to disclose something so personal right now.

“When I came in and saw him in my dorm room that day . . . oh boy.” I pause to laugh.

“I honestly didn’t know what to think. He was the textbook definition of a dork.

But I loved that about him. You know how some people just fit together like a puzzle piece?

Even though nothing about it makes sense? ”

She nods, amused. “Of course.”

“That was us. We were meant to fit together, even if none of the edges matched.”

“Opposites attract,” she agrees and her eyes shine. “Grant had a way of fitting together with lots of people who weren’t like him.”

“That’s because no one was like him.” I smile.

She looks wistful for a beat. Almost, almost with a tinge of admiration thrown in my direction, like I understand something she thought only she understood.

“He was good in practically every way, which is not a quality many people share,” I tell her.

She laughs. “He was the better part of me, too. I don’t know what’s gotten into me since he died. I’m like a raging bitch that can’t rein it in. And don’t tell me I’m wrong.” Her eyes fly to mine, looking slightly alarmed. “But also don’t agree with that either, please.”

I purse my lips, not allowing myself to agree.

“No, I get it. Losing someone can change a person past the point of recognition.” I wait until our eyes meet, hoping she gets what I’m trying to say.

“But I don’t think you’re a raging bitch.

” She cocks a brow at me, making me laugh.

“You really don’t have to explain it to me, Jules. Of all people,” I remind her.

We sit in silence for a moment, both feeling the weight that comes with missing the one person we both loved the most — his absence, hanging in the air between us. Lighter though, somehow, like just having someone else to hold the weight of it with you somehow eases the load.

“He also wrote that we’re jumping out of a perfectly good plane tomorrow.” She brings the wine glass back up to her lips, taking a bigger gulp this time. “So, you weren’t lying about that part after all.”

“You’re going to love it,” I tell her. “Promise.”

“Wholeheartedly doubt that.” She drains the glass.

“You’re welcome to squeeze my arm anytime you need it tomorrow, though.”

She shoots me a look, but the beginning hints of a smile take over before she can stop it.

Ha.

It dawns on me that I haven’t actually seen her eat anything today, and the way she’s downing the wine makes me think she may regret it once we’re zooming across the runway in a tiny prop plane tomorrow morning.

Plus, the Jules I used to know wasn’t one to shy away from the inevitable downward pull of being hangry.

I get up to see what’s hidden under the silver domes on the cart.

There’s a wedge salad under the first one, so without a word, I pull the plate down and hand it to her with a fork along with the little silver dish of dressing on the side.

She sets it down on the coffee table between us, then pushes it away.

“Jules, eat,” I scold, staring at the plate.

“Trust me when I say you’re going to want something in your stomach before you go to bed tonight.

Little planes feel like a rollercoaster at takeoff, but that’s nothing compared to free-falling from thirteen thousand feet up.

At the very least, get some lettuce between you and that red wine before bed, please. ”

She cracks a smile, then pulls the plate back onto her lap, setting her empty wine glass on the table in favor of a fork.

I lift the other dome off the tray, surprised to see a thick steak sitting on the plate, with a mound of roasted veggies beside it.

A cloud of peppery spices wafts up to my nose, making my stomach rumble.

I wouldn’t have guessed Jules would order a steak in addition to that salad.

She must be hungrier than she’s letting on.

I grab the plate and turn to put it on the coffee table in front of her, but she puts one hand up to stop me, her mouth still full.

“No,” she mumbles between bites. “That’s for you.”

I look at the rib eye, then at Juliet, who’s gone back to arranging her next bite.

“For me?” I figured she’d rather I starve to death so she could collect my death certificate and finish the trip without me.

“Don’t make a whole thing of it,” she huffs, still chewing. She waves her fork at me without looking up. “I figured you’d be hungry too.”

Instead of saying another word, I sit down beside her on the couch, the plate of food balanced on my knees.

Then I reach behind me to grab another set of silverware off the tray and cut into the steak, trying not to smile or read too much into the fact that she was thinking of me when she ordered this food.

It might be the smallest gesture, but it’s not nothing.

I’d had a late dinner planned at the hotel’s five-star restaurant downstairs, but I can tell that she doesn’t want to get dressed to go do that right now.

I saw the steak in half and plop the thicker portion down on her plate, right next to her salad.

“I don’t need that—” she starts to protest.

“Shhh,” I whisper, not turning away from my plate. “Just eat it. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

We sit in silence, both working away at our steaks, while I start to think that maybe, just maybe, there’s still hope for this trip after all.