Page 46 of Bride on the Dotted Line

If you mean right now …

I like this. A lot.

Another warm feeling, stronger than before. Sienna dips a fry in ketchup, giving me a tiny smile. My heart thrills. Even if my father made me question everything tonight, I must be doing something right.

I’m making her happy.

For the first time in my life, I eat an entire meal without tasting a thing.

When we finish, the restaurant is still half-empty, the street quiet outside. Sienna and I walk out into the night, buttoning our coats.

I check my watch. 1:22 AM. Too late to ask if she wants to go anywhere else, but I’m reluctant to end the night by going home. Tomorrow, when I wake up, I have to think about Harwood Restaurant Group, my father, and the unfortunate re-entry of Lionel and Roderick into my life.

I have to wake up knowing she’s down the hall, in her bed, only a few steps away.

“Nick,” Sienna says from beside me, the first time I’ve heard her voice since the car. “Look.”

I follow her gaze across the street, where there’s a group of college kids walking by on their way to the bar. The boys are laughing at something one of them said, but the girls are whispering to each other, pointing in our direction.

The metal of my wedding ring goes cold in the chilly air. Sienna gathers up the train of her gown, then threads the fingers of her right hand through mine, a soft, tentative touch. I swallow, mouth going dry.

“Okay?” she asks. “They might take a picture.”

I meet her gaze at my shoulder. The makeup around her eyes has smudged over the course of the evening, making her look even sexier somehow.

“Okay,” I say.

We set off in the direction of home, holding hands. It’s only a ten-minute walk, but it feels like years. Her hand is soft in mine, my thumb tracing lines on her knuckles. There’s no way the few people walking near us can see a detail like that, but I don’t care. It feels right.

The air is crisp and dark in the way only an early spring night can be. We take a turn onto a deserted street dotted with streetlamps, bathed in the yellow-blue glow of windows above. There’s no one around, just the sound of our footsteps, the drone of traffic in the distance, and our steaming breaths.

I expect Sienna to let my hand go, but she doesn’t.

God,I feel like I’m losing it around her. Reduced to focusing on every little caress, every small feeling of her palm on mine. What is this, 2005? If Sienna were any other woman, I’d fist my hand in her hair, pick her up by the waist, press her to me until her legs wrapped around my hips …

A loudcrackechoes down the empty street, and Sienna goes stumbling to the side.

“Shit!” she cries, at the same time I say, “What was that?”

My hand tightens on hers, keeping her from falling to the ground. She lets go of her train and hops on one foot, revealing a broken heel.

“Ugh. My shoe.” Shaking her head, she examines the spike of her heel, which is hanging on by a thread. “I must have stepped on a rock. These are my favorite pair.”

“Bad luck,” I say. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine. Just sad for the state of my shoe closet.”

The toes of her heels have pearls on them, matching the pins in her hair. I look up the street, mentally calculating how long it’ll take us to get home. “We have a few blocks to go.”

Sienna nods. “Don’t worry. Won’t be a problem.” But she takes a few steps and the height difference in her feet makes her teeter like a top about to fall. She grabs onto my arm for support, clutching at the sleeve of my coat.

I laugh. “You sure about that?”

“Just takes a second to get used to it.” She tries again and limps a few feet before waving her arms for balance. I grab her hand again, stabilizing her.

“If it can be fixed, I have glue in the penthouse.” I watch her attempt to force the heel back onto the bottom of her shoe, but it’s in vain. A mostly clean break. “Those things are pretty tall.”

“Yeah, well. You have to be proactive when your husband is six and a half feet tall.”

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