Page 78 of The Fiancée Farce
Letting herself get carried away with whatever could possibly come after thatorwould be a bad idea.
Talk about putting the cart before the horse. These were questions for another day.
“We don’thaveto—”
“Let me rephrase.” Gemma stretched her legs out, ankle pressed against Tansy’s beside the table. “Weoughtto go on a honeymoon. Don’t you think?”
Tansy shoved another bite of pad thai between her lips, smothering her smile. “You want to?”
Gemma laughed. “I told you I’d take you anywhere you wanted, remember?”
“I thought you were joking.”
Or not so much joking as pulling out all the stops in an attempt to persuade Tansy to marry her.
“Dead serious.” Gemma made an X over her chest. “Cross myheart. Anywhere you want to go. It doesn’t have to be New York, even if theydohave the best Indian and single-slice pizza I’ve ever tasted, both of which Seattle is sorely lacking in. You want to go to Mexico? I can take you to Mexico.”
Tansy wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think I’m really built for the beach.”
Gemma’s eyes traveled from Tansy’s head down to her feet in a slow perusal that stole Tansy’s breath. “I beg to differ.”
“I meant the sun.” Tansy blushed. “I burn easily.”
Gemma’s eyes raked over Tansy’s cheeks, tracing the path of her blush down her jaw. “I bet you turn pink all over.”
Tansy choked on her bite of tofu. “I—it’s your turn.”
Gemma grinned and reached for her glass, swirling her wine. “My turn, huh?”
“To ask a question,” Tansy clarified.
They’d been taking turns playing twenty questions, getting to know each other better. Gemma’s idea.
So far Tansy had learned that Gemma was a polyglot, fluent in French and Spanish, proficient at reading Latin, and deeply ashamed that she’d once called herself fluent in sarcasm. Not because she wasn’t, but because saying so was painfully gauche, not to mention horribly cringe.
She’d also learned that Gemma could do a back handspring, she had once won a hot wing eating contest at a dive bar in Memphis (Gemma had been unable to recall the details, but she remembered something about a bachelorette party in Nashville gone wild and a party bus driven by a directionally challenged chauffer), her favorite romance trope wasnotmarriage of convenience but opposites attract, and skydiving was on her bucket list but the idea of spelunking scared her out of her wits.
In turn, Gemma had learned that Tansy could moonwalk (askill she’d been forced to demonstrate), she placed second in the county spelling bee (she’d lost out onnuqueof all words), her favorite tropes were fated mates and found family but she also loved a good rake redeemed in historical romance, and she still occasionally had nightmares about having to take the final for a class she couldn’t remember ever enrolling in.
“Iliterallyjust asked if you’d been to New York.”
“That doesn’t count. You piggybacked offmyquestion about your favorite food.”
“Ugh.Fine.” Gemma drained her glass of wine. “Refill?”
“Isthatyour question?”
She laughed. “No, but it’s good to know you don’t have any problem busting my chops.”
“It was a simple matter of clarification.” Tansy nudged the bottle of wine toward Gemma. “I’d hardly qualify that as busting your chops.”
“No, no, it’s good. Keeps me on my toes.” She filled her glass halfway then hovered the bottle over Tansy’s. “Yes? No?”
Tansy covered her glass with her hand. “I shouldn’t.”
“Shouldn’tas inno, thanks, orshouldn’tas inI want another glass but wine makes me slutty so I’d better pass?” Gemma grinned. “Just something I feel like I should know about my wife-to-be.”
Tansy laughed. “Technically, I’m not supposed to mix alcohol with my anxiety meds, but my doctor says that a drink every now and again is fine. Which is why I usually cut myself off at one when I do drink.”
