Page 96 of Host for the Holidays
FORTY
MADI
They saybreathing is something your body does on its own. If that’s true, my body is the worst. Essential respiratory processes are down for maintenance.
I don’t want you to leave.Those words. They have me feeling . . . a lot.
Rémy runs his teeth over his lower lip—line, my brain squeaks in weak protest—his eyes on me, just like they have been for the past minute and more. “And I don’t want you to get back together with Josh.”
At that comment, something inside me gives, and I manage to get out a single, raspy, “What?” There’s no way I haven’t misunderstood what Rémy’s saying. Does he think I’m going home to beg Josh to take me back? “I’m not going home to get back together with Josh, Rémy.”
“Then why?” he asks. “Is it because you don’t want to be alone for Christmas? Because if that’s it, youwon’tbe, Madi. I’ll be here.” There’s a pause. “If you want me here.” He rubs his head like he’s frustrated with himself and can’t get things out the way he wants. “Look, I know it sounds crazy—we’ve only known each other a little over a week, and I have no idea what’s going to happen. I just know I don’t want you to go. For whatever that’s worth. I needed you to know.”
This isn’t real. This is what happens when you watchThe Holidayuntil your eyes won’t stay open. Your brain starts making up scenarios that only happen in chick flicks.
I take a step closer to Rémy, noting the morning stubble on his jaw and the tiny movements of his eyes as he looks at me, waiting for me to say something.
“But . . . you left yesterday,” I say. “You said it was . . .best. I thought . . .” Those half-baked phrases are an accurate reflection of my brain function right now.
“I left because I knew I couldn’t stay within the lines if I spent the day with you again. I don’t know how to keep things light between us, Madi. I don’t know how to be just friends with you. I just”—he lifts his shoulders—“I want more. I thought maybe some distance would change that, I guess. But it didn’t. I spent the whole day thinking about you, and I came home early last night because I wanted to be with you. Because I had to know if it’s just me who feels this way.”
My heart is playing a raging game of pinball in my chest. Rémy wants me to stay. He doesn’t want lines. He doesn’t want to be just friends.
He’s watching me, his brow creased as his eyes search my face. His Adam’s apple bobs. “Isit? Is it just me?”
Everything is moving so fast inside me. My breathing has caught up to my heart, and my thoughts are all over the place. But slowly, I shake my head twice.
Rémy’s gaze intensifies as we stare at each other, the implication of my response settling over us.
And then we’re kissing, his hands on my hips, mine clasped behind his neck, our lips locked together. It’s full of pent-up want, of palpable relief, and the mixture of the two is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. It’s been a long time since I kissed anyone like this, and by a long time, I mean my entire life. I was made to kiss Rémy Scott, and by the way he’s holding me, the way his lips are coming back for more, again and again, it feels like he was made to kiss me, too.
His hands slide up from my hips, and my hips miss them, but my back is more than ready for their hold, like it’s been waiting for its turn.
“Monsieur?!” Jacqueline’s annoyed, muffled voice comes through the speaker, which is pressed against my back now as Rémy holds me close.
We break apart like she’s in the room with us.
Rémy looks at me, and a guilty smile tugs at his lip. “Whoops.”
I shake my head. “Not whoops.”
Rémy smiles. “So . . . what do I tell Jacqueline?”
I rub my lips together, holding his gaze. “Tell her I’m keeping my two hundred and fifty euros. Or Siena is. Whatever. We don’t want the flight.” I pause. “Right?” If I misread this situation and we hang up on her only to call back in five minutes and wait on hold again, I will be incredibly embarrassed and more than a little annoyed.
Rémy looks at me for a second, then puts his hand to my cheek and comes in for another kiss, this one soft and slow. Then he pulls back just enough to put his lips out of reach. “Right.”
I take in a shaky breath. My body doesn’t know how to function in such prolonged proximity to Rémy. And yet, it refuses to move, so I guess I’ll just try to learn how to breathe again. Seems easier than leaving his arms.
He brings the phone back to his ear, holding me against him as he speaks to Jacqueline. As always, I’m starstruck listening to his smooth French, trying to pick out familiar words and smiling a bit every time I find success. But mostly, I’m relishing the feel of being held by him.
He sets the phone down and tucks my hair behind my ear. “You are officially the happy owner of the same flight you had before you spent hours on hold. And, not to hold you hostage or anything, but Jacqueline says it’s for the best that you changed your mind since you’d have to pay the difference between your fare and the current fareon topof the two hundred and fifty euro change fee. Given that it’s only a couple days before Christmas, that fare difference is close to fifteen hundred dollars.”
“Fifteen hundred dollars?!”
He nods, a rueful smile on his face. “For the cheapest option—three layovers.” His expression grows softer. “You sure you’re okay with this?”
I look him in the eye. “Areyou?”
