Page 30 of Rosé with My Fake Fiancé
“Well, for starters, I am going to live in Portugal—”
“A two-and-a-half-hour flight.”
“—And you work weekends and I work business hours—”
“My schedule is flexible.”
“—And I’m like a decade older than you.” She pauses and considers that thought. “Wait. I’m forty-two. How old are you?”
I say nothing, letting my smile grow again, and Tessa’s eyes widen in horror. “Dear god, you aren’t in your twenties, are you?”
I laugh. “No, I’m thirty-one.”
Her hands come up to cover her cheeks, which have flushed more with every counterargument I make, and her eyes focus somewhere over her shoulder. “Eleven years younger than me. Oh god.”
I pull one hand away so I can see her face and try to draw her attention back to mine. “Age is just a number, yes?”
When she doesn’t answer, I tug gently, wrapping my fingers around her wrist. “I like you. You’re beautiful and sexy, and I have fun with you.”
Her eyes are back on me again, and hope flutters in my chest; possibly more than just asking a woman out—a woman I’ve already slept with and spent an amazing weekend flirting with—should inspire.
Tessa’s eyes dim. “I like you too, Luc. But...”
She doesn’t know how to finish the sentence, doesn’t know how to admit the fear that I see lurking behind her eyes. I think of the Tessa who had dreams of romantic gestures in front of the Eiffel Tower and who was mad at herself for acting petty. She thinks she’s missed her chance at love, that her age is holding her back, making her a person she’s not ready to be yet.
“You’re not ready,” I say, understanding. I turn her wrist in my grip, bringing the back of her hand up to my mouth and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. The sadness in her eyes at the gesture cements my belief: Tessa’s trying to push romance out of her life when she should do the opposite. She needs to be reminded that thereisromance in the world, and there’s romance for her. Combined with our chemistry, the heat of last night, and the warring feelings in her gaze, I know that this isn’t over. “When you are, I’ll be there.”
15
Tessa
Luc lets goof my hand and steps back. “Ladies,” he says, raising his voice to address Jade, Sara, and Emma, who have been lingering nearby. “It was a pleasure meeting you all.”
He offers them each kisses on their cheeks, and they say goodbye. I’m afraid that Luc has an aspect to him that I didn’t realize was so strong—he’s a romantic. Despite my refusal, the spark never left; there was still that hitched-up smile, flirtatious tone, and appreciative eyes.
Case in point: he turns to me and gives me his devastating smile, the corners crinkling. He winks. “I’ll see you soon.”
Before I can say goodbye, he turns and walks out of the lobby. I watch him for a moment, and then the empty door and the space he occupied before my friends pulling in close, and I shake myself off.
“Okay, let’s go pack. We don’t have much time left.”
“Tessa...” Sara begins, but when her thought stalls, she glances at Jade and Emma.
I expect Jade to wrap her arms around my shoulders and lead us toward the elevator, cracking a joke about howshewas supposed to be the one hooking up this weekend and making a remark about the next guy she’s going to set her sights on, but instead, she looks at me with so much concern and asks, “Are you okay?”
“It’s fine. I’m fine, I swear.” There’s too much peppiness in my voice, but I’m not ready to talk about Luc. “It’s just the end of a fling. I swear, I didn’t catch feelings. I promise.”
Despite my tone, the levity doesn’t hit, and the air is still heavy with concern. “Sara,” I say, threading my arm through hers and tugging her with me as I march forward, “what are you going to do with Zoe tonight?”
She’s staying one night in Munich near her daughter before she moves out to Baden-Baden, her home for the next six months. If there’s one thing that can distract Sara, it’s talking about Zoe.
We pack and talk about their plans and then what Emma and Jade are going to do in Madrid first. Jade describes her three favorite restaurants in her neighborhood, and we debate which one Emma should choose until we’re out at the entrance to the hotel.
“Okay,” I say. “This is it!” All three of them are headed to the train station, and I’m going to the airport.
The hugs are tight, the emotions close to the surface as I say goodbye. We won’t see each other for another month. This is the ending of our weekend in Paris, but the beginning of an entire year living hours away from each other, of new experiences and a foreign home.
“I want pictures of tonight from all of you,” I tell them.
