Chapter 30
THIRTY
Colt
Since Anna, I haven’t been the man who felt the pull to plan for romance, and even then, the most romantic thing I ever did for her was order us a couple of pizzas and light a few candles while we ate on my parents’ roof.
I was seventeen at the time, and broke, so I guess there wasn’t a lot more I could have done.
Beyond that, I’m not the man that puts much thought behind his encounters with women. I swore off anything serious when Emmett was just a pre-teen, and I’ve been fine since then with just satisfying a need as it comes up.
Something about Rowan, though, has changed that.
She makes me feel inspired to fulfill dreams she may not even know that she has.
To make every moment in her life feel just a little bit like magic.
I want to make her feel like she is worthy of having the world dropped at her feet – because to me, she is.
I straighten the cuffs of my suit jacket as Rowan steps out into the room, that red dress draped over her, with a faux-fur stole wrapped around her shoulders.
She fiddles with her hair – loosely tied into a low knot, secured with pins. A few pieces fall around her face, framing it beautifully. I try to pick my jaw up off of the floor and step closer to her, taking one of the pins in my hand.
“Here,” I say as I help her secure the stray pin into its place.
Beaming up at me, she asks, “What do you think?”
I take her hand in mine and give her a small spin so I can soak in every inch of her. The shine of the fabric highlights every curve of her breasts and hips as she twirls under the overhead lights, and the pins in her hair sparkle. She’s the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
I would let her ruin me a thousand times over and be grateful for the chance to experience it.
“You are…” I melt, looking at her, and a ghost of a smile plays at my lips. “Devastating.”
She grips onto my lapels and uses them to pull herself up on her toes. I meet her halfway and press a kiss to her lips, cupping a hand at her jaw.
“If I’m dreaming,” she says, “do me a favor and don’t wake me up.”
“Promise I won’t,” I tell her with a wink.
I offer her my elbow and she hooks her arm into mine as we make our way down to the entrance to meet the driver waiting for us.
I watch her face as we ride through the city, lit up and sparkling like she’s on a different planet or living in some fantasy world, just now realizing that magic is real.
I want to give her more of this, bring her more magic, and I make a silent vow to her that if whatever this is between us can ever be made public, I’ll take her anywhere in the world she wants to go.
I’ll give her more than just a couple of days.
I’ll bring her real magic.
We reach the restaurant with a few minutes to spare before our reservation, but are seated right away at an intimate table for two, relying mostly on candles for light in the dim room.
Once seated, I order a bottle of a nice vintage to be brought to the table and I help Rowan read through the menu, making recommendations, but not stealing control from her by telling her what to get. She’s had enough of that in her life.
She watches intently as a sommelier pours the wine into my glass, and I meet her gaze. “Would you like a glass, Rowan?”
“I—” she struggles, “I mean, it’s wine in Italy. It feels like a crime not to. But I’m—”
“Not your father,” I finish. “You can try it if you want to. And you can skip it if you don’t.”
“Okay,” she concedes, a sheepish grin working itself over her lips. “Just one though.”
She watches as her own cup is filled, then follows my lead as I hold the stem of my glass and give it a swirl for a few seconds, then lift it to my nose to smell before I take a sip. What has become a normal habit for me looks so goddamn adorable on her.
As she tastes the wine, she plasters a thoughtful look on her face, trying to decide if she likes it or not, and I can’t help but smile at her. Everything she does amazes me.
“I’m so proud of you,” I tell her.
Her face scrunches. “For drinking?”
“No,” I laugh. “For trusting yourself enough to try something that scared you.”
“Oh,” she whispers, a blush creeping to her cheeks. “Thank you.”
We tuck into our meal as food arrives, dissolving into conversation with a level of maturity that makes me forget that the woman sitting in front of me is only twenty-one years old. As we talk, her small hand rests on top of mine and she idly traces the veins of my hand with her index finger.
I would be fine with calling it a night here, taking her back to the hotel and spending the rest of tonight and tomorrow just holding her in my arms. That would be completely fine with me.
But I promised her a night out, and I’m not sure when we’ll get this chance again, if ever, so I’m taking her out.
·
I guide Rowan through the busy hotel lobby, filled with people dressed in elegant formalwear, until we reach the doors to the massive ballroom.
“So we left our hotel to go to another hotel?” She snarks, and I playfully nudge her with my elbow in response.
“Buonasera, signore, signora,” one of the members of staff greets us as he and another staff member pull the large doors open to let us inside.
Inside the room, the light is not nearly as dim as it was inside the restaurant, but it is considerably more dim than in the lobby, and it takes a moment to adjust to the sudden change.
A handful of tables – not nearly enough to seat everyone inside – are scattered to one side of the room, leaving a large space open in front of the stage, where live music is playing, for pairs to dance.
“What is this?” Rowan asks, her eyes flitting around the room.
“An old associate invited us to a party,” I answer.
She scrunches her face at me. “You can be very mysterious sometimes, you know that?”
“Life’s more fun that way, I’ve learned.”
And suddenly, I do care about fun. About changing things from the boring day-to-day of my life. I care about finding excitement in things both big and small. I don’t think I’d realized just how much of that I’d lost over the years.
I take her hand in mine and guide her toward the dance floor, staying near the edge of it in case she needs to take a break and quickly get to a seat.
Keeping her hand in mine, I wrap my other arm around her waist and pull her in close to me as she lets her head fall against my chest. Part of me hopes that she can’t hear my heart pounding over the music.
We sway and spin slowly together as the music plays, and I close my eyes for a moment while I hold her. I know I shouldn’t be falling for her – I know this can’t be real. But damn it if I’m not falling headfirst right over the edge for her.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” I ask her.
“I don’t think that really covers it,” she tells me. “I never could have imagined any of this.”
“I’m glad.”
“Are you? Enjoying yourself?”
“Yes I am,” I tell her. “Very much so.”
Another hour and a half flies by as we continue to move together, in perfect sync. The two hundred other people in the room have completely melted away, leaving the two of us the only focus in my mind. No one and nothing else matters but this, right here, right now.
I lift our joined hands to press a kiss to the back of Rowan’s hand and feel her trembling. I pull away from her enough to see that her face has gone pale and she’s no longer supporting herself. Just a second later, she starts to drop.
It’s happened a few times since she moved in, so I’m starting to at least know when she’s about to be down for the count.
It was scary as shit the first couple of times; when she passed out in my office, I damn near called an ambulance.
Now, I just try to catch her head and hope that she doesn’t land before I do.
“Okay,” I say as I catch her. “Alright, there she goes.”
I carefully carry her to one of the tables and get her into a - hopefully comfortable – position, elevating her legs as best I can, and I ask someone nearby for a glass of water, then start massaging her calves to help get her blood flowing back where it’s supposed to be.
“Silly girl,” I tell her, “if you wanted to be dipped, you could have just asked.”
A few painfully slow minutes later, her eyes flutter open and she lets out a frustrated groan.
“Really?”
“Really,” I tell her with a nod. “Didn’t hit your head, though.”
She groans again as she moves to slowly sit up. “That’s so annoying. I’m sorry, Colt.”
“Stop apologizing for things that are out of your control,” I order. I slide the glass of water toward her. “Drink this, and we’ll head out.”
I can’t help but chuckle while she downs that water like it’s a drink at a college party. I wipe my thumb under her ruby red lips and tell her, “Your lipstick didn’t even budge. Impressive.”
·
“Put on something comfortable,” I instruct Rowan as we walk into our hotel room. “Food will be here in a few minutes. What kind of movie?”
“Surprise me,” she smiles.
I throw on my own comfortable clothes and flip through the options on the TV, finally landing on a cheesy comedy flick that looks so incredibly stupid, it’s bound to be funny.
Rowan slips out of the bathroom not long after and flops herself down onto the bed.
She’s embarrassed, and trying to hide it, but she can’t hide things from me.
I pay too much attention to her not to notice it.
As I roll the room service cart toward her side of the bed, I pull the lids from the plates with a flourish to reveal the wonderful meal I’ve had brought to us.
“Really?” She chortles as she looks down at our food. “Not some fancy Italian cuisine I’ve never heard of?”
“Rowan, what is the number one rule of coming home after a party?”
“Greasy burgers?” She asks, pulling one from the tray.
I nod. “Greasy burgers.”
I stuff a handful of french fries into my mouth and grab my own cheeseburger before sliding onto the bed next to her and wrapping my free arm around her shoulders, pulling her in tight.
She looks up at me with a vulnerability in her eyes that squeezes at my heart in a way I didn’t know was possible.
“I’m sorry I ruined our night,” she mumbles.
“You didn’t ruin anything,” I try to assure her. “I’m having a great night with you.”
“Can I tell you something?”
“Of course,” I tell her. “You can tell me anything.”
“You remember the frogs and princes?”
“I’m familiar with the concept,” I chuckle.
“I think you might just be my prince.”
Fuck.
I tighten my arm around her, squeezing, and lean down to press a soft kiss to the top her of head. If this carriage has to turn back into a pumpkin in thirty-eight hours, I can be her prince until then.