Chapter 10
GRACE
What. The. Hell?
I turn toward Ben in what feels like slow motion. Yet before I can even gather my thoughts to ask him what on earth he’s up to, I catch the pleading look in his eyes. It’s akin to Oliver Twist begging for another dollop of gruel.
Hells bells. I’m ordering all the things. Appetizers and dessert. Peering back down at my dress, I run my fingertips over the luxurious fabric. And I’m keeping this dress, dang it.
Deciding I should simply go along with his ruse in exchange for the garment and a nice meal, I chew on the inside of my cheek and decide to watch this night unfold like an innocent bystander.
Milton leads us to a table and holds out my chair. “Order whatever you’d like,” he says, raising a menu in our direction before taking his seat across from us.
“Oh. I plan on it,” I mutter. Take that, Ben.
A server brings water and a basket of fresh bread, and my stomach growls.
Jeez, how embarrassing. My gaze ping pongs between my tablemates, praying neither of them heard it.
The two of them appear to be deep in conversation about the history of the hotel.
Ah. Maybe Milton is hiring a construction crew to update this dilapidated old place.
I peer longingly at the basket of fresh-baked goodness calling to me and wonder how long I must wait before helping myself.
I mean, they could be doing this interview for a while.
My eyes spring wide as the basket begins moving toward me. I cautiously lean back in my chair and attempt to examine the table. Holy crow, is there a small critter under there? I know this place looks old, but—
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Ben pulling his arm back to his side, and realize he’s the one who slid the basket closer, encouraging me to help myself. His gaze never breaks from Milton’s.
Good Lord, Grace. What is wrong with you?
I make quick work of buttering my bread and have to suppress a moan as the scrumptious warm food melts in my mouth. I mean, it’s not the best thing I’ve ever had. But it’s certainly the best thing I’ve had in a long time.
The servers pour wine and continue to bring refills of our water as well as salad and an appetizer of fresh mozzarella and tomato slices drizzled in balsamic vinegar.
My tablemates have barely eaten a thing, speaking animatedly while I’m over here chowing down like it’s my last supper.
I need to pace myself if I’m going to have room for dessert.
Lost in my food coma, I must start swaying back and forth to “You and Me” by Lifehouse as Milton waxes poetic about the days he and his wife, Patricia, used to enjoy candlelight dinners by the water here.
“I’ve regretted not adding an outside dining area and dancefloor so guests could dance under the moonlight.
” Ben nods as if making a mental note of this conversation.
“Dinner and dancing is probably boring to you young jet setters. But we looked forward to those evenings. Made them a priority. Make sure you do that, young man. Never let her forget she’s what’s most important. ”
Ben jumps into the conversation, reassuring Milton that the two of us enjoy the same things. Quiet moments together. Nothing flashy. His muscular arm drapes around me, and I start to question reality. What on earth is happening here?
“Go, go, you two. Enjoy yourselves. I’ll go check on how much longer until our dinner arrives.” Ben pushes his chair back and holds out his hand for mine. Jeez, this is weird. Just go with it, Grace. When’s the last time a man took you dancing?
Oh, yeah. Never. That’s when.
Ben pulls me close, as he would a fiancée, I guess, and sways back and forth as the lead singer croons about not being able to keep his eyes off of the other person.
Looking up at this stupidly attractive man in his gorgeous black suit, blue tie, and striking face, I almost forget this is all a charade.
He’s looking at me like I hung the moon.
Is he really this good with the ladies? Or am I merely that desperate to have a handsome man treat me this way?
As the song comes to an end the familiar beat of an Elvis ballad begins to play, which only serves to put me further under his spell. Ben pushes a stray lock of hair behind my ear as the chorus to “Can’t Help Falling In Love” begins.
He’s staring down at me with those big, dreamy blue eyes. It’d be so easy to get caught up in him. But he’s a playboy like all the rest, Grace. Maybe an even bigger one if he’s managed to pull this sham of a fake engagement scenario past Milton.
He leans down to place his cheek next to mine, and my lids close.
That alluring cologne fills my nostrils, and I have to fight to stay grounded.
I need to change gears. Get him to fess up to what’s happening, if nothing more than to stay focused on the facts and not get swept up in my easily love-struck emotions like I have in the past. I’m done being every man’s doormat.
“Ben. What is happening?” I whisper.
I can feel him shudder in surprise. Was he getting lost in the moment too?
“I’m sorry, Grace, I—”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Milton says, causing us to jolt simultaneously. “You two looked so beautiful out here. Like you could go all night. But dinner is here.”
Ben tucks my hand into the crook of his arm and guides me back to my seat. Milton excuses himself briefly.
The food looks and smells amazing. My succulent steak is sizzling.
I peer down at it like I’ve just hit the lottery.
Because, except for this whole fiancée business, so far it feels as if I have.
Ben has been nothing short of a gentleman, despite trying to pull one over on Milton.
I’ve honestly been so caught up in the absurdity of the evening, I haven’t paid enough attention to their conversation to figure out why he’d claimed to be engaged.
Wait. Is he engaged? It’s not like men wear rings or anything.
Suddenly, I’m enraged that I could be here in someone else’s place. I lean toward him, careful not to let the juice from my steak make contact with my beautiful new dress. “Are you engaged?” I whisper accusingly.
“What? No. Well, only to you.” He winks.
My eye roll is so immediate I nearly give myself retinal detachment. Cutting into my steak, I lift it to my lips and don’t even attempt to stifle my moan this time.
“Jesus.”
My eyes fly open, wondering if I’m making a scene. “What?” I ask, my mouth still mid-chew.
“Nothing.” Ben appears to squirm in his seat. “It’s just nice to spend a meal with someone who isn’t trying to starve themselves.”
I shrug. “Well, there’s a difference between starving yourself and just starving.”
Ben’s brows draw together in confusion. “What?”
“Sorry about the interruption, you two.” Milton lowers himself into his chair and picks up his utensils. “Everything to your liking?”
“Yes,” I blurt, immediately covering my mouth, worried I’m coming off like a total slob.
It’s been so long since I had a—heck, scratch that.
I can’t ever remember having a meal like this.
It’s hard to pace myself. I keep a strong grip on my fork, ready to stab someone if they attempt to swoop in and take my plate away.
I’ve been so engrossed in my meal I’ve barely taken in a word the two of them have said. At one point I caught Ben waxing poetic about days gone by spent fishing on vacation with his father. I zoned out on that conversation when Milton nodded his agreement, given I can in no way relate.
“All of this dry business talk with Ben must be boring you, Grace. Tell me what it is you do,” Milton prods as he lifts his fork to his mouth.
I pretend to finish chewing, hoping to come up with a better retort than work any job I can get my hands on to keep from getting evicted.
Dabbing the corner of my mouth with my napkin, because I’m a lady like that, I place it in my lap and look up at Milton.
“I’m applying to nursing school.” Well, it’s not a complete lie. That’s the plan one day anyway.
“Oh, that’s wonderful. Beautiful and caring. You’ve done quite well for yourself, Ben.”
Popping another piece of steak into my mouth, I give my fiancée an over-the-top smile before spending the rest of the meal engaging with my food. Think Milton will still think me beautiful if I literally lick this plate clean?
After making uncomfortable small talk for what feels like days, Milton asks if we’d like any dessert before we retire for the evening. His phrasing seems odd, but in the short time I’ve known him, I think odd might just be his middle name.
“Yes,” I answer as Ben simultaneously says, “No.”
My nose wrinkles in disgust. Who comes to a place like this and doesn’t get dessert?
Milton lets out a hearty chuckle. “Why don’t I ask the server to package a few items you can take with you?” He nudges Ben. “Happy wife, happy life, son.”
Oh, good grief.
I reach for my water but get confused which of the two glasses to my left is mine.
Lifting the two, I examine them closely, as if the total volume contained within them might be the answer.
The second glass of wine and the long day must have caught up with me, as I see two of Ben through the goblets and giggle, sticking my tongue out at him.
A chuckle rumbles from his direction, and the delicious sound shoots straight to the apex of my thighs. I swallow hard, lowering the glasses just as Ben leans into my hair. “You’re so fucking cute, baby girl. Thank you for this.”
My mouth goes dry. All of the moisture has apparently migrated south. Lord hammercy, Grace. Buy you a dress, feed you a nice meal, then throw in a baby girl, and you turn into a filthy hoe.
My inner monologue is interrupted when a server brings a takeout bag, and my male companions stand from their seats. As we make our way out of the restaurant, Milton asks if we have everything. Glancing down, I reaffirm I have my clutch and that bag of treats for later.
Ben flashes an uneasy expression. “I just need to grab our bag from the truck.”
Wait. What?
“No problem. If you two will follow me, I’ll give you a brief tour of the hotel on the way to the lobby. Your room is right around the corner from the front desk.”
My mouth falls open as Milton walks ahead of us, and Ben pulls me firmly into his side.
Your room?