Chapter 10
Claudette
The carnival assaulted every sense at once—neon lights strobing against the night sky, speakers blasting pop music from three different directions, the smell of fried everything competing with sugar and diesel from the generators. It was chaos packaged as entertainment and I loved it immediately.
Michael stood next to me looking at the whole thing like he was trying to solve a particularly difficult equation. “This seemed more appealing in theory.”
“Having regrets?”
“Reconsidering my definition of romantic.”
“Too late now.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the game booths. “Come on. You promised me the full experience.”
We stopped at a balloon dart throw where a bored teenager explained the rules like he was reading a eulogy. Three darts, pop three balloons, win a prize.
Michael paid, picked up a dart, studied the balloons with far more intensity than necessary—and missed entirely.
The dart sailed past everything and embedded itself in the wooden backing.
“That was reconnaissance,” he said, completely serious. “Watch this now,”
He threw the second dart. It grazed a balloon but didn’t pop it.
“I’m adjusting for wind resistance.”
“There’s no wind. We’re in a booth.”
The third dart bounced off a balloon and clattered to the counter.
I laughed so hard I had to lean against him. “You’re terrible at this.”
“This game is rigged.” But he was already pulling out more cash, handing it to the teenager who now looked mildly interested. “The balloons are underinflated. It’s a scam.”
“Or you just can’t throw darts.”
“I negotiate multi-million-dollar contracts. I think I can handle a children’s game.”
“Apparently not.”
This time he hit three balloons in rapid succession like he’d been playing me the entire time.
The teenager handed over a massive stuffed elephant without comment.
Michael presented it to me with a slight bow. “For you.”
I took the elephant. It was purple and ridiculous and approximately three feet tall. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Display it somewhere prominent. Name it. Tell everyone your husband won it through sheer determination and questionable dart-throwing skills.”
“I’m naming it Failure.”
“That seems harsh.”
I hugged the elephant. “Thank you for Failure. He’s perfect.”
We walked through the carnival with me carrying Failure and Michael looking unreasonably pleased with himself. People moved around us—families with children, teenagers in groups, couples like us trying to pretend carnival dates weren’t slightly absurd when you were in your late twenties.
“Cotton candy,” Michael said, steering me toward a stand.
“I haven’t had cotton candy since I was a kid.”
“Exactly. That’s the point.”
He ordered the largest size without asking, and handed me a cloud of pink sugar bigger than my head.
“This is excessive,” I said.
“This is a carnival. Excess is required.”
I pulled off a piece. It dissolved instantly on my tongue, pure sweetness that made my teeth hurt in the best way.
Michael grabbed his own piece and somehow got it stuck in his hair.
I stared. “How did you manage that?”
“I don’t know.” He tried to pull it out and made it worse. Pink sugar was now thoroughly tangled in his dark hair. “This is more complicated than it looks.”
I reached up to help, standing on my toes. He bent his head automatically, and I realized this was the most relaxed I’d seen him since I’d woken up in his penthouse.
At home he was always slightly tense. Always watching me. Careful in a way that suggested he was constantly weighing risks I couldn’t see.
Here he was almost playful.
“You’re different tonight,” I said softly, working the sugar out of his hair.
“Different how?”
“Less tightly wound. You usually watch me like I might spontaneously combust.”
His eyes found mine. We were close enough that I could see the way the carnival lights reflected in them. “I worry about you.”
“I know. But I’m okay.” I pulled the last bit of cotton candy free. “See? Not combusting.”
He caught my wrist gently. “I’ve been terrified I’d mess this up somehow. Push you too hard and you realize you don’t actually want this. Being with me,”
I was about to respond, to tell him how wrong he was when a loud voice called in our direction.
We both turned.
A woman was walking toward us, hand raised in a wave. Tall, elegant, wearing jeans and a silk blouse that looked effortlessly put together. Her smile was warm and a little curious.
“Michael.” She stopped in front of us, her eyes moving between us with something like understanding dawning on her face. “I thought that was you.”
“Hannah.” His voice was warm, friendly. And yet a little awkward.
She looked at me more closely now, like she was confirming something. “And you must be her.”
I blinked at her. “I’m sorry—have we met?”
“No, actually.” She laughed softly. “I’m Hannah Pierce. Michael and I…” She glanced at him briefly. “Michael and I… know each other through family… and he’s mentioned you.”
Oh. So this was someone from Michael’s life. Someone he’d talked about me to.
“Right,” I said, feeling Michael’s hand settle at the small of my back. “Sorry—my memory’s been unreliable lately.”
“Don’t apologize.” Her smile softened. “I just—it’s really good to see you both.” Her eyes dropped to the stuffed elephant in my arms, and something amused flickered across her face. “Winning carnival prizes, I see.”
“Well… Michael won it,” I said.
“That sounds exactly like something he’d do.
” She laughed, and it sounded genuine. There was something kind in her eyes when she looked at me.
Almost relieved, maybe. “Well, I won’t keep you.
I’m here with a friend and her kids—they’re determined to make me ride something that spins.
” She touched my arm briefly. “Take care of yourself.”
She walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
I turned to Michael. “Who was that?”
“Hannah Pierce. Family friend. Like she said.”
“She seemed to know about me.”
“I mentioned you to her once.” He steered me toward the ferris wheel. “Come on. There’s something I want to do.”
But I was still thinking about Hannah. About the way she’d looked at me—like she’d been expecting to meet me eventually. Like she knew something about Michael and me that I didn’t.
“Was she one of your exes?” I asked.
Michael’s hand tightened slightly on my back. “Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know. Something about the way she looked at you. And then at me. Like she was comparing notes or something.”
“The Pierce and Ashford families have known each other for years. Our parents are on several boards together.” He steered me toward the ferris wheel. “Come on. There’s something I want to do.”
He said it smoothly. Easily. Too easily. Like it was the complete truth—or like he needed it to sound that way.
But something about it nagged at me. “Michael—”
“You’re afraid of heights,” he said, neatly steering the conversation away. “I remember you mentioning it once. About your grandmother’s plane.”
I looked at the ferris wheel. At the gondolas swinging gently as they climbed and descended. “I am.”
“We can skip it. Do something else.”
I thought about the woman who just walked away, how everyone seemed to know things about me I didn’t know about myself.
“No,” I said. “I want to do this with you.”
“You don’t have to prove anything.”
“I’m not proving anything. I’m choosing something.” I pulled him toward the line. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”
We climbed into a gondola and the safety bar came down. Immediately we lurched upward and my hands found the bar, gripping hard.
“Breathe,” Michael said.
“I’m breathing.”
“You’re holding your breath.”
He was right. I let the air out and tried to pull more in. Tried not to look down at how the ground was getting farther away with each rotation.
“Look at me instead,” Michael said quietly.
So I did.
I looked at him and the fear dissolved into something entirely different. Something warm that had nothing to do with height and everything to do with the way he was watching me.
At the top the ferris wheel paused.
Vegas sprawled below us—all lights and chaos and impossible beauty. The strip glowed like someone had spilled stars across the desert. The mountains sat dark against the horizon.
“It’s so beautiful,” I said.
“You’re beautiful.”
I turned to find him already looking at me. Not at the view. Just at me. His eyes were dark and intense and filled with something that stole the air from my lungs.
My heart stumbled. “Michael—”
“I want to kiss you.” He said it quietly. Simply. Like he’d been holding the words in his mouth for hours. Like he was confessing something he’d been holding back for too long. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you all night.”
I couldn’t breathe properly. We were suspended at the top of the world, the gondola swaying gently, and he was looking at me like nothing else existed.
“Then why haven’t you?” I whispered, my body sharp with anticipation.
Something changed in his expression. His eyes went from careful to hungry in the space of a heartbeat.
He leaned in slowly. His mouth was an inch from mine.
The second our lips touched, something ignited.
His mouth was soft and warm and demanding all at once, and I melted into him without thinking.
He made this sound low in his throat that I felt everywhere.
The kiss deepened and I opened for him without hesitation, tasting him, learning him, getting drunk on the way he kissed like he’d been starving for it.
His teeth caught my bottom lip and I gasped. He took advantage, his tongue sweeping in. Nothing existed except his mouth and his hands and the way he was kissing me like I was oxygen and he’d been drowning.
We were supposed to be taking this slow.
This wasn’t slow.
This was falling. Free-falling with no parachute and no plan and no thought except more.
His hand fisted in my hair and he tugged gently, tilting my head back so he could kiss me deeper. I whimpered and felt him smile against my mouth.
Claudette.” He said my name between kisses, voice wrecked and reverent. “You’re going to kill me.”
The gondola jerked suddenly, starting its descent, and we broke apart.
His hair was a mess where I’d run my fingers through it. My lips felt swollen. We stared at each other in the dim light of the gondola, breathless and undone. And as the ferry wheels carried us down, I forgot about the woman from earlier and memory gaps and all the questions I’d been collecting.
For now, this was enough.
The elevator ride up to the penthouse was quiet in a comfortable way.
Michael held my hand—and the stuffed elephant—like both were equally important. Neither of us felt the need to fill the silence with words.
He unlocked the door. I stepped inside—and froze.
The lights were already on.
An older man stood in the living room like he’d been waiting for hours. Sharp eyes in a weathered face, bone structure that matched Michael’s exactly.
“Grandfather,” Michael said behind me, his voice laced with surprise.
The old man stood. Tall even with age, commanding in a way that made me want to stand up straighter even though I was already standing.
“Michael. And this must be my daughter-in-law.” His eyes cut to mine. “I thought it was time we met properly. Since you married my grandson without inviting me to the wedding.”
Oh no.
Jack hadn’t known about the wedding. My parents hadn’t known. And his grandfather too?
I glanced at Michael, expecting panic or at least concern—because I felt like a teenager caught sneaking in after curfew.
But he looked completely composed.