Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
Two Months Later
MARCUS’S SEPTEMBER GOALS:
1. Make Mei smile every day, multiple times a day (minimum of 10)
2. Find the tunnels under the city where people live
3. Make Mei laugh every day, multiple times a day (minimum 5 times—I can’t be hilarious all the time)
4. Learn how to do a handstand since Mei can, and I hate losing to her
5. Make Mei happy every day (no minimum)
6. Take a motorcycle ride to Area 51 so I can prove there’s no such thing as aliens
7. Make Mei really, really happy. A lot. (Unlimited times)
“ I hate it when you work on my days off,” I whine into my afternoon bowl of cereal. “I can only try so many new recipes. And who wants to clean or do laundry for fun? We really need to get on the same schedule.”
Marcus puts the milk carton back in our nearly empty fridge and laughs. “Sounds like somebody’s spoiled now, living in this luxury extended stay motel instead of porno-murder motel where you had to fight for survival all day.” He picks up his bowl of cereal and sits across from me. “You got free cable with fifteen mostly working channels, and now you’re too good for it, you and your quarter-operated washing machines.” He shakes his head and I laugh as he goes on. “What more do you need than drug busts every night, prostitution rings on the daily? Or twenty-four-hour security since the cops are constantly out in that parking lot?”
“You’re right—thanks for keeping me grounded.” I push the floating marshmallows to the side of my bowl with my spoon, saving them for last. “But if I have to hear ‘Exotic Dancer’ One and ‘Exotic Dancer’ Two talk about how much they’d like to ‘get with you’ one more time while I’m pulling your underwear from the dryer, I’m gonna?—”
“Ooh. You mean the strippers across the hall? I like where this is going.”
I roll my eyes, scooping marshmallows onto my spoon, and devour them before taking my bowl to the sink. “Seriously, though,” I say, scrubbing my bowl and setting it on the rack to dry. “It’s like they think I’m deaf. Or maybe they don’t care. Either way, it bugs me. And—AND,” I say over my shoulder, “when you come home from work every night, they’re lurking outside, ready to rip off your clothes before they go to work to take off theirs. Have you not noticed?”
Marcus’s chair scrapes the floor, and I smile down at the sink, ready to feel him behind me, and when his hands run down my sides, I relax into him, his laughter rumbling against my neck as he kisses it.
“It’s not funny.”
“You’re right,” he murmurs into my ear. “It’s hilarious that you assume I’ve even noticed them when you’re anywhere in this world.” He kisses the tattoo on the back of my neck and rests his chin on top of my head, his arms draped over my shoulders. “The girl you should be worried about is the sexy one on the third floor. The Asian with the tattoo on her neck? You seen her?” He whistles and swears. “Can’t stop staring. Think I’m in love with her. She does things to me…”
I smile and lean my head back, wrapping my fingers around his forearms. “You don’t even know her.”
“But I’m going to. I’ve told the guys at work about her, and they say I should make my move, but…I’m kinda nervous, you know? She’s way out of my league, but I hear she likes white guys twice her size, so I think I might have a shot. What do you think?” He kisses the soft spot behind my ear, his breath warming my neck, and goosebumps rise on my skin. “Should I try and seduce her tonight? It’s all I can think about.”
“I’ve heard she’s always hoped to be seduced by you, but I’ve also heard she loves gelato, so you should probably start there and see how it goes.”
“Ooh—good call. You give the best dating advice.” Marcus kisses my neck again before his hands guide me to face him. “Anything else you’ve heard she likes?”
I bite my lower lip, sliding my hands under his shirt, and his stomach muscles tense. “She’s mentioned one other possibility…”
Marcus groans. “Is this other possibility something that can wait until after work so I don’t get fired for being late?”
I grip the waistband of his pants and tug him to me. “Show me the gelato, and we’ll see.”
He kisses my forehead and snatches his valet jacket off the chair. “Tell her that after work, I’m gonna make that possibility a reality.” He walks to the door. “I’ll be home at one. Two at the latest.”
I follow him onto the landing outside, but in a surprise twist, he turns and backs me against the doorframe, his mouth hot against mine. I gasp against his lips, and he growls and presses closer.
“You’re dangerous,” he breathes before our kiss works to a fever pitch, his body heat washing over me until we break apart to catch our breath. My legs tremble as the rest of me slowly drifts back to Earth.
“See you after work, wifey.” He gives me one last lingering kiss and whispers, “Love you 365 forever.”
Biting my lip, I lean against the doorjamb and watch him walk toward the stairs before my eyes collide with the two neighbor girls where they stand, stalled on the stairs, stunned.
I smile, then wave and hurry inside. Closing the door behind me, I lean back, my palms against the metal as I smile to myself. I’m so grateful to have the old Marcus back. So glad we’re talking again. So grateful to be laughing again and giving ourselves to each other instead of locking ourselves away like we did for the first few weeks in Vegas. Even after Marcus apologized, things were still off. We had to move hotels a few times until we found this place, and he had a few interviews that didn’t work out before The Palazzo job came through. All I could think about was whether Marcus would continue his plan to stay with me or turn back. But then, he got a job. We found this place and settled. It started to feel a little better between us. Then there was the night we heard someone singing right outside the window.
We’d rolled over in bed, frowned at each other, and gone to the window, peeking through the slit in the curtains. A man dressed like a chicken stood in a pothole in the middle of the parking lot, holding a Styrofoam egg high above his head and singing for someone named Crystal to come out and meet their baby. Marcus had lost it when chicken man started singing a lullaby to the egg. All of Marcus’s locked away laughter and happiness had burst out that night and set mine free, too.
The guy kept singing Crystal’s name, and we’d laughed until we were rolling on the bed, holding our stomachs and wiping tears. When we could finally breathe again, we’d heard screeching and darted to the window just as a woman wearing platform boots and nothing else ran toward the chicken man, grabbed the egg, and held it to her chest.
Marcus had clamped his hands over my eyes from where he stood behind me, his genuine belly laugh rumbling all around me.
I look around our room—our four bowls, four plates, two cups, and utensils stacked neatly on the counter. Toothbrushes next to each other on the bathroom sink. Marcus’s Adidas in the corner by the chair, his shirt still slung over the lamp from this morning. A few books on the nightstand, a couple of Sharpies beside them. Empty wrappers and Buddha sitting beside Magic 8.
As gross as this place is, it’s our home now, and while I hate the brown, leak-stained ceiling, rusted metal railings, and criminal neighbors, I love the moments of just us in our little world we’ve taken back from Nick and Olivia. Like the sheets covered in Sharpie messages we leave for each other. Our clothes hanging next to each other in the closet. The collection of funny notes Marcus tapes to the refrigerator. The pickle jar we labeled “Mansion Fund” and fill with Marcus’s wadded up tip money. The wilting flower arrangement I got on sale at work to brighten this place.
I glance at the clock, planning my next eight hours without Marcus. I haven’t cooked in a while, so since I have the entire day to myself, I’ll head to the store and grab some things to make a huge breakfast tomorrow. Night valet shifts mean working through dinner, and Marcus is starving when he wakes up the next morning. He’ll be upset that I went out alone but will probably forgive me once his stomach’s full. It’ll be fine—the grocery store’s a few blocks away, but I’ll keep to the busy streets. Marcus and I are back to normal, and I want to put normal back into everything we do. I don’t want to spend my days off stuck inside alone with Fear. Nick may have followed us to Stanford, but I’m not letting him ruin the new life we’ve created here.
1:53 AM and still no Marcus.
I put my phone back on its charger and roll over. Marcus called me around midnight to say he’d be working late. There was an event tonight, and they needed all valet drivers there to help. I’d whined a little about not seeing him in forever before we said goodbye, then I crawled into bed. I’ve been trying to sleep ever since. But my imagination is persistent when I’m alone at night with only my dark, lurking thoughts, wondering who might be just outside the door.
I close my eyes, breathing myself to relaxation. When my phone chirps, I roll over and grab it, blinking at the message:
Marcus: I have a surprise for you. Open the door and look down.
I crawl out of bed, throw on some pajamas, and undo all the locks before flinging the door open. No Marcus, but on the mat where he should be standing is a box from my favorite gelato place. I’ve never actually been, but Marcus has brought me home a different flavor after work almost every night this week.
I pick it up and bring it inside, and when I open it, there’s a hotel keycard inside with a note:
If you want your precious gelato, come to The Palazzo, Room 1824. My driver is waiting for you at the curb. SECRET CODE: MARCUS IS SMOKIN’ HOT LOVE. If you’re not here by 3:30, kiss the gelato goodbye.
-M
My heart lifts and relief rushes through me, calming my nerves. I smile and rush to the closet to put on some clothes. I grab the keycard and dash out the door, stopping only to lock it behind me.
Taking the three flights of stairs down to the curb, I’m surprised to see a vintage Mustang idling in front of the building, and a guy about my age standing with his hand on the open passenger door. He wears an official Palazzo valet shirt.
He tips an imaginary hat. “Secret code, Mrs. Miller?”
I press my lips together and roll my eyes. “Are you really going to make me say it?”
He smiles and nods. “If you want a ride, yeah.”
I blow out a breath, then rush, “Marcus is smokin’ hot love.”
“Yep—you’re legit,” the guy laughs. “You’re the only one who would actually be caught dead saying those words.” He helps me into the passenger seat and runs around to the driver’s side. “I’m Patrick, and I’ll be your chauffeur tonight.”
“What shady deal did he make with you to do this?” I ask as I fasten my seatbelt, the smell of oiled leather settling around me. “I assume the car’s not stolen.”
He revs the engine. “Borrowed.”
I raise my eyebrows, waiting for him to explain, and he chuckles. “Marcus and I park cars all night. We get a little lost sometimes.” He puts the car in gear and glances at me, smirking. “But I won’t get lost this time because I have strict orders to get you to The Palazzo in one piece or lose my manhood. So hold tight, because we only have ten minutes, and I prefer to remain whole.”
Patrick squeals onto the street, and I grip the seatbelt with both hands as he stomps on the gas, taking corners at fifty miles per hour until we reach The Strip, and he’s forced to slow to a snail’s pace.
“So you’re the one spending time with him when I’m not,” I relax into the seat.
Patrick downshifts, the car crawling to a stop when the light turns red. “Dude, your husband’s my freaking hero.” He inches the car forward, focusing on the lanes of traffic, even at this hour. “I’ve only worked with him for three weeks, but I’m waiting for him to tell me he’s Batman or something.”
I look out the window, taking in the bright lights around me. “He’s my hero, too,” I say around the lump in my throat. This guy has no idea just how much of a superhero Marcus really is.
We drive in silence until my personal chauffeur pulls into valet parking at The Palazzo’s main entrance. He darts around the car to open my door for me, and I step out. I thank him, and then thank the doorman who yanks the towering, gold door wide open for me.
My gaze climbs the illuminated statue in the sprawling atrium, and I fight feelings of smallness with the thought that Marcus is here—somewhere in this hotel—waiting for me.
I follow the signs to the guest elevators, knowing I must look as awestruck as I feel. I’ve never been in a building like this and can’t wait to find out how Marcus managed to get us here.
The elevator opens, and I step inside, scanning my keycard before pressing Floor 18. I watch the rolling numbers, anticipation buzzing through me, growing each time the doors slide open and couples stream in and out. When the elevator eases to a stop on the eighteenth floor, I walk out and stop to check my appearance in the mirror hanging above a gilded bureau. I’ve been so preoccupied with tracking down Marcus that I haven’t thought to run a brush through my hair or put on anything nice. Though my “nice” is limited to jeans and V-necks, a jacket to cover my ratty tank top, and a toothbrush, would be helpful right about now.
Checking Marcus’s note once again for the room number, I make my way down the hallway, my feet light on the heavily padded carpeting.
Outside room 1824, I wave the keycard in front of the reader, and it clicks. Pushing the door open, I ease inside, but halt in my tracks in the foyer.
The room beyond is lit up with electric candles that sit on every surface, their warm glow casting shadows across the carpet. I ease ahead, follow a path of flickering votives into the bedroom, which expands into a sunken living area with floor to ceiling windows. A tub of gelato sits in the center of the bed, and I read the note propped against it:
Happy 100-day anniversary
365 Forever
-M
Warmth spreads against my back, and I smile as Marcus’s hands slip around my waist from behind, flattening on my stomach. He presses his lips to the curve of my neck, creating a trail of heat. I close my eyes and lean back against his chest, letting his hands sweep away all my earlier worry and anxiety.
“Hey,” he whispers against my ear, and I squeal when he picks me up and lays me on the bed.
“Mmm…not so fast, Marcus Miller. You have some explaining to do,” I scold.
“Nothing to explain,” he says in a British accent. “It was magic, and a magician never reveals his secrets, love. Though apparently, this magician is not efficient at filling a room with candles. It took forever.”
I laugh, pushing him away, and roll toward the tub of stracciatella. “Suit yourself, but ‘Girl with gelato does not become distracted by hot boy until gelato is gone,’” I say in my best Guo Mama voice, slipping my hands under the bulging tub and holding it up like a gift to the Gods. “If you think you’re magic, wait until you see me make this disappear before your sugar-loving eyes.”
I cross my legs, setting the tub in my lap, and pry the lid off. “You can stay if you want, but we’re about to have a moment, and things might get a little crazy.” I grab the spoon lying patiently in the box and dig in. “Mmmm…so good,” I say, my mouth brimming. “I would share, but we’ll see if there’s any left over.”
Marcus lays on his side, head propped in his hand as he watches me eat. “I’m sorry for making you worry, but surprising you isn’t easy these days. Lots of planning and executing for my lady.” His grin rivals the room full of candles, their glow resting on his face. He looks amazing in his white ribbed tank top and sweats hanging low on his waist. His usually messy hair is damp from a shower, blue eyes telling me everything I ever need to know.
I set the tub on the nightstand and take a picture of him with my phone. Then I push his chest, rolling him to his back, and straddle him.
“Done so soon?” He smiles up at me, his hands circling my waist. “Not that I’m complaining, but…it’s your favorite.”
“Second favorite.” I grip the hem of my shirt, keeping my eyes on his as I pull it up and over my head.