Chapter 19
Nineteen
CHARLOTTE
Ihave nothing to complain about.
Absolutely nothing.
The sun is shining, I’m ahead of schedule at work, and my very sexy, very for real boyfriend surprised me with a late afternoon shopping trip. And he came bearing a cappuccino.
I’m a lucky woman.
So why do I wish I were anywhere but Anton’s Exclusive Menswear?
I’m generally a fan of shopping of any kind, and the fact that Nix took the initiative to make sure he’s appropriately dressed for Teddy’s wedding is next-level boyfriend shit.
But as the tailor measures his inseam for the third time, marking the fabric with quick, precise movements, my stomach cramps. And I can’t seem to get comfortable on the velvet bench by the window, no matter how many times I cross and re-cross my legs.
Nix catches my eye over his shoulder in the three-way mirror. “You okay?”
I nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Great.”
“What do you think? Is this it?” He extends his arms, showing off the full look—seal gray pants and a matching suit jacket that are stunning.
But for some reason…
I wrinkle my nose apologetically. “I don’t know. The pants are perfect, but I’m not completely sold on the jacket. Maybe try one of the others? Or just the vest with the off-white dress shirt?”
“Sure thing, boss.” He shoots me a wink in the mirror before thanking the tailor and popping back into the changing room without another word.
No debate about why his taste in fashion is superior to mine, even though I’ve been on more “best dressed” society pages than his entire law office combined. No lecture about how the cut of the other jacket I picked out makes his legs appear weirdly short.
Just a wink and a smile, like my opinion is the only one that matters.
Back in the dark days of helping Teddy shop for his firm’s annual charity gala every November, this was the energy I longed for. I just wanted my man to trust me, to care more about what I thought about his appearance than the corporate dude bros at his office.
Now, I have that, but I’m still not happy.
Why?
What’s wrong with me?
Before I can pinpoint the source of my irritation—Not enough protein with lunch? Something I forgot to write on my calendar for next week?—the changing room door opens, and my jaw drops.
Holy hell…
Holy Saint Sebastian, patron saint of hot men and fine asses (at least according to my gay guy friends).
He looks…
He’s just…
“Better?” he asks, a glitter in his gaze that makes it obvious he knows just how delicious he looks.
I force my mouth shut and nod, letting my wide, slightly lecherous grin do the talking for me. Nix laughs in response, his eyes crinkling at the edges in a way that makes me want to drag him back into the changing room and devour him whole because damn…
Damn.
In the linen shirt I selected and a fitted charcoal suit vest that cuts in at the perfect angle, his shoulders look impossibly broad.
His waist is snatched, his gorgeously round backside is out for show-and-tell—no suit jacket flaps to hide the glutes he spends hours toning in the gym—and his already long legs somehow look even longer.
If Teddy were here, he’d be seething with jealousy.
He will be seething with jealousy, I realize, in just a little over a week, when I walk into his wedding with the hottest man in New Orleans on my arm.
No sooner has the thought drifted through my head than the cranky, unsettled feeling returns, making me rub at my suddenly tight jaw as the tailor circles him again.
“Just a slight tuck at the shoulders,” he says, nodding his approval. “We can take care of this and the pants in an hour if you’d like to come back around…five-thirty to pick them up before we close? Or we can hold it for you to collect later. We’re open Monday through Saturday, ten to six.”
“I can swing by on Wednesday afternoon. I’m out of town until then.” Nix’s focus shifts my way. “What do you think, Char? This is the one, right?”
I stand, chest tightening as I cross to the mirror.
Up close, the look is even more devastating—the subtle weave of the linen shirt, the way the vest swells above his pecs, the mixture of power and sophistication that I know will have every woman at the reception drooling the second he slides onto the dance floor.
And that’ll be before they see the way he moves.
After?
Well, after, I may have to beat them off my date with my extendable selfie stick.
I make a mental note to tuck it into my purse on the big day as I make a micro-adjustment to his collar. “Yes. This is the one. You look incredible.”
But I sound flat, almost…sad.
Of course, Nix notices.
His eyes narrow. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” I nod with more enthusiasm than I feel, doing my best to recapture the thrill of the revenge fantasy.
I imagine walking into the wedding with my gorgeous, hotter, smarter, better-than-my-ex-in-every-way date. Teddy’s face when he sees us together. Madison’s smug, self-satisfied smile cracking at the edges. Every single person in that ballroom understanding exactly who won, and who lost…
I know Teddy’s friends and coworkers well. I know how much they love to gossip and how quickly they turn on each other at the first sign of weakness.
I can practically hear the whispers now…
Oh my God, is that Charlotte’s date?
Jesus Christ. Teddy must want to die.
Just shrivel up and die!
I bet he’s regretting inviting her to the wedding now.
Or at least giving her the option for a plus-one.
The vicious laughter at my ex’s expense will be sweet.
Vicious and cruel and sweet, but…
I smooth a hand down to rest on the soft satin vest, over Nix’s heart. Then, I lift my gaze and whisper, “What if we don’t go?”
The tailor clears his throat, clearly sensing some sort of shit is about to hit the fan. “I’ll be up front when you decide,” he says, backing away. “Please, take your time. There’s no rush.”
“Thank you,” Nix murmurs, but he barely glances the man’s way.
He’s too busy frowning down at me, confusion in his eyes.
“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t you want to go?
” A hint of concern flickers in his expression.
“Are you worried it will be too hard or something? That maybe the old feelings might—”
“God no,” I cut in with a rush of breath. “No. Not even a little bit. Ew.” I shake my head with a laugh as I stroke two fingers down the front of my throat. “That honestly almost made me throw up a little.”
“Good,” he rumbles. “You scared me for a minute. So, if it’s not that, then…
what’s up?” He smooths a stray hair from my temple.
“You don’t have to feel bad about giving him a taste of his own medicine on his wedding day, you know.
He started this with what he said in that article.
You’re just giving him the clap back he deserves.
Honestly, he’s asking for it. If he didn’t want to deal with potential ex drama, he shouldn’t have invited you to the wedding. ”
“I know,” I say. “And this isn’t about feeling bad for Teddy or worried about ruining Madison’s big day.
I just…” I shrug, shaking my head again.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right anymore.
I just…don’t care. I don’t care what they think about me, or what our mutual friends think, or what they say when I don’t show up at the wedding.
I just don’t care.” I let out a laugh that feels like freedom.
“I honestly couldn’t give less of a shit. ”
I meet his eyes again, lips curving into a shy smile as I confess, “I just care about us. About enjoying how fine you look in this suit without worrying about dumb people from my past who are dumb and stupid and annoying and dumb.”
“Super dumb,” he agrees, his gaze warm on mine. “I really like that you just care about us. I really like us. Period.”
I laugh, the icky feeling fading as he hugs me close. “Me, too. So, should I un-RSVP? And you can tell the team you’re available for that Saturday night game?”
“Now hold on there, woman, not so fast.” He chews his bottom lip for a beat as if working through a math problem in his head.
“What if we did something else? I already put in to take the game off for the wedding, and there’s a lull in the schedule after.
We’d have five whole days. We could get into a lot of trouble in our fancy clothes, we won’t be wearing to Teddy’s stupid wedding in five days. ”
My pulse spikes. “Oh my God, we could. What if…”
“What?” he prompts when I trail off, certain I’m being too crazy.
But hell, Nix and I run on crazy. We have from the start.
“What if we go to Paris?” I whisper, giddy excitement growing as he nods.
“Fuck yes,” he whispers back. “That’s what I’m talking about. We should totally go to fucking Paris!”
“I don’t have anything going on at work those days that my staff can’t handle,” I say. “And we probably need to go to Paris. Our clothes are too fancy for New York or even London, really.”
He nods harder. “Agreed. Paris is the only thing that makes sense.”
I roll my eyes, giggling. “I mean, it doesn’t really. It will take an entire day to get there and an entire day back. We’ll only have three full days in the city.”
“But think of all the cheese we can eat in three days,” he says.
“All the wine we can drink and the museums we can wander.” His eyes widen as he adds, “And if the opera has something on, we could do that, too. I can book a box and feel you up in the dark while someone sings really loudly in French.”
I grin harder. “Your fantasies crack me up sometimes.”
He hugs me closer, his voice husky as he says, “It won’t be funny in the moment, I promise.”
“I’m sure it won’t,” I murmur, that familiar zing coiling low in my body.
This man has me in a pretty much constant state of “zing” these days, and I have zero complaints. I honestly can’t get enough of him, and now we might be going to Paris.