Chapter 9
Kit and I wait outside the room we’ll be staying in for the duration of our honeymoon while Cassidy and Steve set up inside. They want a shot of us entering the room and smiling about the resort. I’m sure they paid a fortune to be featured on the show.
I twist the plastic band around my wrist—it’ll allow us unlimited food and beverages on the property—and lean against the wall. Kit is examining the silver number on the door with such intense interest, I don’t dare interrupt.
He’s been put off since I pulled out the camera on the plane.
On my TikToks, I show the process of designing and constructing a dress. I leave out the parts where I’m staring at the designs, wondering if they’re any good. Or the parts where I’m shoving takeout in my mouth at midnight because I’m up against a deadline. What I show is real. It’s just not the whole story.
I can’t imagine this show is any different.
That means we’ll need footage of us smiling and playing along, even though we already know where it ends.
“Okay, we’re ready!” Cassidy’s voice comes from the other side of the door.
Kit lets out a heavy sigh, and I use my card to unlock the door. We wheel our suitcases inside, smiles plastered on our faces despite the tiredness leeching from our bones.
My smile falters as I take in the room. One room, as in: this is not a suite. A giant king-sized bed is dressed in white linens, and the hotel staff scattered rose petals in the shape of a heart on the duvet. I swallow the lump in my throat. There’s no couch in here. Just a couple of uncomfortable-looking chairs next to a small dining table by the doors to the balcony.
I’d suggest Kit can sleep in the bathtub, but it’s a moot point. Aside from the cameras following our every move, the bathtub is smack dab in the middle of the fucking room. There’s a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice on the ledge surrounding the tub.
Next to it is a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries and a handwritten welcome note addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Watson.
Kit sees it too, and lets out a snort of amusement. “Looks like they didn’t get the pet name memo.”
My lips pull into a smile as he picks up the note and pulls a pen from his messenger bag. He takes the cap off with his teeth, and it’s all I can do to tear my gaze away. Looking at his hands isn’t any safer, unfortunately. He deftly crosses out our names and writes in his confident block lettering Mr. and Mrs. Sweet Potato.
He replaces the note on the bathtub ledge and recaps his pen, a satisfied smile on his face. I find myself smiling at him, still.
God, I’m tired.
“It’s late,” Cassidy begins another one of her leading questions, and I know we’ve been silent for too long. “Don’t you two want to get ready for bed?”
Kit clears his throat. “Which side of the bed do you want, sweet potato?”
I shoot him a look and heave my suitcase onto the bench at the foot of the bed. Kit follows suit, and soon we’ve both ducked into the bathroom at intervals to change into pajamas and brush our teeth. Not the romantic evening Cassidy wanted for us, I imagine.
By the time I emerge from the bathroom, Kit has already removed the rose petals from the bed and slid under the comforter, scrolling through his phone.
“Guess I’m sleeping on the right,” I say, forcing too much brightness into my voice.
Kit sets his phone face down on the nightstand. “You do enjoy being right, if I remember correctly.”
I narrow my eyes. He laughs when I yank the comforter back hard enough that it exposes his legs. Thank God he’s wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants. I’m not ready for a full flash of thigh like I got this morning. A woman can only take so much before she does something decidedly stupid.
When I pull the comforter up to cover my own bare legs, Kit catches my hand in his. He turns it over, brushing his thumb over my palm. I yank it out of his grip and give him a scowl.
He rolls his eyes and slides out of bed. “I’ll be right back.”
After he disappears into the bathroom, I hear the faucet running. There’s some more clatters and shuffling. The mattress shifts under his weight when he returns, and he dumps his haul on top of the comforter: hotel-provided lotion, a small bottle of ibuprofen, a bath towel, and, still clutched in his fist, a hand towel.
He sits cross-legged on the bed, facing me. “Hands, Andie.”
I scowl.
He rolls his eyes. “Jesus. I’m not going to hurt you.”
My eyes slide to Cassidy and Steve, watching our every move. With a heavy sigh, I turn to face him, holding out my hands.
He turns them over, then frowns. “This looks like it hurts.”
“It does.” I punctuate it with a shrug. This is just what it’s like to work with my hands. Sometimes they hurt.
Kit slides my wedding band off and sets it aside. He wraps both my hands in the wet towel. It’s warm, a contrast to the cool air-conditioned room. Goose bumps climb over my arms, and my nipples stand at attention. I shift on the mattress, hoping to readjust my shirt so no one notices.
Then he squeezes my hands in the towel, and I can’t help the groan that escapes me. I can’t remember the last time I was touched like this. It’s so delicious, I want to drown in it.
Kit laughs. “If I didn’t know any better, sweet potato, I’d say you like that.”
“Shut up,” I mumble, flexing my fingers in his hands.
He removes the towel. Without looking me in the eye, he asks, “How do they get to be like this?”
“I work with delicate fabrics in colors that show every single speck of dirt. I have to wash my hands a lot to make sure I don’t ruin anything.”
His eyes meet mine, and I swallow a gasp. The look is intense—like he’s trying to look right through me. I expect a probing question about our past, but he only says, “You said you’re showing at Fashion Week.”
I nod.
When it’s clear I’ve lost my capacity for speech, he picks up the lotion. He starts working it into my skin, and I groan again, my eyes falling closed. Kit chuckles as he kneads the heel of my palm.
Cassidy clears her throat and asks, “You two dated in college, right? How did you meet?”
I shake my head. “We really don’t need to talk about—”
“An art class.” Kit answers without hesitation. He stays focused on my hands as he explains. “We were both late, so we got stuck at the front. She dropped a pencil; I picked it up. When I handed it back to her, she just stared at me like she couldn’t believe I was a real person.”
I snort my disapproval. “Right. Because you were such a beautiful man, I was stunned into silence.”
He begins to work on my other hand, a smile playing at his lips. “You looked at me like that this morning too. Some things never change, do they, sweet potato?”
When I use my newly free hand to flip him off, he laughs wholeheartedly, throwing his head back. “Whatever,” I mumble. “I caught you looking, too.”
He nods, a smile still on his face. “Did it occur to you that I meant for you to catch me?”
Another round of goose bumps tingles across my skin. Kit’s hands slow on mine, and his thumb rests across the pulse point on my wrist. It feels like time stops in this moment. We’re alone and the world is ours.
But we’ve been quiet too long again. Cassidy pipes up from the corner of the room, “Do you feel like you’ve changed since then?”
Kit clears his throat and shifts on the bed. “She’s still stubborn as ever.”
“And he’s still an arrogant ass.”
“I still have to make sure she eats, or she gets mean.”
“He still thinks I can’t function without his help.”
His eyes meet mine, and he drops his teasing tone. “You’ve always been like this.”
I narrow my eyes. “Like what?”
“A force of nature.” He drops my hands and wipes his hands off on one of the towels.
I bite my tongue, afraid to say something I’ll regret. He’s talking like he still has feelings for me. That’s a dangerous game to play, especially when he knows why I’m here. I clear my throat and say, “We’ve both changed. It’s been a long time.”
“It has,” he agrees. His chest rises and falls with a deep breath, then his lips part to say more. I’m afraid of what will come out of his mouth. It will be too honest, I know it.
He leans forward, bringing our faces closer together. I hold my breath. If he touches me now, I don’t know that I have the strength to say no. Just as he lifts his hand from the comforter, a shrill ringtone starts up in the corner of the room.
We flinch apart.
Steve mumbles an apology as he lowers the camera from his shoulder and digs in his pocket for his phone, avoiding Cassidy’s glare all the while.
Kit closes his eyes and slowly shakes his head, as if he’s coming out of a trance. My heart rattles in my rib cage like I’d just completed the hundred-meter dash. I suck in a breath and don’t miss the way Kit opens his eyes in time to see the rise and fall of my chest.
Cassidy curses under her breath. “That’s enough for tonight. I think we got what we needed.”
My shoulders sag with relief. We’re silent as we unclip our mics to hand them off to Steve and receive our missive for morning filming from Cassidy.
Kit follows them to the door and deadbolts it behind them. He flicks off the lamps on the way back to the bed. I lean against the headboard while he tidies up. After returning the supplies to the bathroom, he picks my wedding ring up off the comforter.
He holds it between us. “You did well today. For a virgin, I mean.”
I snatch the ring from his fingers with a scowl. As I examine it in the lamplight, I tell him, “I think maybe we should stick to the present from now on. We don’t need to rehash the past.”
He climbs back into bed and leans against the headboard too. “What if I want to?”
“What difference will it make?” I frown at the ring in my hand. “What’s done is done. Ancient history, right?”
“Practically strangers anymore.” He echoes what I said yesterday, though his tone is flat. He turns away from me, clicking off the lamp on his bedside table. “Goodnight, Andie.”
I don’t reply, choosing to set my wedding ring on the nightstand. I pick up a pen and hotel paper and begin to sketch a new dress.