Before he can move toward his bathroom, I grab him and pull him against me. My lips find his neck and the red marks I left there last night. Seeing my marks against Tripp’s freckles makes me want to leave more. All over.
“People will see us today,” he points out. “You okay with that?”
“The only difference I see is that instead of doing this—” I kiss his cheek. “—I’ll be doing this.” My lips meet his, and we share a soft, slow kiss.
He lets out a shuddery breath as he pulls back. “Okay. I think you’ll be fine.”
And I am.
With the relationship stuff.
But when we pull up at the Strat, and I tilt my head back to look at the top of the building, I think I’m going to wet myself.
“You all right?” Tripp asks as we climb out of the car.
I grab his hand and squeeze tight. “Don’t let me die.”
“You have more chance of choking on lunch than falling off the building.”
“But you’re saying there’s still a chance?”
I purposely chose a black button-up to hide the sweat marks, but a quick glance in the elevator mirror shows the black isn’t doing a whole lot. Tripp doesn’t drop my hand, and the higher we go, the higher those numbers on the display climb, the more unsettled I get.
I can do this.
I can do this.
The elevator doors finally ping open, and we step out into the foyer.
But the second I glimpse the view through the floor-to-ceiling windows, my feet freeze.
I can’t do this.
“Dex …” Tripp whispers as his parents approach the concierge.
“I’m good. I’m fine. Could you just carry me, maybe?” Because I really can’t get my feet to move.
He forcefully pulls me after him, and I stagger along, my feet feeling like they’re filled with lead.
“A seat furthest from the windows,” Tripp tells the man behind the counter.
“We reserved you the best view of the city.”
“Yeah, look, I’m scared of heights, and Dex forgot to mention it when he booked. Any chance of being moved?”
“We can make it work. And congratulations on your marriage.”
That almost makes me feel better. Almost. At least it would if I didn’t feel like I was going to hurl all over the floor.
Another server shows up to lead us to our table, and I keep my gaze trained on our joined hands and trust Tripp to lead me. I know the fear will settle the longer we’re up here, but I can’t stop picturing the glass disappearing and us all tipping out the side.
“Since when are you scared of heights?” Mira asks as the server hands out menus and leaves.
“Not me. My husband.”
Karl turns to me. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
I cringe. “It doesn’t matter. I’m fine. This is fine. I just wish they’d make the building stop swaying.”
“The building isn’t swaying,” Tripp points out.
“Then why do I feel like I’m going to fall off my chair?”
Mira finally gives me that indulgent look I’m so used to seeing from her. “You really do get yourself into the worst situations, don’t you, Dex?”
“You should have spoken up,” Karl says.
Tripp’s hand tightens around mine. “When it comes to the people he loves, there’s nothing Dex won’t do. This is an extreme exhibit A.”
“Goddamn, Dex.” Karl picks up his menu. “You couldn’t let us be mad at you about the whole wedding thing for a bit longer?”
“I want you to like me,” I say.
“We always have.” Mira nods. “But next time you mess up—and we all know you two screw heads will do something—just remember you don’t need to get yourself close to passing out to make it up to us.”
“So we’re forgiven?” I ask, ignoring the way my head spins.
“Like we could say otherwise.” Mira tilts her head. “Should we go, honey? You’re looking pale.”
“Please, for the love of Gretzky, do not make me stand up again now.” I close my eyes and lean forward to rest my head on the table. And like he can read my mind, Tripp’s hand rubs circles on my back.
And if I focus on that, it makes me forget everything else.
Including the very possible, highly likely drop to my death.
“I guess the observation deck is out after this?” Karl mutters.
It takes everything in me not to sob.
Eighteen
TRIPP
“Do you need us to drop you off anywhere on the way home?” I ask my parents while we walk to the car. “CVS? Grocery store … Airport?”
Mom glares at me, but Dad laughs.
“You wouldn’t be trying to get rid of us to spend time with your new husband, would you?” Mom asks.
“Maybe.” That’s exactly what I’m trying to do. Because I hate all this lying. It twists my insides and makes me nauseous. Lying to the public to save our image is one thing—that’s necessary sometimes—but lying to my parents? I’m starting to regret letting Dex take the lead and keeping my parents in the dark.
Not only that, but I’m desperate to get Dex alone and find out what he was thinking last night. I know what I was thinking—that Dex, perfect Dexter Mitchale, the man of my dreams, let me touch him and kiss him and suck his amazing dick, so there was no way I was going to turn that down.
But what was he doing? What does it mean? Maybe he’s looking down the barrel of twelve months without being able to have sex with someone else. Maybe Anton was right when he said given the circumstances, Dex could realize it’s possible to be attracted to me. That theory would work with how Dex has been acting today.
It doesn’t fill me with reassurance though. Him only realizing he’s attracted to me because he can’t have anyone else sounds a hell of a lot like “I’d do you … if you were the last man on earth.”
Dad slaps my back. “You don’t need to worry about us. We’re out of your hair tonight. I have to work in the morning, and you know your mother doesn’t like to fly alone.”
Okay. Tonight. I can deal with a couple more hours.
Maybe.
“Your sister finishes work at three and said she’ll be by to see us before we leave.”
Sienna. Shit. She knows this whole thing is fake.
I get Dex to drive us home while I get my phone out and text Sienna.
Long story, but don’t tell Mom and Dad that Dex’s and my marriage is fake. They think it’s real.
She’s at work, so she won’t see it until she’s done, but she checks her phone religiously, so she shouldn’t miss it. But then I reread my text and again am hit with why did I let this get so out of hand? The deception is really sinking in.
When we get home, I busy myself with washing the coffee cups from this morning and the plates my parents used when they had breakfast at whatever crazy hour they woke up at. It doesn’t take long for Mom to join me.
“I could’ve done that. We’re the ones imposing on you and your husband. Wow. Husband. It’s surreal to say that aloud.”
I don’t know where it comes from—the guilt, maybe—but I accidentally blurt, “It’s not actually real.”
Then I can’t look at my mother.