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“Says the man who apparently marries on the first date.”

“I’m an all-in kind of guy.” She’s giving me shit, and I love it.

“I remember,” she teases.

With a few snaps of my fingers, I try to come up with something to start with. “Ok. Small. I can do small. Do you have a pet?”

She laughs long and hard. “No.”

“Where’s your favorite place?” I hit her rapid fire.

“How is that catching up?”

“I’m starting small. Jeez. Give a guy a break.” I squeeze her hand, and she tightens our grip. I inch a little closer to her, and we’re both still staring up.

She asks, “What’s your favorite place?”

I say, “You’re not ready to hear that.” She turns her head to mine, and I stare at her beautiful and sweet face.

“Paris?”

“No. I’m not all Francophile, like our friends, but it has a special place in my heart. But no. What’s yours?” She’s not ready to hear that it’s here. Right now. This is my favorite place. Wherever she is. I don’t wait for an answer before I speak again. Fuck small, I have to dig in.

I say, “Huh. Cool. Interesting. Ok, I’m dying. Where do you live? What do you do? Do you have someone? Do you like eggs now? What’s your favorite sushi roll? Are you married? Are you engaged? Are you happy? What’s the meaning of life?”

She can’t stop laughing at me as she sits up a bit. I shift and grab her and pull her to me.

I kiss her lightly. Her lips are firm, and I wait until she yields. I don’t push it. As soon as they’re soft and lovely against mine, I pull back. “Is that small enough?” My whole body flutters.

She gasps, and her eyes look dreamily at me. “Perfect.”

“Great. Now start answering me, woman.”

She smiles. “Kind of all over, but I have a small apartment in Los Angeles. I style commercial shoots for mid-range fashion brands, dragon roll, no, almost, sometimes, and look up.”

I grin and look up as the sky yields to the day. There’s a glow forming, like the world is on a dimmer switch, and it’s slowly turning on. We scoot back, my arm around her, and her head leans on my shoulder. It’s like it’s made for her.

mak

Holy shit! What the fuck am I doing? The lies keep slipping out. It’s like I have a sickness, and there’s no cure. I want to be with him, but I don’t want him to know about my life. What is that about? The pit of my stomach churns as I curl into him. The same feeling I harbored in Paris the whole time we were dating. That horrible, what if he finds out I’m not fabulous, feeling. The one that comes with lies that could unravel everything. Shut up, Makenzie. We’ve talked about everything in life except the reality of mine. He doesn’t know what my home life really was like. And hid the whole dropout thing who thought it was more fun to have sex and skip out on everything than make dioramas for World History. Someone should have sat me down and told me dioramas are more fun than a GED and community college.

“Mak?” He breaks the silence, and I relish the distraction from my own thoughts.

“Yes?”

“If you could do one thing from your past differently, what would it be?”

“Wear a longer dress to eat foie gras and frog legs.” He laughs, and my head almost bucks off his chest. What I’d actually do is tell him my whole truth when he told me he loved me and trust him. And I’d trust me. But now I’m so whipped up in this mess that I’m not sure it’s worth telling him everything. He’ll be gone in a minute.

I lean on his chest, facing him, his arm slung behind his head and the other wrapped tightly around me.

Ironically, I ask, “Tell me something true.”

“My father is threatening to take away my piece of the company.”

“Yikes.” I wince, and he laughs.

“And I’m great at what I do. I’ve grown the media, digital publishing, and communication division to be the pillar that holds up the rest of Ladd Enterprises.”