kept a secret before," he whispers.
"It's just a surprise."
He studies my expression and takes a step backward. I'm not sure if he believes me.
I'm not sure if this is the right call. But helping him heal the wound that's still causing him pain is worth the risk.
"You coming?" His voice is bouncy, but there's a neediness in his eyes.
He needs that closeness too. Hell, maybe he needs to prove to himself that he's still a stud settled down.
Whatever his intentions, I want to be pressed against him in the shower.
I'm not wearing much. I pull my t-shirt off my head and push myself off the bed.
"Of course I'm coming. But it's up to you how many times," I say.
***
For the rest of the afternoon and evening, I push aside everything but the moment. I soak in every second of fucking Tom in the shower, of a lazy afternoon taking in the flowers and the water shows of the Bellagio, of dinner with Pete and Jess.
I especially soak in the night pressed against Tom in our giant king bed.
At eight a.m., my damn alarm ruins everything. I jolt out of bed.
Tom wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me back under the covers. "What's the rush?"
I start with the easiest thing to explain. "I need to pee."
He mumbles something I can't make out then lets me go. I do my usual morning routine in the bathroom and return to the main room.
Tom is sitting up in bed. His wavy hair is falling over his face. He looks good just rolled out of bed. He looks tempting.
He's my husband and he's insatiable. I can have him whenever I want him. It's not a temptation, really.
It's an invitation.
But I can't have him now. Not with this hanging over our heads. It will be over in a few hours. He might be pissed at first. He might leave without considering talking to Liberty, but he will know that she did love him.
That she still regrets how everything happened.
I don't expect him to forgive her. I don't expect them to form any kind of relationship. I don't expect anything but him hearing, from her, how much he mattered to her.
He needs to know how much he matters.
He needs to know he's wanted.
"Good morning." I offer him my best smile then I turn to my half-unpacked suitcase. What do you wear to meet the woman who gave birth to your husband then lost him to the state? Jeans and a sweater can't be too far off.
Tom looks at me funny. Even through a yawn, his eyes stay fixed on me. He runs his hand through his hair. "You're still hiding something."
"It's a surprise."
I dress and check my cell—Liberty is going to be early—then get to work on my makeup. I don't usually wear much more than eyeliner and a little lip gloss, but I need something to occupy my hands and my mind.
Tom follows my lead. By the time I'm done with my makeup, he's dressed and sitting on the bed.
"This is a good surprise?" he asks.
I haven't got a clue. "I hope so."
He looks at me like he doesn't believe me. But still, he leads the way to the hotel parking lot and to our car.
Still, he drives according to the directions I read off my phone.
Still, he parks in front of the quiet restaurant.
He turns to me. "You're nervous."
"Yeah."
"You gonna tell me what we're doing here?"
"Then it wouldn't be a surprise." And he'd leave without giving it a chance.
"Okay." He raises a brow, but still, he gets out of the car, opens the door for me, and hits the electronic lock.
I check my phone one last time for posterity.
She's here.
We're here.
So here goes nothing.
Chapter Thirty
Tom
I slide my keys into my jeans pocket and open the door for Willow. Know it's old-fashioned, but I like making sure she knows I'm taking care of her.
Especially when she's shaking with nervous energy.
Gotta say, this doesn't seem like a good surprise.
I like a good surprise—an I'm naked under my coat kind of surprise—but this whole morning is giving me a sinking feeling in my stomach.
Willow clears her throat. Her eyes go to her phone again then the thing is in her purse. She wipes her palms on her jeans. She taps her toes together. Look at that. Our sneakers match. Both are dark blue, almost navy.
You'd think that kind of thing would happen all the time, but we both own so many pairs of canvas sneakers we