His Forbidden Love (Manhattan Billionaires #2) - Ava Ryan Page 0,60
can do to you. I don’t want to have to pick up the pieces again.”
As if I want to be heartbroken and depressed again. “On that happy note, I’m going to need a slice of birthday cake,” I say.
“How much time have we got before the enchiladas are ready?”
“Ten or fifteen minutes,” I say.
“Oh, yeah,” she says, reaching for the pink box. “We’re definitely going to need cake to hold us over.”
It’s nearly midnight by the time she leaves, a point at which I feel my birthday has been thoroughly and successfully celebrated. I send her home with a big slab of Chantilly cake (Valentina’s knows what they’re doing with the dessert, take it from me) and leftover chicken enchiladas for lunch tomorrow. Then I hit the shower, throw on my favorite T-shirt (it’s got boxes for Ms., Mrs. and Miss, with the box for Dr. checked off) and encase my face in Kelly’s sheet mask, since I obviously want buttery skin now that I’m a year older.
I wander back to the kitchen and am in the middle of debating the wisdom of another slice of cake and/or a final glass of champagne—I’d need to wash the cake down with something—when a knock on my door scares the shit out of me.
I hurry over and check the peephole.
Michael.
My heart soars because I always want to see him.
Then it sinks because I never want him to see me like this. I’m a fervent believer in keeping the mystery alive in a relationship.
“I hear you creeping around inside,” he says in that wry tone of his. “Are you going to let me in?”
“No. I thought you were with the guys tonight.”
“We finished up a little while ago.”
“Okay, but why would you just show up with no warning? I have a mask on my face.”
“News flash: I see you with a mask on your face every day at the hospital.”
“No! A mask to give me buttery skin.”
“Unnecessary. You already have buttery skin. Are you letting me in, or not?”
“As long as you brace yourself,” I say with a resigned sigh as I unlock the door. “I don’t want you to be scared.”
“You’re the one who should be scared. Why do I have to discover that today is your birthday from the HR person at the office?”
Oh, that. “I wasn’t sure what to do,” I say, swinging the door open. “I didn’t want you to think that— Oh my God. They’re gorgeous!”
He’s got a massive bouquet of red roses nestled in the crook of his elbow, as though he hijacked the local florist’s delivery truck on Valentine’s Day.
I press a hand to my heart, unspeakably touched by his thoughtfulness. “These are all for me?” I squeak.
“Damn, that is terrifying,” he says, making a show of looking me over as he comes inside. “I thought it was your birthday. Not Friday the thirteenth.”
An uncontrollable burst of laughter makes my mask crinkle as I carefully reach past the flowers and cup his face to bring him in for a lingering kiss on his smiling mouth. “Thank you,” I say when I let him up for air.
“I did it to save my own ass. I don’t want to be in the doghouse for missing my girlfriend’s first birthday now that we’re together.”
Oh my God! He just called me his girlfriend!
“Very smart,” I say gravely.
“You like the flowers?” he asks, passing them over.
“I love the flowers.” The moment between us is so delicious and my heart is so full that it seems like the most natural thing in the world to just go with the flow and say what I feel. “And I love you. I’m crazy in love with you.”
16
Ally
So much for drifting through life like a giant smiley-face balloon. His reaction to my heartfelt but ill-conceived confession is to stiffen, the grin slowly sliding off his face. And the effect on me feels exactly as though he’s taken an oversized needle, the kind they use in the old Looney Tunes cartoons, and given me a sharp jab with it. Leaving me embarrassed and deflated as the silence stretches into awkwardness.
“Ally…”
“I’m just going to take care of the flowers,” I say quickly, turning away as my cheeks begin to burn. I don’t know what he’s going to say, but if it’s an it’s not you, it’s me speech, I need a second to get my mind right. And to get rid of this stupid mask and restore an ounce or two of dignity. “I’ll be right back.”