Paris Is Always a Good Idea - Jenn McKinlay Page 0,137
his lopsided smile turned up one corner of his mouth. He looked at me from beneath his eyelashes in that way he had that charmed me stupid. I tried to stay strong.
I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to shut him out. He wasn’t having it.
“To put it plainly, I came to Italy early and lied to you about Severin coming because I couldn’t risk losing you.” His gaze held mine, and it was full of such love and affection, for me, Chelsea Martin, just as I was, that I felt everything inside of me shift as it tried to lock into this new happy place. “You’re it for me, Martin. I knew it the first time I laid eyes on you, and I know it now more than ever.”
“But—” It was all I could get out.
“Everything I told you last night about what I feel for you is true,” he said. “Everything.”
I stared at him. I wanted to believe him so badly, but the grief, the crippling, controlling sadness that had shotgunned any chance at happiness for me over the past seven years, sensed my vulnerability and was trying to throw a wrench of doubt into the works.
“I know what you’re doing,” he said. His eyes were soft. “And I know why.”
I stood frozen, incapable of moving and barely able to inhale enough to stay conscious.
“You’re terrified of this, and you’ve latched onto the first possible thing you can grab to save yourself from what you’re feeling here.” He gestured between us with his free hand.
I nodded. It was true. I was petrified all the way to my squishy middle.
“And that fear is telling you to push me away because I lied, but I’m not going to let you,” he said.
“I don’t think—” I began, but he interrupted.
“That’s a good start—don’t think,” he said. He smiled his charmer’s smile. “It’s okay. I’m terrified, too. We’ll be terrified together. Just don’t leave me, Martin. Don’t turn your back on this. Give me a chance. Give us a chance.”
“If she won’t, I will.” I glanced over my shoulder to see two American tourists ogling my man. I frowned.
“What about work?” I asked. I couldn’t help it. I had to know that he hadn’t planned to oust me all along.
“I’ll quit,” he said.
“You’d do that?” I gasped.
He shrugged. “If it means I get you, the woman I love, then I’ll happily quit right now.” The look he sent me was so intense, I felt it crack my resistance like a blast of flame on a sheet of ice. He held out his free hand and called to the crowd, “Can someone give me a phone? I don’t seem to have mine on me.”
The tourists laughed. A pretty woman held out her phone to him, but I stepped forward and waved her away.
“You don’t have to quit,” I mumbled. I believed him. I had no choice, since he was willing to give it all up—for me.
“What’s that?” he asked, cupping a hand to his ear.
“You don’t have to quit,” I said louder. “I believe you.”
He frowned. Then he shook his head. “That’s not what I want to hear.”
Now I returned the frown. I met his gaze, which was positively wicked. Uh-oh.
“What do you want me to say?” I asked. Despite leaving claw marks on my insides, my doubts were ebbing as if being pulled out to sea on a riptide of desire that got stronger with every second I gazed at him. My man.
“I think,” he said, “that it’s your turn to tell me that you love me.”
My face flashed scorching hot with embarrassment. I glanced around. There were at least thirty people watching us. I couldn’t, not in front of all these strangers. I shook my head, and he made a tsking sound.
“You’re leaving me no choice, Martin,” he said. “You either admit that you love me, in front of witnesses, or the towel goes.”
What?! He wouldn’t! There were people here with phones. He’d go viral, for sure, and then his identity would be outed, and the ramifications for the ACC . . . He couldn’t be serious! I met his gaze. He was! He would! Oh dear god!
The crowd started to clap and cheer. Half—mostly women, along with a few men—wanted the towel to drop. The other half, primarily men, were encouraging me, quite loudly, to speak.
I stared at Jason, who resembled a muscle-toned god, dazzling to the eye in the spring sunshine. I glanced back at Marcellino, but he