how to take in oxygen. She dug her four-inch black stilettos into the plush carpet, seeking purchase as she attempted to reconnect with her ability to form words.
“You look good,” she said, the understatement of the year. Wait. Make that a lifetime.
“And you look…lovely.”
Lovely.
That was so him.
He’d never been one for hot, smoking, gorgeous, babe, or any of those sayings of the moment. There was something in him that spiraled deeper, and leaned on words that had more heft. Like lovely.
What to say next? She should have scripted this rendezvous. Wrote out talking points. But she didn’t know which direction in the conversational path to turn, so she went for the obvious.
“We finally made it to the Bellagio,” she said, gesturing to the crowds clicking by outside the bar. God, this was hard. How do you just have a drink with someone you once thought you’d marry? Someone who was your everything? She’d been his rock; he’d been her hope.
“Yeah. We finally did,” he echoed.
It had only taken eighteen years, an ocean, countless letters, two broken hearts, and a lengthy online search for him, which had taken time and research, since he’d changed his name and was absent from social media. The Bellagio was the symbol of all their promises. Young, foolish, and wildly in love, they’d been together when this hotel was under construction nearly two decades ago. They’d said they would check it out when it opened, even though they’d both known at the time it was an empty promise.
The hotel was slated to be finished months after she left town. By the time the doors finally opened, Michael’s life had shattered, and she’d been thousands of miles away.
But the promise had been made anyway. It was a promise to reunite. One of many promises they’d made.
Some kept.
Some impossible to keep.
“Join me. S’il vous plait.” She patted the back of the sofa as she sat down again.
“Merci.” He took a seat next to her, and at last she felt like she could breathe. Her warring emotions settled, and now she was simply out with this man. Someone she’d been thinking about more and more lately.
“So,” she said.
“So…” He rubbed his palms against his thighs.
“How are you?” she asked, stepping into the shallow end. “Are you well?”
“Good, good,” he answered quickly. “And you?”
“Great. Everything is great,” she said, as chipper as she could be, even though she’d hardly use great to describe the tundra that her heart had become during the last two years. “I’m glad you made it,” she said to keep going, lest any silence turn this reunion more awkward.
“And I’m glad you asked me to meet you,” he said, as if he were waiting for her to tell him why she’d wanted to meet. She didn’t, though, because when he looked at her like that, the breath fled her lungs. He was so handsome, and his eyes were soulful, something she’d rarely use to describe blue eyes. His seemed to reveal a depth, forged by years of heartache and tragedy.
She parted her lips to speak, but she wasn’t even sure what to say next. Did she go for lightness? For more catching-up-with-you chit-chat? Or plunge straight into the heart of why she’d wanted to see him? She was so accustomed to charging into situations fearlessly, to chasing after what she wanted, but all those skills escaped her in this moment, and she was a teabag steeping in a pot of awkward.
Fortunately, the waitress arrived and asked Michael if he wanted anything. “Club soda,” he said, and when the woman left Annalise tilted her head.
“So, you still detest coffee?” she asked, because that was a far easier conversation entrée than all the other things they could talk about.
“Evidently, I still do.”
“I never understood that about you,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. Funny that she and Michael had gotten on so well when they were younger—except on this. Their one bone of contention was over her passionate love of the deliciously addictive substance, and his disdain of it.
“It vexed you, I know.”
“I tried to get you to like coffee. I even tried to make espresso for you.”
“You were relentless,” he said, and the corners of his lips quirked up. That smile, that lopsided grin she’d loved... Okay, this was better. This was a slow and steady slide back into the zone.
“Remember when I hunted all over Vegas trying to find something like what they’d serve in a café in Paris?” she said, reminiscing, slipping back into