Third Life - Noelle Adams Page 0,84

going to be the brightest star of any night sky, but people do occasionally notice me. Maybe what everyone says about confidence making the difference is true. Maybe that’s what’s changed things over the past two years. Or maybe it’s something else. Maybe I’m not so attuned to being invisible now, so I can recognize when other people see me.

I guess I’ll never know which one it is, but I’m pretty sure if I stay on my own at this bar for long enough, someone is going to come over to talk to me.

It makes me happy. Gives me a thrill. Even now. Despite the fact that I have absolutely no romantic or sexual interest in any man except Richard, and I can’t imagine that ever changing.

It’s still nice to feel attractive. I mean, to people other than Richard. I always feel attractive to him.

I ask the bartender for a glass of prosecco—embracing the symbolism of the memory—and look around the bar. There’s no sign of Richard. I’d half expected him to be waiting here for me.

But I’m sure he has some sort of a plan. The man is still the best strategic thinker I’ve ever encountered in my life. So I sip my fizzy wine and wait.

I only have to wait five minutes.

Just as a man in the corner who’s been eyeing me starts to shift like he’s going to get up and try his luck with me, Richard walks into the bar, wearing a black business suit, a blue-and-silver tie, and a pair of Italian shoes more expensive than anything he’s put on for months.

I blink as a wave of pure attraction washes over me. It still hits me out of the blue sometimes. How incredibly handsome the man is. How he oozes warm charisma and primal sex appeal. Half the eyes in the bar follow him as he walks toward me, a glint in his blue eyes and a smooth swagger in his stride.

He’s playing this up on purpose. I give a silly giggle as I wait for him to reach me.

“Good evening,” he says in his soft, husky voice.

I giggle again. “Hi.”

“I’m glad you showed up.”

“Did you think for even a second that I wouldn’t?” The corner of my mouth twitches deliciously.

“I figured you would. But I’m glad to see you anyway. It would be pretty embarrassing to do all this and have you be a no-show.”

“What is this exactly?”

“Just an evening together.”

“Uh-huh.” The skepticism is clear in my tone.

“You don’t think I’m going to spill everything right now, do you?”

“Well, I had a few hopes that you might. I’m a little bit curious.”

“A little bit?”

“A lot.”

He chuckles and leans over to murmur into my ear. “Then there’s no reason to wait. It’s the same suite where we spent our first night together.” As he speaks, he slides a key card under my hand, which is resting on the polished surface of the bar.

My lips part as he gets up and leaves the room without another word.

My heart is racing like crazy. I close my fingers around the key card. I wait a few minutes, sipping my prosecco and trying to settle my excited jitters.

Then I slowly stand up. Straighten my skirt (since it got hiked up a little from sitting on the tall stool). Look around and see that the guy who was about to approach me is watching me now in resigned disappointment.

I walk out of the bar, find the elevator, and head up to the twentieth floor.

It’s suite 2020. That’s where I spent my first night with Richard. The key card opens the door. The entrance is familiar. So is the room when I walk in.

Richard is standing by the small table with his hand around an expensive bottle of champagne.

It’s been a long time since he and I have been in a hotel room together. Months. I had a long job in Dallas a few months ago, and he flew out to spend one weekend with me. A few months before that, we spent a week in Sweden and Norway, a birthday gift for me since I’d never been to Scandinavia and wanted to go. Otherwise, Richard hasn’t left Boston much this year.

I still travel a lot for work, but he doesn’t anymore. Maybe it’s because in his previous life he was always on the move. Now he mostly wants to stay at home. He’s never had roots before, so he’s working on putting them down. He’s made a few friends. He works hard at the coffee shop. He’s gotten to know the staff at the local grocery store, fruit stand, and bakery.

He’s so happy in his new life, and so am I.

“Did you shake it up?” I ask him now, nodding toward the bottle of champagne. “Just for the full repeat experience.”

“No, I did not.” He’s narrowed his eyes slightly. “We don’t need a repeat of that particular detail. I should have known you’d turn my whole life upside down when I couldn’t even open a bottle of champagne that night without making a complete fool of myself.”

“You didn’t make a complete fool of yourself. I may never have followed through with having sex with you if it hadn’t been for that little incident. It proved to me you were real. You were human. And I needed to know that, since otherwise you might have been the hero from a romantic story.” I walk over to him as I speak.

He leans down to kiss me softly. “Then I’ll take it. Did you bring the champagne flute I sent you?”

“Yes. Of course.” I set my bag on the bed and reach in to take out the box he sent me. I had put it back into the original packaging so it wouldn’t get cracked on the journey. When I open the box and pull out the glass, I hand it to him. “Should we rinse it out before I drink champagne from it?”

He hesitates. Then shakes his head. “It will be fine.” There’s a matching glass on the table already. He fills it halfway with champagne and waits as the foam subsides. I start to reach for it, but he waves my hand away with a disapproving frown. “That one’s for me. This one’s for you.”

I roll my eyes but reach obediently for the empty champagne flute he hands me. Then I extend it so he can fill it with champagne.

It’s only then that I realize the glass is no longer empty.

There’s something at the bottom of it. Something gold. And sparkling.

I gasp and jerk my hand back so I can peer into the glass.

It’s a ring.

A very pretty engagement ring with old-fashioned engraving and a lovely princess-cut diamond.

“Richard!” I gasp.

“What? Did you want some champagne or not?”

I make a choking sound and dump the ring out onto my trembling palm. “Richard!”

He’s smiling now, his eyes very soft. He gently takes the ring out of my hand. “Didn’t you know this was going to happen tonight?”

“Well, I... I thought maybe... but I didn’t want to presume.” I’m shaking helplessly now, pulsing, throbbing, blazing with joy. “So this is really happening?”

“It’s happening.” He clears this throat. Sways slightly before he kneels down on one knee in front of me. “I love you, Gillian Meadowbrook. I didn’t know how to love—or to live—before I met you. I didn’t know... anything worth knowing. Now I have a new life and a real purpose, and I wake up every morning looking forward to the day. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to spend every day I’m alive, proving to you how much I love you, how deeply I see you, how special you are. Please say that you’ll let me. Marry me, Gillian.”

I’m trapped by emotion. Nodding and smiling and shaking and almost crying. I manage to choke out, “Of course I’ll marry you, Richard. I want to spend the rest of my life loving you too.”

I collapse onto the floor in front of him, and he pulls me into a hard, clumsy hug. It’s a few minutes before we compose ourselves enough to get up off the floor.

Then we have our champagne. And we make love with rather sloppy ardor. Then we finish the champagne and spend most of the night talking about the future.

Two years ago I wanted to start over, begin a third life, one I shaped for myself. It isn’t anything I expected it to be. Richard isn’t anything like the men I used to imagine myself with.

But he’s better. Realer. This life is better and realer too. And, as far as I’m concerned, that’s the only way my third life is worth living.