Page 37 of Fall For Me
“I’ll have the Chablis, thank you, Sarah,” Margaret replies.
The men enter the room. Liam is limping more noticeably now that his father isn’t watching him like a hawk.
“A Negroni,” Charles says, pulling out Margaret’s chair.
Liam mirrors his father’s gesture, holding my seat for me as I scoot in. His hands linger on the wood inches from my shoulders.
“I’ll have a soda, Sarah, thank you.” Lila told him not to drink while he’s on painkillers. He looks down at me, raising a dark eyebrow. “And for my wife…”
My wife. The words send a strange thrill through me. I shift on the chair, making sure his fingers don’t brush my back.
“White wine too, please.” I, on the other hand, need the liquid courage.
The woman nods and disappears as silently as she came.
Liam settles beside me, close enough that his thigh presses against mine under the table.
His hand finds my knee, stopping it from bouncing.
His warmth seeps through the denim as his thumb traces small, lazy circles against the fabric. The motion is slow. Probably meant to calm me, but it sends sparks skittering up my thigh instead.
I fight the urge to squirm.
Charles is already talking business across the table, shooting rapid-fire questions at his son. Liam answers easily. He never loses the thread of conversation, but his hand never leaves my leg either.
Drinks arrive, and Margaret turns her full attention to me.
She asks about my parents, where they’re from, if they’re retired. I tell her they’re in Springfield, running a small CPA office, and still live three blocks from where my dad proposed to my mom forty years ago. Margaret approves, saying roots are important. And as she fires off the next question, I do my best to keep Matt’s lawsuit out of my mind.
The probing continues until Charles clears his throat, interrupting his wife’s cross-examination.
“A toast,” he announces, raising his glass. “To new beginnings.” His gray eyes meet mine, assessing. “And to family.”
Crystal clinks against crystal.
I take a long drink of wine. It burns on the way down, crisp and cold, good enough that I want to down the entire glass in one gulp.
Dinner is an endurance sport served in elaborate courses. A soup I can’t identify, but that is delicious. Salad. A main course of sea bass with a foam that tastes like the ocean.
Throughout the entire meal, Margaret asks questions. What are my plans now that I’m married? Will I continue working? Do I want children? How do I feel about living in Blue Crescent Harbor?
I sweat through the minefield, giving answers that sound genuine while leaving room for future revision. Yes, I hope to work—I’m exploring options. Children? Someday, when the time is right. Blue Crescent Harbor is lovely, and I’m excited to explore it. Liam jumps in when I falter. He steers conversations away from dangerous topics without making it obvious. He tells funny anecdotes about our “dating” life that never happened. He teases his father about his golf game to deflect attention and compliments his mother’s hosting.
And he never stops touching me.
He plays with my hair, pulling on a curl, releasing it, twirling it around his finger. He holds my hand between courses. He occasionally drapes his arm on the back of my chair, his fingers brushing my shoulder.
They’re calculated moves, with no real affection behind them. But each one sears my skin. My scalp. Even my hair has developed tactile sensitivity.
I’m so absorbed in the little touches that I don’t finish the delicious chocolate cake before a maid whisks it away, assuming I was done.
But even the dessert is forgotten as Liam pushes my hair behind my shoulder and cups the back of my neck, his thumb caressing the skin on the side. I sit still, concentrating hard on not purring. If he keeps this up, I’ll start radiating light.
By the time Liam sets down his napkin and lets me go, I’m about to glow brighter than Tinker Bell.
“It’s been a long day,” he says, pushing back from the table. “We should head home.”
“Already?” Margaret looks disappointed.
