Page 13 of Fake Southern Fiancé

“We don’t have glasses,” I realize.

“Who says we need glasses?” He hands me the bottle, and our fingertips brush ever so slightly. His eyes locked on mine. “Ladies first.”

“To new friends and old hotels,” I tell him, taking a sip and letting the cool, crisp taste of the champagne wash over my taste buds. “Mmm. Delicious,” I murmur, savoring the exquisite flavor on my tongue before passing the champagne to him.

“To sunrises,” he toasts me and tips the bottle back.

And when he lowers it, I see he’s not looking me in the eye anymore.

He’s staring at my mouth.

“Nice toast.” The words hang in the air as part of me wonders what it might be like to share such a view with him under different circumstances.

“You too. I take it this is your first time staying at the Wisteria?”

“That obvious?”

“No. I mean, the key card on the elevator kind of gave it away, but…”

Instead of being embarrassed, the bubbly has given me a little liquid courage. “How do you know I wasn’t just pretending, playing the damsel in distress?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried that on me, but something tells me you slay your own dragons, Sunny.”

“Well played, knight in shining armor. Well played.” We pass the bottle back and forth. “But to answer your question, ever since I was at SCAD, I’ve wanted to stay here,” I confess, not intending to bring up my past. Or future, for that matter. For once, I just wanted to focus on this moment. No more. No less. But expensive bubbly equals loose lips, apparently.

“You went to SCAD?” He sounds genuinely interested.

“Yeah, for about a year and a half.” I sip more champagne and try not to think about my other failures. “Design.”

“You do have that look about you.” I look over to see him watching me, thankful he doesn’t ask about the timeline.

“Oh, yeah, and what look might that be?” I’m only joking but can’t help but wonder what he sees when he looks at me.

“Passionate. Creative. Beautiful,” he says without breaking eye contact. His answer pleases me more than I’d care to admit.

“What about you?” I try to change the subject, and he looks toward the sky with a heavy sigh.

“What about me?”

“Where did you go to school?” I follow his line of questioning because I don’t know what else to say while we’re playing this little game of getting to know each other without actually revealing anything about ourselves.

“NYU.”

“Impressive.” I smile at him.

“I wish my grandfather thought so. It pissed him off I didn’t choose an Ivy League school.”

“Let me guess, business?” I bite back a smile, knowing I have Mr. Penthouse pegged.

“What makes you say that?”

“You have that look about you.” I repeat his earlier sentiment.

“And?” He looks at me expectantly.

“Ambitious. Driven. Handsome.”

“You think I’m handsome?” He does a poor job of hiding his amusement.