Page 95 of Lucas & Melissa Falling in Love
Chapter 31
Walter opens Margo’s door and I’m surprised he’s still working on a Sunday night. I’m surprised I’m still standing or able to walk. Spending time with Lucas is working out a whole new set of muscles that apparently had been woefully out of shape before I met him.
I let him take my coat.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at home with your feet up?” I say.
“On my way. Master George had some business acquaintances over this afternoon and needed my help.”
Raising a brow in question causes Walter to add, “In fairness to Master George, I insisted that he needed my help.”
“That figures. And what’s with theMasterGeorge title?” I’m in alet’s shake things upmood, letting everything go. Not that I’m comfortable with the butler thing in the first place. I knew I was going to upset that cart one of these days. My blue-collar conscience can only take so much.
“He doesn’t like it when I call him Master Regal.”
Though Walter delivers the line deadpan, I laugh and could swear I see the tiniest tug at his stiff upper lip. Not that Walter is British, because he’s not, but he definitely has the stiff upper lip down. Maybe if he was British I’d be more comfortable with him and his role.
Margo appears then, rescuing poor Walter from my offended sensibilities on his behalf.
“Exactly who I needed to see,” she says “If I never see another business-suit-wearing, cigar-smoking, scotch-drinking crowd of men in my lifetime it’ll be too soon.”
“Rough afternoon?” As she draws me forward into the spacious living room, I sniff the ghostly remains of cigar smoke wafting about.
“Hmm. Not bad. I’m surprised the place isn’t still cloudy with smoke.”
“I owe Walter a trip to Bermuda for getting rid of as much as he did.”
“Seriously?”
She nods with convincing vigor and I find I can now expunge my conscience of any collateral guilt for Walter’s servitude.
“Let’s sit in the den, though. I need to be careful after all—about all that smoke inhalation in case I’m inhaling for two.”
“Is there a possibility?” I stop on the threshold, my pulse picking up with a mix of anxious emotions—some excitement, but trepidation and concern too. And maybe a tiny bit of envy, let’s be honest.
“Not really, but you never know when it might happen. I checked yesterday, but . . .”
I laugh as we sit on the leather couch together, in front of the fireplace and TV with some cooking show taunting us from the screen with the chef’s masterful creations. I turn away before I can become mesmerized.
“You’re becoming hyper with anticipation about getting pregnant, aren’t you?” I say.
“Of course—and don’t lecture me about getting too excited. I can’t help it.” She mock-punches my arm. “The same way you can’t helpnotgetting excited about things.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I say, trying on my new openness with Margo. It works with Lucas, it should work with my best friend in the world, right? “I was pretty excitable this weekend with Lucas.”
She shrieks with delight and covers her mouth as if I’d just sworn at the pope.
“Melissa, I knew you two were hot for each other. Sounds so wicked, so—”
“Not me?”
“Not necessarily.” Her face goes all wise and thoughtful, as if she has the answers to questions I haven’t asked. The ones niggling at the back of my mind. I sigh.
“What?” she says. “Tell me. Is everything good with you two? It sounds like it.” She gives that knowing, silly-giddy smile she has when I know she’s thinking about the prospect of Lucas beingthe one.I swear she’s more interested in me settling down than the mother of a southern belle spinster would be.
“Everything is wonderful.” I heat up inside rememberinghowwonderful, in a pleasant achy way, my afternoon was. Then I sigh again because I’ve forgotten all about discretion and purposeful communication and weighing my words and decorum and everything else that I lived by, who I was. My very essence seems to have disappeared. I’m no longer the cool, under-control Melissa, impossible to ruffle. Now I’m totally ruffle-able. By Lucas at least. He ruffles me constantly.
“I think I’m addicted to sex,” I blurt. That’s not at all what I mean to say, how I mean to broach the subject. I want to have a measured discussion about the difference between love and lust, but . . .
