Come on up. Room 1402.
My brain stutters.
When I texted Fizzy to tell her I’d arrived, I expected her to meet me down in the lobby or direct me to the banquet hall. But meeting her in a hotel room feels like the exact problem I anticipated when I gave myself a stern lecture in the mirror at home.
“Escort her,” I’d said to my reflection. “You’re her handler, the executive in charge of her. You are not her date. You are not her lover. You are doing a job.”
I can meet you down here, I type, but if she’s upstairs and asking me to come to her, it’s possible she needs help with something.
I delete it, typing, Is anyone up there with you? which sounds possessive and awkward. I delete that, too.
I see you typing, she texts. Don’t be weird. I need your help.
Laughing, I delete everything again and type simply, On my way.
I hit the button at the elevator bank and suck in a deep breath; my pulse is climbing its way up my throat. Ideally, I need the elevator ride to take a half hour. Unfortunately, I suspect today will be a continuous series of reminders that I should not have offered to escort her to this event, because I am not equipped to handle being alone with her.
Her door, I see as I approach, is propped open with the dead bolt, but I knock anyway. A bright “Come in” drifts from inside.
Pushing it open just enough to peek my head in, I call out, “I could be anyone, and you just invite me in sight unseen?”
“You’re statistically unlikely to be a criminal.” Her voice echoes from the bathroom. “You just texted, and besides, half of the people on this floor are relatives or friends.”
“Well, I’m glad the chances of someone you know seeing me walk into your hotel room are relatively high.”
Her voice gets louder as she walks into the bedroom. “I’d just tell them you’re delivering room serv—”
She stops for a breath when she sees me, but her next words are lost to the blank void of my cranium as I take in the strapless beaded gown poured over her body. It’s gold, covered with intricate beading and formfitting until about midthigh, where it spills in a wave of shimmering fabric around her feet. She’s wearing her hair piled in some complicated arrangement on her head, and a few dark strands hang loose, skimming her bare shoulders.
“Connor?”
I startle, having no idea how long I’d gone mute. “Yes—that’s—I’m here.”
When I drag my eyes to her face, she’s fighting a smile. “I asked if you could help me?”
“Uh, right—with what, exactly?”
“My dress?”
She turns to show me what she means. Awareness lands, and this view is infinitely worse. A long V of unmarred, honeyed skin is exposed in the space where the buttons lie open. I strangle down a groan but am not entirely successful, and it comes out like a whimper I must consciously rebrand into a frustration of a nonsexual variety: “A casual count tells me there are at least eighty thousand buttons here.”
“There are forty,” she tells me. “I realize I should have had an auntie do this before you got here, but alas, everyone is busy and here we are. For obvious reasons—the primary one being that I can barely bend over in this, let alone twist to button it myself—I need another set of hands.”
The words bend over are a screeching train wreck in my thoughts. I blame the image they conjure for the way my voice shakes as I approach her with a casual “Sure, of course.”
But then I do something without fully realizing it until a shiver runs down her back: I drag a knuckle down the length of her spine.
“If you do that, we’re not getting this dress on.” She turns and looks at me over her shoulder. “And I know how you feel about boundaries.”
“It is frankly exhausting to be the only one erecting them,” I mumble.
Fizzy laughs, delighted, and faces away again.
“You are reassuringly predictable.”
“Well, you’re the one who just stroked me and then said erecting.”
I exhale a dramatically weary breath. “It was an unintentional, glancing touch.”
“I’m starting to wonder if leaving this unbuttoned was an unfortunate oversight or happy accident.”
The first button is a bitch. The holes are tight, and the buttons are satin covered and minuscule, making them exceedingly hard to grasp. But by the third I’ve got it mostly figured out. We fall quiet as I carefully make my way from the curve of her lower back up to the soft expanse between her shoulder blades. And just before each button comes together, I fight the urge to lean forward and kiss the skin beneath my fingers.
Hooking the final fastener at the top, I give myself one brief indulgence, and cup a palm to the back of her neck as I lean around to gaze at her. Her cheeks are flushed, pupils wide and black.
Jesus, she’s as turned on as I am.
“Your chastity is assured,” I tell her. “Because I am not doing that again.”
Fizzy smiles and clears her throat before turning fully to give me an appreciative once-over. “You look hot.”
“Thank you. You…” I swallow when my voice comes out a bit strangled. “You look breathtaking.”
She reaches up, touching my bow tie. “I was hoping you’d arrive flustered over how to tie this so I could do it for you.”
With a grin, I reach up and tug the end, untying it in a smooth pull.
Fizzy’s answering smile is a bolt of sunlight.
“I figure you should do something in return after I fastened those seven thousand tiny buttons.”
The unintended innuendo hangs heavy in the air between us. She steps toward me, still smiling as she takes hold of the tie, tugging it to align the ends evenly around my neck. “I didn’t get the impression you were under duress.”
“I’ll send you the bill for my arthritis prescriptions.”
She hums and her smile lingers, softening. “Are you ready for today? It might be overwhelming.”
“I hope so. It’s been a while since I attended a fancy wedding.”
“Yours?”
I laugh. “No. I went as someone’s plus-one.”
“Did that night end with your chastity intact?”
I let out a hearty laugh. “Oh yes. She was a friend of a coworker and had recently relocated from Arizona. I knew from the moment I picked her up that something was off, but she insisted she was fine.”
“Oh boy.”
“Indeed. She cried during the ceremony—”
“Understandable.”
“Absolutely, but then also cried during dinner and the first dance. When I finally asked if she really was all right, she admitted that her husband had left her for his assistant, and that’s why she’d relocated to be closer to her parents.” Fizzy’s wince deepens as she focuses on the bow tie. “When the guests were invited to make toasts, she held her glass aloft and told the happy couple to enjoy the night because love is an illusion and men are incapable of keeping their dicks in their pants.”
“You realize I’m stealing this story, right?”
I nod. “So, it’s a low bar, but I’m guessing no matter what happens tonight, it will be better than that.”
Fizzy laughs. “Glass half-full, I like it. But you have no idea how huge my family is. Statistically speaking, that’s a lot of crazy.”
With her focus still on the bow tie, I take the opportunity to openly stare at her. “Evan did pull me aside and give me some inside scoop.”
Fizzy’s hands go still. “He did?”
“What to give, some of the things you’ve probably been doing this morning, like the tea ceremony—”
Her bursting laugh interrupts me. “Did he tell you that Peter would be on a wild scavenger hunt?”
I shake my head, mesmerized by the way her lips plump into a sweet pout when she thinks over her explanation. “In our community, the tea ceremony is a big deal. It usually happens in the morning, and the bride and groom are kept apart. The groom is given a list of tasks to prove his love for the bride before the family decides he’s worthy enough. It’s all a game, but Kailey’s three sisters were the ones to pull it all together and he had to do beer pong at seven this morning—”
“Actual beer?”
She nods, beaming. “Then they made him drink some kind of random fridge concoction—we were all gagging. He had to answer trivia about Kailey, and then dance and sing for everyone.”
“The singing and dancing in front of everyone—”
“Am I describing your literal nightmare?”
I begin to say yes but then, for a feverish pulse, I imagine an alternate universe where it is me at this ceremony, proving my worth to this woman right here. My hesitation melts. “No” comes out instead. “If I was in love, I’d do it all.”
“Carry ten gallons of water half a block using only leaky buckets?”
I reach up, dragging a strand of hair away from her bottom lip. “Of course.”
“Drink a fridge concoction?”
“Easy.”
“Easy?” She squints at me. “Hoisin, mayo, rice vinegar, almond milk, garlic paste, and mango juice.”
“You act like it’s cyanide.” I laugh. “You think a man who loves a woman won’t drink something minging to be able to see her walking down the aisle toward him?”
She looks up and meets my gaze. Her right eye has a spot of gold in it, like she looked up at the sun once and a tiny splinter of it became trapped there. I can see it shrink as her pupils dilate.
Fuck.
She blinks away. “Would you run three miles in the middle of the night for this hypothetical woman, too?”
“Only three?” Her smile falters, and I look down at her hands. She doesn’t appear to have made much progress. “Do you have any clue how to tie this?”
“It’s a weird angle because you’re a giant Viking.”
“I think, in fact, you’ve never done this before.”
“You might be right,” she says, frowning. “But I’m not a quitter.”
I lift my chin, giving her better access, feeling happy to stand here all night. “Okay, it sounds like we might be here for a while. Tell me more about this tea ceremony.”
“Well,” she says, and pulls free whatever progress she’s managed so far to start over. “After the groom proves his worth, he’s allowed to see the bride. They both wear the most beautiful traditional garments, and the bride and groom pay their respects to the family members—oldest to youngest—and a cup of tea is offered in turn to each of them. The family gives the lai see, which are red envelopes containing money, and the elders give them advice…” She trails off. Tilting her head, Fizzy takes a deep breath. “Honestly, I love the tea ceremony.”
An ache passes through me when I hear the wistful longing in her voice. She’s so rarely vulnerable, it’s both wonderful and devastating to see this tiny crack in her armor. “I can see that.”
“Anyway,” she says, straightening with a quick inhale, “we did that at Kailey’s parents’ house this morning, and got back here with just enough time to change, and that’s when I remembered the eighty thousand buttons on my dress.” She steps back, surveying her work, and frowns. “I’m going to be honest, the execution here is not great.”
I look down, undo the floppy mess of a tie, and Fizzy glowers as I handily fix it. “You don’t have to gloat, you mountain of jerkface.”
“I’d been trying to make you feel useful here, but you’ve just told me we’re in a hurry.”
She runs her hand down my chest, spreading sparking warmth beneath my skin. Her hand stalls at my pocket and she pats it. “Is this what I think it is?”
I reach inside the blazer, pulling out the red envelope with cash inside. “Like I said, Evan helped me figure out what to bring for a gift.”
She stares up at me. “That’s very sweet.”
“I like him,” I admit begrudgingly. “He’s a good guy.”
“He is, but I mean you. You’re sweet.”
I scowl this away. “I am absolutely not sweet.”
Fizzy reaches up, gently pinching my chin. “You, in fact, are the sweetest.”
