Beautiful Secret
Page 22
All this, she said, meaning: us. Meaning: the burden of a loveless marriage.
She looked up at me, eyes moving across my face, down my neck, and to where my hands were comfortably resting in the pockets of my trousers.
I could never escape the feeling that, when she looked at me like that, she was comparing me to someone else. Someone more posh, less tall, more American, less patient with her.
After what felt like minutes of ticking silence, she spoke again.
“We aren’t,” she began with exquisite understatement, “very natural together anymore.”
And that had been it.
Five
Ruby
When my alarm went off at six, it felt like I’d only just closed my eyes.
From beneath my pillow I could tell the room was still dark. Even so, I could hear the echo of horns from the city outside, the bustle of people up and out and already braving the chilly morning, on their way to work or school or whatever adulting they had to do.
I rolled to my side, doing the mental calculation of how many more times I could hit snooze and not be late, when I remembered exactly where I was . . .
Who I was with . . .
How much fun I’d had last night.
And whose bed was likely just on the other side of mine, separated by nothing more than an insignificant, paper-thin wall.
He could be in bed, right now. I closed my eyes and let myself imagine that, and suddenly getting ready for a day spent with him felt way more important than sleep.
I leapt out of the bed and raced toward the bathroom, careful to avoid any and all mirrors along the way. Today would be my first day of the summit. My first day working alongside Niall Stella, learning and being a part of what he did, not just a moving piece in the periphery.
And after last night, I saw him so differently. He was still the man who preferred to remain at the perimeter, watching and taking note of what was said and how, but he’d also been this relaxed, funny guy, with a bunch of other guys, just enjoying a drink in a bar. He could unwind, be social, laugh at himself and others in his gentle way.
He’d teased me again—in front of his brother—his dark eyes shining with amusement and fondness. I felt my stomach swoop low, my heart trip in my chest as I remembered. Would he be like this the entire trip? And if he was, how would I manage to keep from falling at his feet, professing my love?
Gah.
I could name at least a hundred ways in which I could screw this up on a normal workday. But today? Tired and suffering the effects of jet lag? Who knew what could happen.
I could practically feel the heavy bags under my eyes, but even so, a jolt of adrenaline surged through my veins. My heart raced when I imagined us working so closely together today, both of us bent over a file on the table, our shoulders side by side and his soft hair falling down over his forehead.
This was going to be a train wreck for sure.
Food was the last thing on my mind, but I needed to bring my A-game today. I ordered room service and was thrilled to hear the little doorbell only minutes after I stepped from the shower.
The scent of breakfast wafted in from the hallway, and any thought of not being hungry flew right out the window. I raced to the door, stopping to double-check the modesty of my robe before I let the waiter in, because it was far too early to find the humor in any accidental wardrobe malfunctions.
I signed the bill and was just closing my door when Niall Stella walked down from the elevators.
Holy hell. He had been to the gym.
“Good morning, Ruby.”
Stay cool, Ruby. You’ve got this. “Morning. You’re up early.” I said.
The Number of Times I’d Seen Niall Stella Sweaty: one.
I tried to covertly look him over, but subtlety was a wasted effort. I thought Niall Stella knew how to wear a suit, but he wore T-shirts like it was his life’s calling. I wanted to pray at the altar of his dark, sincerely tight blue shirt. He wore it so unself-consciously. So unironically. Knowing him, he picked it out for some complicated aerodynamic reason. And holy lord did it do wonderful things to his chest.
His posture was straight, stomach flat, and chest defined and bulkier than I’d expected. He wore what looked like soccer shorts and his legs were just as muscular as I imagined. Seeing him like this, I was struck by his height all over again. I was on the tall side and I’d never been around a man who made me feel so tiny and feminine. This close to him, and with the clean scent of his sweat between us, I was starkly aware of my curves, my mouth, and how he towered over me by several inches. Without effort, everything about him was so dramatically masculine.
“Room service delivery of Fritos?” he teased, and motioned to my robe.
She looked up at me, eyes moving across my face, down my neck, and to where my hands were comfortably resting in the pockets of my trousers.
I could never escape the feeling that, when she looked at me like that, she was comparing me to someone else. Someone more posh, less tall, more American, less patient with her.
After what felt like minutes of ticking silence, she spoke again.
“We aren’t,” she began with exquisite understatement, “very natural together anymore.”
And that had been it.
Five
Ruby
When my alarm went off at six, it felt like I’d only just closed my eyes.
From beneath my pillow I could tell the room was still dark. Even so, I could hear the echo of horns from the city outside, the bustle of people up and out and already braving the chilly morning, on their way to work or school or whatever adulting they had to do.
I rolled to my side, doing the mental calculation of how many more times I could hit snooze and not be late, when I remembered exactly where I was . . .
Who I was with . . .
How much fun I’d had last night.
And whose bed was likely just on the other side of mine, separated by nothing more than an insignificant, paper-thin wall.
He could be in bed, right now. I closed my eyes and let myself imagine that, and suddenly getting ready for a day spent with him felt way more important than sleep.
I leapt out of the bed and raced toward the bathroom, careful to avoid any and all mirrors along the way. Today would be my first day of the summit. My first day working alongside Niall Stella, learning and being a part of what he did, not just a moving piece in the periphery.
And after last night, I saw him so differently. He was still the man who preferred to remain at the perimeter, watching and taking note of what was said and how, but he’d also been this relaxed, funny guy, with a bunch of other guys, just enjoying a drink in a bar. He could unwind, be social, laugh at himself and others in his gentle way.
He’d teased me again—in front of his brother—his dark eyes shining with amusement and fondness. I felt my stomach swoop low, my heart trip in my chest as I remembered. Would he be like this the entire trip? And if he was, how would I manage to keep from falling at his feet, professing my love?
Gah.
I could name at least a hundred ways in which I could screw this up on a normal workday. But today? Tired and suffering the effects of jet lag? Who knew what could happen.
I could practically feel the heavy bags under my eyes, but even so, a jolt of adrenaline surged through my veins. My heart raced when I imagined us working so closely together today, both of us bent over a file on the table, our shoulders side by side and his soft hair falling down over his forehead.
This was going to be a train wreck for sure.
Food was the last thing on my mind, but I needed to bring my A-game today. I ordered room service and was thrilled to hear the little doorbell only minutes after I stepped from the shower.
The scent of breakfast wafted in from the hallway, and any thought of not being hungry flew right out the window. I raced to the door, stopping to double-check the modesty of my robe before I let the waiter in, because it was far too early to find the humor in any accidental wardrobe malfunctions.
I signed the bill and was just closing my door when Niall Stella walked down from the elevators.
Holy hell. He had been to the gym.
“Good morning, Ruby.”
Stay cool, Ruby. You’ve got this. “Morning. You’re up early.” I said.
The Number of Times I’d Seen Niall Stella Sweaty: one.
I tried to covertly look him over, but subtlety was a wasted effort. I thought Niall Stella knew how to wear a suit, but he wore T-shirts like it was his life’s calling. I wanted to pray at the altar of his dark, sincerely tight blue shirt. He wore it so unself-consciously. So unironically. Knowing him, he picked it out for some complicated aerodynamic reason. And holy lord did it do wonderful things to his chest.
His posture was straight, stomach flat, and chest defined and bulkier than I’d expected. He wore what looked like soccer shorts and his legs were just as muscular as I imagined. Seeing him like this, I was struck by his height all over again. I was on the tall side and I’d never been around a man who made me feel so tiny and feminine. This close to him, and with the clean scent of his sweat between us, I was starkly aware of my curves, my mouth, and how he towered over me by several inches. Without effort, everything about him was so dramatically masculine.
“Room service delivery of Fritos?” he teased, and motioned to my robe.
