“Well, you don’t know a lot about me.”
“True.” His eyes flicked to mine, then back to my hand. “Are you still sewing, or is this your medium now?”
“It depends on what I’m making and my mood. This particular piece is a commission for a jewelry store in a Las Vegas hotel. I’m making three and leaving the centers empty so they can place obnoxiously giant gems in the center. It’s not something I’ve done before and I feel a bit like I’m selling my soul to the devil, but it will get my name out there like it’s never been.”
Alex’s hands landed heavy on the steering wheel. He took a few beats to reply.
“Okay, what?” He stared at me like he’d never seen me before.
I huffed a laugh at his incredulous reaction. “Don’t look at me like that or I really will turn this thing into a bomb.”
“I kinda think itisa bomb and you just dropped it on me. Does Mo know about this?”
I shrugged. “Somewhat.” And he did, to an extent. I didn’t bring it up often, and he didn’t ask questions. For a long time—years, really—I’d been extremely private with my art out of necessity. My parents wouldn’t have approved, and if I told them how important it was to me, I feared they would have taken it from me. And now, it was habit to keep it to myself.
“Does he know about the piece you’re working on?” he pressed.
“No. I thought I’d tell him when it was done.”
“Don’t you know he’d be proud as hell?”
“Why? Do you not think he’d be proud of me if I was just his assistant?”
He sighed, and for the first time on our drive, I noticed how weary Alex seemed. His shoulders were slumped, and he didn’t have his normal vim and vigor. If he’d been stepping, there would have been no pep in it.
“Are you regretting agreeing to come with me already?”
“Are you changing the subject?” he countered.
“No, I thought it was closed.” I knocked on his arm. “You don’t seem too enthused to be Fingering.”
“I am, I am. I’m getting in the zone. Can’t break character when we get there. I have to assume being your boyfriend is intense.”
“Whyever would you think that?” I channeled my inner-Maeve and fluffed my hair. “I’m all softness and light, often mistaken for an angel.”
“Demon,” he coughed.
Replacing my project in my bag, I tucked my foot beneath my leg so I could turn in my seat and face Alex. He wasn’t just weary, he was tired. Gray and purple circled his eyes, and his mouth pulled down at the corners.
“Are you sick?” I asked. “You look terrible.”
That got another chuckle out of him. “Thank you. I always love hearing that.” He looked at me, shaking his head. “Didn’t sleep well last night. I’m not contagious.”
“Phew,” I whispered. “I was worried there for a minute.”
For the rest of the trip, we listened to a comedy podcast. It didn’t escape me that Alex and I both laughed at the same things, and more than once, we caught each other’s eye, wide, stupid grins on our faces. By the time we arrived at Rhinehart Castle—hell yes, Allie was getting married in a castle—a lot of the tension that had filled every spare inch of the car had disappeared.
A valet took Alex’s car, and the doorman handled our bags. I barely noticed either, too distracted by the location. The grounds were lush and expansive, hills rolling into a pristine, blue lake. The hotel itself, while a castle, seemed simple in comparison to the landscape.
Allie and Jamie had chosen well. Their pictures would be beautiful. I doubted any of their crowd back in Philly would have a wedding similar to this.
Alex laid his hand on my waist. “Pretty, huh?”
“It is, but I expected no less from those two. Should we go check in?”
“Sure. Let’s get that awkward moment out of the way where the clerk tells us all the rooms with two beds are filled and we’ll have to accept a single.”
I elbowed his side. “Won’t your face be red when you realize I booked us a single?”