Jason: No problem. We’re happy to meet wherever at Mr. Severin’s convenience. I’ll be in touch when I have dates.
What followed was Jason and Eleanor trying to coordinate our schedules. Reading between the lines, I realized it was Jason who had been stalling until he had an exact date for our return. My return. I thought about our conversation last night and how he’d asked if we could go home, and my heart started beating hard in my chest in a panicked staccato that made me dizzy. Had I been played?
It was pretty clear. Severin wasn’t coming to the wine festival, but he wanted a meeting with the two of us. Everything Jason had told me since he’d arrived at the vineyard about Severin arriving soon had been a lie. Why? Why would he have lied to me?
The bathroom door opened, and Jason stepped out in a plume of steam with a towel draped loosely around his hips. I stared at him. Shock. Denial. Hurt. Rage. They all battled to be the front rider in the four horsemen of the apocalypse of emotion I had surging through me. Rage won, and I threw his phone at him.
It missed him. Drat! It bounced off the wall by his head. He looked stunned. “Chelsea, what’s wrong?”
I was too busy flailing my way through the sheets and blankets, trying to get out of the bed, to answer. I was so furious I couldn’t even look at him. I grabbed my underwear and yanked it on. My bra straps gave me fits, so I didn’t even bother and flung it away from me like I was tossing beads at a parade. I grabbed my dress and yanked it over my head.
Jason started across the room, looking concerned.
“Stop,” I snapped. I finger combed my gnarled hair out of my face. “Do not come any closer.”
“Okay, darling, what’s going on?” he asked.
I glared at him. Darling, my ass. “Severin.”
Just the one word and I knew from the tense look on his face that he knew that I knew that he had lied. He put a hand on the back of his neck and said, “I can explain.”
“Not necessary,” I said. “I figured it out.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Did you?”
“Yes. This”—I gestured to the room as if it represented what had happened the night before—“was all just a way to hustle me home.”
He shook his head. “Excuse me?”
“Severin wants to meet with both of us in Boston, but you knew I wouldn’t leave until I finished my quest, so you seduced me into thinking that I should be with you, so you could get me on the next plane out of here to finalize the ask.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “What are you talking about?”
“You got a text from Eleanor this morning, trying to schedule a meeting with the two of us in Boston,” I said. I pointed to his phone on the floor.
“Oh.” He didn’t deny any of it. I was devastated.
“So what happens when we get back?” I asked. My throat was so tight I could barely squeeze the words out. “We meet with Severin and then what? It ‘accidentally’ comes out that you and I had a thing in Paris and Italy, and then I’m in a whole lot of trouble, aren’t I?”
“That’s not—” he began, but I interrupted.
“Of course it is. Do you see how this looks? I’m just the idiot female who slept with her coworker. If company policy prohibits relationships, and it does, who do you think they’re going to fire? No matter how you look at this, I’m the senior employee. I’m the one who should have known better. I’m the one who is going to get ousted, leaving you all the glory of nailing down the Severin ask. Well played, Knightley, really well played.”
“Darling, you’re freaking out,” he said. He held out the hand not holding on to his towel in a placating gesture. It didn’t work.
“You think?” I asked. “And don’t call me ‘darling.’”
“You can’t actually believe that I came all this way just to manipulate you into returning to Boston to seal the deal with Severin,” he said.
“Can’t I?” I asked. My voice broke, which made me furious. “You. Lied. To. Me.”
I didn’t wait to hear another word from him. I shoved my feet into my sandals and stormed from his house, slamming the door behind me.
It was midmorning; the grounds of the vineyard were already swarming with tourists for the wine festival. I kept my head down as hot tears scalded my face.
My usually carefully contained emotions had kicked the basement door open and were now raging through me, smashing everything in reach. My heart was pounding. My hands were sweating. I was having a hard time breathing, and I desperately wanted to go find a quiet, dark corner to curl up in so I could cry myself dry in peace.
How could I have been so stupid? What if this whole thing from day one was just Jason using me to get to Severin? What if he hadn’t meant what he’d said last night? What if he didn’t love me? I sobbed. What if I lost my job over this? My career? Everything? It hit me, a straight shot to the heart, that of all the things I stood to lose, losing his love hurt the worst.
“Chelsea, wait!”
I glanced over my shoulder. My eyes went wide. Jason was coming after me, wearing only his towel and a pair of sneakers. I blinked as the morning sun glistened on his muscular frame, and I heard a woman nearby sigh, “Oh my.”
Exactly! The man was not going to charm me again! I ducked into the rose garden adjacent to the castle. There were several tourists in here as well, but I ignored them in my quest for escape. I had just cleared the opposite archway and was in front of the main entrance when Jason caught me by the arm.
“Chelsea, wait,” he said. He was panting. “You have to let me explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain,” I cried. My own breath was short as I turned away from him. “I get it. I get all of it.”
The sight of him hurt too much. His dark hair was disheveled, his blue-gray eyes were swirls of both colors, he had trimmed the scruff on his chin, and the only thing between him and complete nudity was the fist that held the towel presently wrapped around his hips. Well, that and his black Converse sneakers, the sight of which perversely made me want to cry even harder.
We were drawing a crowd—not a surprise—but I found I didn’t even care. Let everyone see how callously I’d been used. What was a little humiliation on top of such a betrayal?
“Yes, I lied to you,” Jason cried in exasperation.
With a gasp, I turned to face him, ignoring the murmurs of the crowd surrounding us. “You admit it?”
“Of course I admit it,” he said. He shoved one hand through his hair. “You were about to make the biggest mistake of your life—” He bit off his words, glanced past me, and said, “No offense, Marcellino.”
I looked over my shoulder and saw Marcellino standing amid several staff members, clearly preparing for the second day of the wine festival. They all looked quite bemused, even Marcellino, who said, “None taken.”
“Yes, I lied to you about Severin coming here,” Jason continued. “I had to. We need you in Boston, Chelsea, raising money to fight the good fight and helping to save lives. It’s who you are, it’s what you’re good at, and it’s where you belong.”
“So you lied to get me to go back to work for the ACC?” I asked. It shouldn’t have stung so much that his primary motivation was work, but it did.
“Yes . . . no. Nothing at the office was the same after you left,” he said. “When Aidan sent me to Paris to find you, I couldn’t wait to get there, because I knew I was already half in love with you. When we kissed on the top of the Eiffel Tower, you finished me off for good. You said you went on this quest to find yourself, but you didn’t need to go away to find yourself, Chelsea. You needed to go away so that I could find you.” He paused, and his lopsided smile turned up one corner of his mouth. He looked at me from beneath his eyelashes in that way he had that charmed me stupid. I tried to stay strong.
I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to shut him out. He wasn’t hav
ing it.
“To put it plainly, I came to Italy early and lied to you about Severin coming because I couldn’t risk losing you.” His gaze held mine, and it was full of such love and affection, for me, Chelsea Martin, just as I was, that I felt everything inside of me shift as it tried to lock into this new happy place. “You’re it for me, Martin. I knew it the first time I laid eyes on you, and I know it now more than ever.”
“But—” It was all I could get out.
“Everything I told you last night about what I feel for you is true,” he said. “Everything.”
I stared at him. I wanted to believe him so badly, but the grief, the crippling, controlling sadness that had shotgunned any chance at happiness for me over the past seven years, sensed my vulnerability and was trying to throw a wrench of doubt into the works.
“I know what you’re doing,” he said. His eyes were soft. “And I know why.”
I stood frozen, incapable of moving and barely able to inhale enough to stay conscious.
“You’re terrified of this, and you’ve latched onto the first possible thing you can grab to save yourself from what you’re feeling here.” He gestured between us with his free hand.
I nodded. It was true. I was petrified all the way to my squishy middle.
“And that fear is telling you to push me away because I lied, but I’m not going to let you,” he said.
“I don’t think—” I began, but he interrupted.
“That’s a good start—don’t think,” he said. He smiled his charmer’s smile. “It’s okay. I’m terrified, too. We’ll be terrified together. Just don’t leave me, Martin. Don’t turn your back on this. Give me a chance. Give us a chance.”
“If she won’t, I will.” I glanced over my shoulder to see two American tourists ogling my man. I frowned.
“What about work?” I asked. I couldn’t help it. I had to know that he hadn’t planned to oust me all along.
“I’ll quit,” he said.
“You’d do that?” I gasped.
He shrugged. “If it means I get you, the woman I love, then I’ll happily quit right now.” The look he sent me was so intense, I felt it crack my resistance like a blast of flame on a sheet of ice. He held out his free hand and called to the crowd, “Can someone give me a phone? I don’t seem to have mine on me.”
The tourists laughed. A pretty woman held out her phone to him, but I stepped forward and waved her away.
“You don’t have to quit,” I mumbled. I believed him. I had no choice, since he was willing to give it all up—for me.
“What’s that?” he asked, cupping a hand to his ear.
“You don’t have to quit,” I said louder. “I believe you.”
He frowned. Then he shook his head. “That’s not what I want to hear.”
Now I returned the frown. I met his gaze, which was positively wicked. Uh-oh.
“What do you want me to say?” I asked. Despite leaving claw marks on my insides, my doubts were ebbing as if being pulled out to sea on a riptide of desire that got stronger with every second I gazed at him. My man.
“I think,” he said, “that it’s your turn to tell me that you love me.”
My face flashed scorching hot with embarrassment. I glanced around. There were at least thirty people watching us. I couldn’t, not in front of all these strangers. I shook my head, and he made a tsking sound.
“You’re leaving me no choice, Martin,” he said. “You either admit that you love me, in front of witnesses, or the towel goes.”
What?! He wouldn’t! There were people here with phones. He’d go viral, for sure, and then his identity would be outed, and the ramifications for the ACC . . . He couldn’t be serious! I met his gaze. He was! He would! Oh dear god!
The crowd started to clap and cheer. Half—mostly women, along with a few men—wanted the towel to drop. The other half, primarily men, were encouraging me, quite loudly, to speak.
I stared at Jason, who resembled a muscle-toned god, dazzling to the eye in the spring sunshine. I glanced back at Marcellino, but he was useless, as he was laughing and clapping along with the rest of them.
It was then that I felt her, or rather me, the old me. The one who would have thought this was hilarious and romantic and lovely. She would have been absolutely swept off her feet by this ridiculous display. I glanced down. My feet were on the ground, but my heart—my heart was soaring.
“Well, what’s it gonna be, darling?” Impatient, Jason dropped the towel an inch. Eep!
“Fine. All right. Enough.” I lifted my chin. I met Jason’s gaze and said, “You are an ass.”
He grinned, completely unrepentant. “And?”
“And I love you,” I said. This was met with much approval and a smidgeon of disappointment by the crowd.
Marcellino, clearly sensing we needed privacy, offered free wine samples, and in moments, we were standing alone in front of the castle with Jason in his towel and me with a spectacular case of bedhead and no bra. A perfect pair.
“Say it again,” he said as he took a step closer.
“I love you,” I said. I moved toward him until we were inches apart. “Totally and completely.”
A look of relief passed over his face, followed swiftly by one of pure joy, and I noted that this time when he smiled, both corners of his lips tipped up. He cleared his throat. “Chelsea Martin, just to be clear, are you saying that of all the men you’ve loved before, you choose me?”
“Yes, I choose you, Jason Knightley.” I met his gaze, letting all the love I felt for him show on my face. “But you can never lie to me again.”
He winced. “In the interest of full disclosure, I have to admit I totally saw your amazing rack the day of ‘the incident.’”
“I knew it!” I cried. I would have taken a swing at him, but he swooped in and kissed me full on the lips, making me forget I was mad. When I pulled back, my brain was scrambled, but I managed to say, “Promise me, no more fibs, lies, or prevarications of any kind for any reason.”
“Never again, I promise.” He went to raise his right hand, and his towel slipped. I grabbed it, saving him from flashing an incoming busload of tourists.
“Knightley,” I chastised him as he wrapped both arms around me, hugging me close.
“It’s okay. I gotcha, Martin,” he said.
And then he kissed me again, passionately, in the middle of a vineyard in Tuscany, and I knew the feelings were real. Because I’d finally, after so many years, released my grief and pain and let happiness in.
I’d done it. I’d found myself again. I’d found my laughter, and I remembered, oh, how I remembered, what it felt like to be in love. Because right now I was quite desperately in love with Jason with my whole heart. And best of all, he was in love with me, too.
epilogue
YOU DID WELL in the ceremony, Martin,” Jason said. He was looking particularly dapper in a navy-blue suit with a light-blue dress shirt that made his eyes a deep ocean blue that I wished I could dive right into to escape this day. No such luck.
“And you’re smokin’ hot,” he added. I snorted.
“Having fantasies about deflowering the flower girl, are you?” I asked.
“You know it,” he said. He leaned close and whispered in my ear in a gruff growl that made my pupils dilate. “I can’t wait to get you out of this dress.”
I laughed, sending the big fat curls Sheri had requested bobbing across my shoulders. “That makes two of us, but I’m thinking for slightly different reasons.”
The June day was warm, and the pink satin bodice of my flower girl dress was horribly constricting. Despite the itchy crinoline that puffed my skirt out a few feet, Jason held me close, keeping his arm around my waist as he led me to our table. Annabelle was already there with her boyfriend du jour, and when she caught sight of me in my matching dress, she lifted her wi
neglass in a toast. I knew it was her way of showing respect.
I had shown up, worn the dreaded dress, strewn the flower petals, and been the model of an accepting adult participating in her father’s remarriage. The one thing that made it all bearable was looking at my father’s face and seeing his big, goofy smile whenever he gazed at his bride. He was cuckoo bananas in love, and now that I fully appreciated how that felt, I sincerely hoped that never changed for him. He deserved every bit of happiness life could offer.
I glanced around the reception. I had to give it to Sheri. It was a beautiful wedding. Swaths of tulle and multicolored paper lanterns were strung above the tables and over the portable dance floor that had been spread out in front of the band. We were outside on the lush green lawn of a resort on Smugglers Beach in Cape Cod, with the ocean’s crashing waves just beyond the high dunes that acted as a barrier.
Hurricane lanterns surrounded by bits of driftwood, sea glass, and seashells were the centerpieces illuminating the tables. The wedding service, performed on the beach at sunset, had been short and sweet, and once the vows had been spoken, the bride and groom had led the guests back up to the resort for the reception.
Jason pulled out my chair for me, and I sat. Other guests were settling into their seats, so I took a moment to talk shop with him. Thankfully, when we’d returned to Boston, Aidan had lobbied hard for the company policy about no dating to be changed. During Aidan’s absence, Jason and I had been made co–general managers of the department. While our work styles didn’t completely mesh—pioneer versus guardian—we were having a lot of fun figuring it out as we went along.
“Robbie Severin left me a voice mail this morning,” I said.
“Did he?”
“He wants to start the rollout of the campaign by the end of summer.”
Jason made a fist pump. “Did you tell Aidan?”
“I did,” I said. “Even without hair, he was pretty stoked.”
Paris Is Always a Good Idea Page 33