Tell Me S'more by Beth Merlin

Author:Beth Merlin [Merlin, Beth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781945495243
Publisher: Firefly Hill Press, LLC

Chapter Twenty-One

When I arrived at the hotel restaurant, Gigi was already seated. She looked gorgeous in a simple off-the-shoulder white cotton dress framing her delicate shoulders. Her dark hair was pulled off her face, and a Valencia red rose was tucked behind her ear. The maître d’ led me to the table and handed me a menu as I took a seat.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” I said, folding my napkin into my lap.

She moistened her red lips. “Well, I wasn’t sure you were showing up at all, so I guess that makes us even.”

I leaned into the table. “I’m so sorry, darling. I—”

She unfolded a napkin onto her lap. “I know, I know, you lost all track of time.”

“I wish I had a different excuse, but that’s the truth.”

“Well, you missed an incredible tour. We started at the Aqueduct, then spent a few hours at the Museo de Arte Contemporeneo Esteban Vicente,” she said, scrunching up her nose. “I think I’m pronouncing that right? Then we walked around La Juderia, the old Jewish Quarter, and ended in the city center at the Cathedral.” She held her dress away from her body. “I bought this dress at a small market right outside the Cathedral and another just like it I thought your mother might like.”

“And the flower?”

“The flower was a gift from Domenico, the tour guide.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Oh really?”

“Yes, he was quite taken with me.”

I shifted in my chair. “For good reason.”

“Relax, Domenico’s got to be somewhere in the ballpark of seventy-five years old.

Fascinating guy, though. He’s lived in Segovia his whole life, dating back at least six generations. His great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather laid tiles at the Alcazar. He was very jealous when I told him we saw Man of La Mancha there last night. He’s been trying to get tickets for months.”

It was easy to see she was upset and using the story to distract from her real feelings. “Gigi...”

Her expression dulled. “I’m not mad at you, just hurt. You could’ve called to let me know you weren’t coming instead of standing me up.”

“You’re right. I get so caught up in my work that I lose track of everything. It isn’t fair to you.”

“I’m an artist too. I understand how the work can take hold. I’m just...”

“Just what? Please say it.”

“I know you feel like you have something to prove to your father, and I’m worried it’s consuming you in a way that won’t leave room for anything or anyone else.”

“You’re my fiancée. You’re going to be my wife. I’m doing all of this for us. Please, Gigi, I know I’ve been a real tosser lately. Let me make it up to you, please.” I came around to her side of the table and got down on my knees. “Please, let me try.”

“What are you doing? Stand up!”

“I am on my hands and knees asking, no begging, for your forgiveness.”

She looked around the restaurant. “Please get up. You’re making a scene. People will think you’re proposing.”

“Let them. In fact, I will, I will propose to you all over again, right here, right now.

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