“Mm.” He got a handful of my rump and squeezed. “Interacting.”
“Interacting?” I smiled. “That’s kind of cute.”
“With my readers. I’m on Facebook, too.” His mouth drifted across my chest. “It was my editor’s idea.”
My eyes flickered to the Firefox browser. I rarely got a look at Matt’s computer. The browser tabs read Gmail, Twitter, and … Colo Real Estate?
“Hey … Matt.” Something in my voice stopped his wandering hands and lips. “Are you looking at houses?”
“What?” His head came up. “No.”
“Uh, yes.” I reached for the mouse and clicked on the Colo Real Estate tab. A page of Colorado homes loaded.
He glared at the screen.
“Whatever. Just looking.”
At least he didn’t lie and call it research.
A smile quirked my mouth—until I started to study the houses.
“You can’t be serious,” I said.
Matt eased out from under me and plopped me onto the office chair. He stalked to the wall, where he pretended a frame needed straightening.
“I am serious.” He spoke to the painting. “Why can’t I be serious? This place is tiny. You have no real room of your own. It’s like a—”
“‘Six built-in fireplaces,’” I read from the Web page. “‘Experience the grandeur of two-story ceilings, the wine room, wet bar, and—’”
“What’s wrong with—”
“Eight baths!” I shouted over him.
“Better than one.”
“Oh my God. Six bedrooms? Oh here, look at this. There’s a fountain in the driveway. That’s perfectly normal.”
“Looks nice.” His voice tightened.
“Marble floors, gourmet kitchen—ha! A Romeo and Juliet balcony? Is that a thing?”
“What’s wrong with a balcony?”
“These homes are in the millions.”
“The rock and stucco—”
“Right, that one is just a million and a half.” I swiveled to face him. “Look at me.”
He continued adjusting the painting, right a little, left a little. Ignoring me. Like a child. At last, he turned and folded his arms, and he stared at a spot in my vicinity.
“You like Nate’s house,” he said.
“Still? Seriously?”
“Still what?”
“You are still jealous of the way I looked at Nate’s home?”
“His home is nice. These homes are nice.” He jabbed a finger toward the computer. “I don’t see why we can’t even consider living somewhere nice and spacious.”
Weeks’ worth of frustration and confusion boiled over. I hurtled out of the chair and headed for the door. “And I’m not even sure I want to buy a home with someone who practically proposed to me on national television and hasn’t breathed a word about it since!”
I stormed to the bedroom and threw myself on the quilt. Like a child.
I lay in the dark, listening for Matt.
Rain spattered against the window. I heard the low thump-thump of his feet pacing the floor. Lightning shimmered on the wall and thunder reverberated over the Denver skyline.
At last, I heard him coming down the hall.
The mattress shifted.
“Are you awake?” he whispered.
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t propose,” he said. “You did.”
I rolled over. Matt sat on the edge of the bed, hands on knees, elbows locked. I crawled to him and slipped my arms around his shoulders. He relaxed in my hold.
“I guess … I did, yeah.” I laid my ear against his back. Relief relaxed me, too. It felt good, and right, finally to be talking about this. “But you went along with it.”
“Of course I did.” He chuckled. “Why would I pass up such a perfect play?”
“Huh?”
“Love, I knew you weren’t serious. Not completely.” He twisted around and cupped my face. His eyes glimmered with amusement. “I knew it was for the show. I mean, we’ve known each other for a year. Not even. And think about that year…”
Matt trailed off and I thought about that year.
It was a year next month, in fact, if we counted our meeting online. Less than a year if we didn’t count the Internet. Much less than a year if we didn’t count Matt’s meltdown in New York and our separation after his faked death.
So … we’d known one another for much less than a year.
A tight, painful feeling expanded in my chest.
“So w-why were you”—I cleared my throat—“looking at houses?”
“Because we need a bigger place.”
I shook my head out of his grasp. “Do we? I don’t see why we need a house if we’re not—” My voice cracked. If we’re not getting married. No, I wouldn’t be the idiot who said that. The idiot who’d spent the past month hoping and dreaming.
“What is this?” A flash of lightning whitened Matt’s eyes, which were somber now. “Hey, look at me.” Again, he took my face between his hands. “Little bird, you barely know me. We barely know one another, if you think about it.”
His words put a hairline crack in my heart. We did know one another. We’d been through so much. What was he saying?
“And marriage is about more than me,” he continued. “More than us. It’s about family. There’s a lot to consider, starting all that.”
I pinched my tongue between my teeth. Holy shit. Matt wanted kids? We’d never had this discussion, and my desire to carry a child could be described as less than zero.
His voice gained confidence as he spoke.
“Of course we’ll talk about marriage … someday. When we’re ready, you know? When we’re sure this is what we want. Marriage is very finalizing, or it ought to be.” He released my face and stripped off his T-shirt, and for a second his gorgeous body distracted me. Those toned arms, that golden trail below his navel …
“I know,” I snapped. “I know marriage is finalizing. I’m not an idiot.”
“Come here. Don’t be upset; we’re talking.” He tried to kiss my neck. I ducked.
“It was real for me,” I said. “I was ready.”
“What? Hannah…”
Matt wanted closeness—probably to confirm that we weren’t having a serious fight. I knew how he worked. He drew comfort from intimacy. See, Matt? I do know you. He pulled on my shoulder. I stiffened and fought my instinct to melt against him.
“Stop.” I pressed both hands to his chest. This wasn’t play and he knew it. He frowned and stilled.
“What’s the matter?” His voice grated with frustration.
“I was ready,” I repeated. Tears rimmed my eyelids. “I was fucking ready, Matt. I was serious when I said, “marry me.” The perfect play? Is everything a game for you?” I scrambled back on the sheets. “I can’t believe you just said, ‘when we’re sure this is what we want.’” I sniffled and a tear fell. My cheeks burned. “I am … was sure. I’d been sure.”
Matt watched me impassively. Oh, he could go so cold, even in the face of my emotion.