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Her hands were trembling as she laced up the back of her dress, but she managed to tie it securely. Nerves, Liz thought. Silly, really. They had shared dinner dozens of times since going off the grid. Local dives, upscale hotel cafes, five-star landmarks.
But she was finally going to take the leap tonight–so it felt completely different.
The dress itself was beautiful, with a shaped bodice that flowed into an asymmetrical skirt. In red, naturally. She didn’t know where Red had picked it up, but he had left it boxed on her bed. The note simply read, For tonight.
It wasn’t a business dinner, strictly speaking. They weren’t meeting a contact, or planning their next move. But they were making themselves visible, because their newest identities established them as a society couple that would be conspicuous if they weren’t seen about town.
With Red’s particular set of skills, they had successfully evaded the task force and the Cabal and were now settled into…not a routine, exactly, because routines were dangerous. A life. They had settled into a life together, as unconventional as their partnership but a life all the same.
Now, though, it had been months. Months of him taking her hand to lead her to the table, or resting just his fingertips on the small of her back as they entered a building. Evenings when he allowed himself to relax just a little before he turned in–when he was slightly rumpled and smiling. Days of being “on vacation” as a cover, with beach reading and the casual application of sunscreen in hard to reach places.
Her skin hummed when he touched her, when he was close…but he never got any closer. Red was a perfect gentleman, until she began to worry that she was imagining things. The way he paused when she dressed for occasions, took a moment to collect himself before complimenting her. The looks he gave her when he thought she couldn’t see them. It seemed like longing, like hunger. Like pain.
So it was time, Liz told herself. It was time to tell him how she felt and give him the choice to make the next move…or not. It might ruin their comfortable rhythm, which terrified her, but she couldn’t keep living too close and so distant at the same time.
When he smiled at her over pre-dinner cocktails, her stomach lurched. She swallowed her nerves and prepared to press on.
If Liz hadn’t been so busy choosing her words carefully, she might have seen the awareness bloom in his eyes. She would have watched him take in her fidgeting hands, over-bright smile, and flushed skin–and she would have known his answer before she implied the question.
“Red,” she began with solemn eyes, “I need to tell you something.”