Love in Transit

by Jana Aston

  He repeats some of that. I can hear him writing it down. Then he pauses. “You won’t bring him to the shore for the Fourth?”

  “No.” A weird, squirmy shame rushes through me. “I couldn’t do that long. Really just twenty-four hours. Fly in, stay at a hotel, visit Nana, fly back again. So he’ll need a passport.”

  “Got it.”

  “So the plan is—”

  Toby cuts me off. “Cara, maybe wait until he emails you.”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s just—”

  “No, that makes sense.” I look at the clock. “And it’s the middle of your work day. I’ll let you go.”

  “I’ll text you later.” But he already sounds distant, and that’s for the best.

  I can’t get too attached to him. He has an empire to run and I have my own life to live—the reason I started this entire ruse in the first place.

  To that end, I pack up my computer into my messenger bag. But instead of heading for the subway station to cut across the top of downtown to my apartment building, I set out along Bloor Street, then cut north into Yorkdale so I can hit the Whole Foods.

  I usually skip around the shopping mall, especially when the weather is nice, but something draws me into Yorkdale Village this afternoon.

  Well, not something. I know exactly what I’m looking for as soon as I pull open the door.

  I’m looking for a dress.

  What am I going to write in the log tonight?

  Alex said… “Even though you’re not leaving for a year, I’m already sad about saying goodbye.”

  “It doesn’t need to be goodbye. No matter where I go next, we’ll have phone calls and video chat. We can do cyber-brunch whenever we want.”

  “I like real brunch.”

  “Me, too.”

  “You know, I was thinking…if we were married, you could stay.”

  I’m not planning on staying. But there’s something about his face, his earnest expression, that makes me want to consider putting down roots for the first time. Maybe. Probably not.

  “What do you think? Want to get married?”

  As far as proposals go, it’s not that impressive. For some reason I don’t quite understand, I still say yes.

  The end of the story needs some romantic massaging, but I’ve got time to work on it. Maybe we had the conversation whispered in the hallway at my building on campus, him leaning over me, one hand plastered against the wall, his lips brushing my ear…

  That’s better.

  And then he had to go back to work, because he’s always busy, and so I came here to find a dress.

  Right.

  What kind of dress do I want after that kind of proposal?

  I slow down and cast my attention into the first store on my left, then the next. Sporty, funky…no, nothing like that. I should be humming with excitement. I want to remember this day, this private moment, for the rest of my life.

  I cross to the other side and poke my head into a store there. Lots of tulle, promising. But everything is a bit fussy for the locations I’ve narrowed this down to. I think I’m going to get hitched on campus, because as Toby would say, that’s been my home here in this city.

  That means some walking, depending where we want to do it. So the dress needs to be soft and light.

  I keep hunting. Four more stores, four more nopes.

  But the last shop at the end is perfect.

  Three dresses leap into my arms, and I’m practically skipping as I head toward the change room.

  None of them are designed to be wedding dresses, of course. I’m not going to go that far with this charade. The first one is short, the hem brushing my knees. It’s soft and floaty, with a bit more fabric in the back. Very romantic, and from a distance, anyone would think I was just on a date with my…Alex. My escort.

  The second is pretty, but too pretty, really. It’s covered in glittery bits, some rhinestones and sequins here and there, and if we were eloping at night, maybe. Not for a daytime thing, though.

  I giggle to myself as a perfect nighttime elopement springs fully formed into my head. I’ve been reading too much about weddings lately.

  The last one is the longest, the chiffon skirt falling all the way to the ground. It’s the palest shade of blue I’ve ever seen, and even before I contort myself to zip up the snug, strapless bodice, I know it fits me like a glove.

  It might not be the right dress to wear. The first one would suffice. I carefully unzip—after twirling twice—and then stand back so I can look at them both.

  My heart is already set on the pale blue one. It looks like a sexy, modern version of Cinderella’s dress, if Cinderella liked her dresses strapless and so tight she didn’t need a bra.

  Toby looks like Prince Charming…

  And that’s reason enough for me to also buy the shorter yellow dress. There’s no way I’m getting fake-married in a dress that makes me fantasize about Mr. Right-If-He-Wasn’t-Totally-Off-Limits.

  Chapter 15

  TOBY

  It takes me a few hours to set up a secure email for Cara to communicate with “Alex”. The task itself takes two minutes. The worrying beforehand about whether or not it’s the right thing to do is what takes too damn long.

  But when I pull the trigger and send her the details, I don’t feel the expected rush of regret. The truth is, there is no alternative. I can’t call her up and tell her I want to date her instead, that I can protect her from Nana’s meddling.

  She deserves more than being tethered to a boyfriend on the other side of the continent. She deserves to be free, and this gets her that.

  It doesn’t feel quite right, but it doesn’t feel as wrong as I expected, either.

  I take a quick look at my calendar. I have a Q&A with the customer service team tonight. We’re ordering in dinner for the day shift to stay late, and the overnight crew to come in early.

  But I’ve got two hours until then, and Cara should be home from work by now.

  I use the controls on my desk to lock my office door and activate the privacy screen built into the glass walls.

  Toby: Sent you an email with the contact information for your Alex. He prefers later in the week, Thursday or Friday.

  Cara: Awesome. I’ll pick Friday, it’s most realistic. And…

  Toby: What?

  Cara: You’re going to laugh.

  Toby: Try me.

  Cara: I bought a wedding dress today.

  I flex my fingers. No, I’m not laughing. That tight squeeze in my chest isn’t humor.

  I tap on her name and hit the call button. I find it easier to dig into enthusiasm when I can hear her voice.

  “Is that totally silly?” she asks when she answers. She sounds out of breath.

  “Not at all. Where are you?”

  “Just got home. Had to carry the dresses up the stairs because there’s a guy working on the elevator. Six floors trumps my half-hearted step class ability.”

  I chuckle. “Dresses, plural?”

  “I bought two. It’s a long story.”

  “I want to hear it.”

  She tells me about walking through the mall, trying to get in the right head space, then finding the dresses, and the nighttime dress she put back. By the time she’s finished, I actually am excited for her. Weird as this plan may be, she’s having quite the adventure.

  “Do you want to see them?” she asks in a breathy rush. “Or not. Maybe not.”

  “I do,” I say before I can stop myself.

  “I’ll text you some pictures.”

  “Or we could switch to video…”

  “Yeah?” Man, the eagerness in her voice is addictive. Whenever she decides she’s ready to find a real boyfriend to share her life with, he’s going to be the luckiest fuck in the world.

  My phone chirps with the request to initiate a video connection, and I accept. Her grinning face pixels into view. “Hey there,” I say, leaning back in my chair.

  “Look at the big fancy CEO,
wearing a suit and tie,” she teases.

  I grin. “I like suits. And I’ve got a thing tonight. Gotta look like the boss.”

  “You’re not one of those guys who prefers to work in jeans and a tee?”

  “Those are good, too.”

  She pulls her knee up into view. “And I’m in yoga pants.”

  “I’m definitely not going to complain about that,” I say without thinking.

  She blushes.

  I should try to walk that back.

  I don’t. “So… dresses?”

  She shifts her phone so I can see more of her apartment behind her. She’s in her living room, which I’ve never seen before. The last time we did a video call, she was in her bedroom.

  It’s a small space, and she doesn’t have a ton of furniture. A couch, a coffee table covered in books, and beyond that, a patio door. Hanging from the curtain rod are two garment bags.

  “Hang on…” She scrambles away from the camera. “Can you see me?”

  “Yep.” But as I say that, her phone falls over. There’s a scramble, then I see her face again as she picks it up.

  “Sorry about that. I don’t have a great place to prop you up in here. Maybe I’ll put you…” She walks a few paces, then sets me down again. “There. You’re on my bookshelf now.”

  This view is a different angle of her living room, and a hallway leading to what I assume is her bedroom and bathroom. “Cozy place.”

  She shrugs as she steps back. “It’s all I need.”

  “I like it. It’s nicer than the studio I had in Boston.”

  “Weren’t you and Jake roommates?”

  “The first year, on campus. After that, I moved into my own place. I can be a night owl, especially when I’m working on a project. Although now I mostly just approve the work other engineers do.”

  “Do you miss the hands-on stuff?”

  “Every day.” Another thing I didn’t mean to say.

  “That’s…” She bites her lower lip. “I don’t know. How is that for you?”

  I rub my jaw. “It’s fine. You can’t have it all. I also love running this company and bringing new technology to millions of people. Toby the Engineer is replaceable. Toby the CEO…less so.”

  “As long as you’re happy.” She winks at me. “Okay, now I need Toby the Fashion Expert.”

  “I’m definitely not that.”

  “Well, you’re the closest thing I’ve got to a best friend,” she tosses over her shoulder as she moves out of sight. “So suck it up, buttercup. Time for a fashion show.” She pops back into view holding one of the garment bags. “I’ll try this on and be right back. Do CEO things for two minutes.”

  I watch her disappear into her bedroom and push the door shut, then I minimize the video window on my phone so I can synch it to my computer monitor. If I’m going to be asked for real advice, I want to see her on a—

  Big screen.

  As the video pops onto my twenty-seven-inch monitor, I realize her bedroom door didn’t close all the way.

  I can’t see much, just her bare arm and a hip, the outer curve of her bare leg.

  My mouth goes dry.

  “Hey, Cara…” I don’t say it loud enough for her to hear me from the other room, though. I close my eyes, because she didn’t invite me to see her like this, and I’m a gentleman.

  But then I open them again, because it’s just her arm.

  A hip.

  The long, bare stretch of a leg.

  The rest I fill in from my very vivid imagination, and it’s glorious. I’m a gentleman, but I’m not a saint.

  She’s out of view completely now, and I can hear her talking to herself as she sorts the first dress out. “This one might need a bra… Damn it. Where is my strapless… Oh, fuck it, I’ll go without.”

  That should probably be filed under too much information, but my dick does not agree. He is more than willing to provide fashion commentary on how the dress looks with or without a bra.

  He is an animal.

  I close my eyes again.

  “Okay,” she says, her voice louder, and I open my eyes.

  “Wow.” I sit up straight and lean forward, taking in the knee-length cocktail dress. It’s a warm yellow, floaty and perfect. She looks like sunshine and happiness in it. “That’s gorgeous.”

  And she doesn’t need a bra in it. My pants get tighter at the slight sway of her breasts beneath the fabric.

  She does a little twirl. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

  “Very.”

  She stops and frowns at me. “You changed your camera.”

  “I did. I put you on my computer with the push of a button. We’ve got an app for that.”

  “Fun.” She grins. “Busy doing CEO stuff while I changed?”

  Like imagining her naked? “Yeah. Always gotta multi-task.”

  She spreads her arms wide. “Okay, so this is option one.” She holds up her index finger. “Be right back.”

  She dashes into her room, and again the door doesn’t close all the way.

  Again, I stare at that space and hate myself for how hard I get at the glimpses of her body.

  This time, I’m watching when she pokes her head out of her room and looks toward the camera. I see the nervous moment of hesitation, then the way she draws on an inner strength and pushes herself into the hallway.

  “Show me,” I growl, and she gives a shy smile as she swishes her way toward me.

  This dress is on a whole other level. It’s sexy and magical, with a tight, fitted bodice covered in an overlay of some sort, then an endlessly long skirt that billows and flows as she walks, revealing a teasing slit up one side.

  More leg to drive me wild.

  When she stops in front of the camera, it’s like she’s at the end of a catwalk, arms akimbo and her face a fierce mask.

  “You like this one best,” I say confidently.

  She lifts her chin. “Yes.”

  “I do, too.”

  That’s what she wanted to hear—and it’s the truth.

  She beams at me, then ducks her head.

  “What is it?”

  “I didn’t know if it was too much. If I could pull it off. It’s so…”

  Sexy. It’s the sexiest dress I’ve ever seen in my life. Or maybe that’s just because Cara is in it.

  “It’s a bit out there. A statement, maybe. And I realized…this is the type of dress I’d pick to actually get married in, you know? I worry I’m wasting it on a mock event.”

  “Ah.”

  “I mean, nobody would ever…and if I ever did get married for real, it wouldn’t be anything like what I’ve planned, and this wouldn’t really be an appropriate dress anyway. But if I had my way…”

  “Why wouldn’t your real wedding be what you want?”

  She wrinkles her nose. “An afternoon elopement on campus? That’s not the Russo way. Can you imagine Elana missing an opportunity to put five little boys in matching tuxedos? If I ever get married for real, it’ll be…lunch at The Plaza. Or a weekend in the Hamptons.”

  “Even if it’s not what you want?”

  She gives me a solemn look. “They’d never know it wasn’t.”

  “I’d know.”

  She takes a deep breath. “Well, that’s not a concern for now, anyway.”

  “Wear that dress. It’s perfect.”

  “You think?”

  “Yes. Definitely.”

  She turns away, heading back to her room.

  “Make sure you close your door all the way,” I say gruffly.

  She shoots a quick glance over her shoulder, then holds my gaze as she realizes what I mean, her eyes wide and her mouth curved in a knowing smile. “Toby Hunt, did you watch me get changed?”

  “I just saw your arm.” And hip. And leg. A lot of leg, but I don’t feel I need to be that specific.

  “I don’t mind,” she says, her eyes brightening. She stands there, still for a second or two, then she reaches behind her. “If you were here,
I’d probably tease you now and ask you to unzip me.”

  “If you did, I’d use it as an excuse to kiss you again.”

  She gasps. It’s quiet, but I hear it as she turns her head back to center.

  I can’t see her face.

  That was the wrong fucking thing to say.

  Fucking hell. I open my mouth, ready to apologize for thinking with my dick, but the words die before they can form, because she slowly begins to unzip her dress.

  The zipper starts in the middle of her back.

  She takes her time, and slowly the dress peels apart, revealing an ever-growing slice of bare skin.

  Maybe the zipper never ends.

  Maybe I might swallow my tongue.

  So many possibilities.

  I don’t dare lean forward. I don’t even breathe.

  She stops when her hand reaches the curve of her bottom, and as the fabric gapes above her fist, I see unexpected black ink on her skin.

  Cara has a tattoo.

  “I didn’t know if it was too much. If I could pull it off. It’s so…”

  She’s a gorgeous contradiction. Unaware of the strength of her own sex appeal, but so desperate to embrace it anyway. A quiet girl with a sexy tattoo. A rebel who refuses to date under the pretense that nobody is good enough for her, when really I think she worries she’s not good enough herself.

  She’s perfect.

  And not because of a tattoo, or a dress, although those are both causing my blood supply to do some serious re-routing right now.

  She straightens her spine, then holds her bodice to her chest with one hand and picks up her skirt with the other. “Good night, Toby,” she calls as she heads into her room.

  “Night,” I say under my breath. I disconnect the call, then sit quietly in my office for a few minutes.

  Thinking.

  Worrying, too.

  My assistant pings me ten minutes before the Q&A, and I drag my mind back to work. It takes more effort than I’d like to admit.

  Most of my brainpower is still stuck on how many kisses it would take to trail from the nape of her neck, down her spine, to edges of that tattoo.

  And what Cara will say when—when, and not if—I tell her I want to.