Page 57 of Marry Me Not
When I opened them again, we’d stopped at a twenty-four-hour diner not far from Rafe’s house. Cosimo got out, came around, and pulled me from the car.
I didn’t say a word as we walked inside.
The place was nearly empty, all harsh overhead lights and the smell of grease. A tired waitress in a blue apron barely glanced up when we slid into a booth by the window.
Cosimo ordered for me.
I rested my forehead on top of my hands while we waited. The vinyl seat was sticky beneath my legs. The pounding in my head had begun to dull. I was sobering up with each passing minute, which only made me appreciate just how thoroughly I’d embarrassed myself tonight.
Across from me, Cosimo said nothing, but I could feel his gaze on me. Judging me, most likely. If he thought I wasn’t built to be a don’s wife prior to this, I was sure tonight had cemented it. I knew the six-month term hadn’t been only for my benefit. He probably thought he’d be able to find someone far more suitable once we were done.
The burger and fries arrived.
“Slow down,” Cosimo said as I scarfed it down.
Tentatively, I met his gaze. There was more sympathy in it than I’d expected. “Hungry,” I said between bites.
“I can tell.”
I swallowed and took another fry.
“Have you been here before?” I asked once I was full.
He shook his head.
“Guess you don’t find yourself taking care of drunk women often, huh?”
His jaw flexed. “Not usually.”
The overhead lights were unkind to everyone else in the diner, but somehow, they only sharpened his cheekbones and the dark slash of his brows.
Attraction flickered through me. I looked back down at my plate. “Well. Sorry to ruin your streak.”
Outside, the air was cold enough to clear the last of the fog from my head. He held my elbow as we walked back to the car, as if he didn’t trust me not to stumble.
I climbed into the passenger seat and flipped down the visor mirror, wincing at my reflection. I looked every bit as disheveled as I felt.
Cosimo slid into the driver’s seat while I settled my purse on my lap and reached for the clasp, intending to dig out my lipstick. It wasn’t going to perform miracles, but it might make me feel slightly more put together.
The bag felt oddly swollen beneath my hands.
I frowned. The clasp was stretched tight, as though something inside was pressing against it. I worked my thumb beneath the metal fastening and popped it open.
The purse exploded.
Tiny plastic penises sprang into the air in every direction. They bounced off my lap, scattered across the floor mat, rolled beneath the dashboard and into the dark space between the seats. One ricocheted off the console and landed squarely on Cosimo’s thigh.
“Oh my God,” I squeaked out.
The car went very still.
Cosimo looked at his thigh. Then at me. Then at the slow-motion avalanche of miniature dicks still tumbling from my purse, and something moved across his face. Amusement?
Among the cascade of male genitalia, a folded note fluttered out and landed near the gearshift.
“No—” I grasped for it, but Cosimo was faster.
He snatched it up one-handed and held it out of reach. I twisted toward him, half crawling over the console in my attempt to grab it back.
