It Had to Be You Georgia Clark (bookstand for reading txt) 📖

“It’s okay,” Vanessa whispered.

But Savannah didn’t think it was.

After the couple left, Liv leaned back in her chair, gulping some coffee. “I try to keep an open mind about everyone, but wow—he’s going to make it hard. Oh, well: if Vanessa wants him to walk her down the aisle, that’s what we want.”

Savannah nodded. She felt the same way. Her instinct had been to hug Vanessa tearfully and promise they would absolutely have her father walking her down the aisle. But she was glad she hadn’t: she couldn’t guarantee that. Maybe Liv was rubbing off on her.

Liv handed Savannah the mess of sticky notes she’d been scribbling on in the meeting.

Savannah accepted them gingerly. “What should I do with these?”

Liv flapped a hand about, reddening. “Put them all into that CMS plug-in thing you’ve been yammering on about. And then, I don’t know, show me how to use it.”

A huge swell of warmth made Savannah smile. She’d always respected Liv. But now, she was actually starting to like her.

“Good coffee,” Liv added, turning back to her computer. “Why don’t you make another pot?”

30

The sun rose blood-orange over the beautiful, smoggy sprawl of Tokyo. Clay slipped on his leather jacket and checked the time on the clock next to the hotel bed. “I should be back by seven. There’s a gym downstairs. And the concierge can probably recommend somewhere to get lunch.”

Zia finished lacing up her boots. “I’m going to get the train to Shibuya, find somewhere for a traditional breakfast, and explore for a few hours. Then I’ll head to Harajuku for lunch—gyozas, definitely. Do the Meiji Shrine, walk along Omotesando Avenue, people-watch for a bit, then end up on the observation deck of the Mori Tower for sunset and a sake. But I’d love to meet you for dinner.”

Clay looked, frankly, amazed.

Tokyo exceeded Zia’s expectations. The person she became when far from home was her template for living: open and good-humored, confident and curious. She loved who she was when the only agenda was learning, experiencing, and stepping outside the day-to-day. Her senses felt sharper, treated to the smell of salty miso, the taste of chewy ramen, the sight of so much color and life.

Spending time with Clay was effortless, a new language she somehow spoke fluidly. When he slipped his fingers into hers as they explored the crowded Shinjuku Chuo Park market, browsing vintage kimonos and 1950s toys, it didn’t even register it was the first time they were holding hands. It just felt normal. She loved watching him interact with the locals, gracious and genuinely interested. Over late-night dinners in quiet, elegant restaurants, she grilled him on Radical Water, the clean-water initiative he’d started. He was so engaged and enthusiastic about the cause: how far Ugandan girls and women walked to get water that just made them sick, how much of a difference one well could make to an entire village. How clean water was linked to climate change. Being a performer had become a means to an end for Clay. “I don’t want to belong to a world where someone like me gets all this privilege with no obligation to the millions of people who live on less than two dollars a day.”

Polite servers whisked their empty plates away. Clay wasn’t famous tonight. He was just an American, on a date with a woman he couldn’t take his eyes off. Under the table, she rubbed his calf with her foot. “I love how passionate you are. You really care about people.”

“Don’t you?”

“Of course. But my impression is people in your position can just donate a bit of money and leave it at that.”

“But the planet is dying. It’s an emergency.”

Zia’s heart swelled, her crush finding more justification with every passing minute. “I totally agree.”

Clay kept his word about separate beds, booking Zia her own room. On the second night, she joined him in his bed, and they made love. It was as exhilarating as discovering the new country she was in. Their mutual desire, impassioned and primal, felt like delicious delirium. She came first. And then, again. Afterward, as they lay together in a newly vulnerable space, Clay shared that he liked to be dominated.

“Dominated?” Zia repeated, stunned. “Like, S and M?”

He shrugged, tracing his fingers up and down her arms. “I call it power play, but you could call it that.”

Zia had been dominated in bed, but not in a “power play” way. In a sex-with-an-asshole way. “I’ve never really done anything like that.”

Clay explained that kink was about communication and boundaries. If she wasn’t into it, no problem. If it didn’t feel good, they’d stop. They’d have a safe word. He was direct and unembarrassed, but he wasn’t trying to talk her into it. If she was curious, they could try it. Baby steps. “Maybe, when we’re back in New York,” he offered.

Zia pictured handcuffing Clay to the bed. Telling him what he could and couldn’t do. The idea felt like a piece of heavy furniture being moved out of her way. “Maybe.”

The more Zia thought about calling the shots in the bedroom, dictating when he came, when she came, the more she liked it. Intriguing, tantalizing, but also safe. On their last night in Tokyo, she sashayed into his room, wearing just the hotel dressing robe. He grinned and went to tug it open.

“Uh-uh,” she admonished, her heart beating fast. “No touching.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Okay.”

“Lie back on the bed. Hands above your head. And don’t move.”

Clay obeyed.

For hours.

As they climbed back aboard the private jet to return stateside, Clay was light and relaxed, joking with their pilot and flight attendant. His manager, Dave, pulled Zia aside. “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. I’ve never seen that bastard so happy.”

As summer spread itself sunscreen-thick over New York, Zia Ruiz and Clay Russo started seeing each other. In secret. As Clay explained, as soon as the press knew they were dating,