Page 75 of Holding Grace

Chapter 27

Grace

The scents of coffee and cinnamon roused me the morning after the wedding. I lay in bed, enjoying both and hoping that Michael was making his cinnamon rolls, which were nothing short of irresistible.

I breathed in deeply one more time, then threw back the covers. If Michael was up and making breakfast, I should go help, not laze away in bed.

I was headed toward the bathroom when a thought hit me, and I looked down at what I was wearing – the thong I’d worn under my wedding dress and a nearly see-through white tank top. I almost never wore a thong to bed – they weren’t that comfortable – and I hadn’t worn a tank top to bed since...

Oh no.

I stood stock still as a vague image of Michael putting me to bed the night before swam through my head. I closed my eyes, thinking.

He’d helped me unzip my dress. And...oh lord...taken my necklace off for me after I’d walked around in front of him wearing...

I dropped my head into my hands. Michael had taken care of me, made sure I got into bed okay, and I – my stomach clenched in embarrassment – I’d paraded around in front of him in almost nothing.

Poor Michael. He must have been so uncomfortable. How absolutely mortifying.

He had to have seen naked and nearly naked women before, but that wasn’t the point. We weren’t in that kind of relationship. Sure, we’d kissed a few times, but our situation had changed since then. That was before Michael was forced – willingly, but still – into this artificial closeness of a marriage that was real, yet not. The wedding kiss and the kiss at our celebration didn’t count – those were for tradition and for show.

My instinct was to change into the baggiest shirt and shorts I owned, march out into the kitchen, and promise Michael that something like this would never, ever happen again.

But what if that embarrassed him more?

He’d insist it was no big deal – even though it was – and it would make things weird at the very least. I didn’t want that for either of us.

Maybe the best thing to do was to act like it hadn’t happened. Just go out into the kitchen, say good morning, and act normal. Like it was any other day, and my butt cheeks and nipples hadn’t been on full display for him the night before.

Easy, right?

Just act normal.

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I STROLLED INTO THE kitchen wearing a baggy black t-shirt and bright pink leggings, with my hair clipped up in a twist.

Just an ordinary day. Nothing to see here folks.

Nothing but my sinfully handsome new husband standing at the stove, his dark hair going all directions and his muscular body showcased in a tight sleeveless navy-blue t-shirt and – heaven help me – low-slung gray sweatpants.

I took a fortifying breath. You can do this, Grace. He’s your friend. Just your friend.

“Hey, Michael.” Good, that sounded natural.

“Good morning, Grace.” He threw me a smile over his shoulder. “Perfect timing. Coffee’s ready and the cinnamon rolls and eggs have about three minutes to go.”

So much for helping. “What can I do?”

“You can grab plates and there’s juice in the fridge if you’re interested.”

I got out two plates and set them on the counter next to the stove, then got the juice and two glasses and put them at our usual places at the kitchen table. Meanwhile, Michael sprinkled sharp cheddar on the eggs – my favorite – covered them and set them off the heat, then pulled the cinnamon rolls from the oven and carried the whole pan to the kitchen table.

I poured us each a cup of coffee, added creamer and sugar to mine, and sat down at the table just as Michael did the same.

“Happy first day of married life.” He lifted his coffee cup in a toast, and I followed suit.

“Happy first day of married life,” I echoed. “If more marriages started with your cinnamon rolls on the first day, I’m betting they’d all be happy.”

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