Page 13 of Lightness In My Dark

“What the hell, Wren? You can’t wear jeans and a sweater for pictures or to meet our wedding planner. We’re not going to a fucking bar.”

I could see the lump in her throat before she scanned her outfit and then my suit. She sighed, nodded, and walked back upstairs. Wren was in her walk-in closet and jumped to the side when I stood behind her, grabbing a white blouse that draped in front, a form-fitting black skirt, and black heels with a silver tip.

After I laid them on her bed, I said, “Wear these.” I started walking out but turned around to add, “And put some makeup on. Be ready in fifteen minutes.”

Fifteen minutes later, she came down the stairs in the outfit I chose with makeup on.

There is a God! She has a figure. I could never tell from the baggy shit she wore. And I have to admit, it has just the right amount of curves. What a piccola with shapely, sexy legs. Even though she isn’t my normal type, I can hit that.

I didn’t react to her appearance, only handed her a coat, and with my hand on the small of her back, ushered her to the car. A talk radio show interrupted the silence. Majority of the time, Wren glanced out her window. I’d take a sip from my travel mug and glance at her bare neck while her coat covered the rest.

At the photographers, he had us sit close, sometimes next to each other, an arm around her waist, or her seated between my legs, back flush with my chest. Her spine was stiffer than Joan River’s facelift. When between my thighs, I peeked at her cleavage, hoping I’d glimpse her bra, or better yet, her breast. It was an unlucky day for me. Every time Wren moved, she’d make sure her blouse covered everything.

Shit! A hardened body. An aloof personality.

My face heated, and it wasn’t from getting a hard-on. The photographer came over to us. He reached for Wren’s shoulder, and she reacted by slamming her back against my chest.

“I’m only trying to loosen you up. Your body is stiff.” He shook her shoulders, and she went a little slack. “Yeah, that’s good. Relax into your fiancé.”

He instructed me to place my hand on her stomach. My fingers grazed the underside of her breasts, and she returned to a surfboard stance.

The photographer sighed and turned from the camera.

I asked, “Can you give us a moment?”

“Sure. You can use the back room.”

I dragged Wren behind me. When the door closed, I said with clenched teeth, “This is fucking embarrassing. We’re supposed to be happy we’re getting married. We’re in love. Did you forget that part of the contract? Instead, you’re sitting like someone rammed a pole up your ass.” Tears bubbled in her eyes. “No! Don’t even start that shit. I don’t care what you need to do, but you better pull yourself together and act like I’m all you’ve fucking ever wanted. You got that?” She cleared her throat, patted her eyes and around her lips with a paper towel, and whispered an apology. “Don’t apologize. Just do what we agreed on.”

Pissed off, I slammed the door behind, giving her time to collect herself. A moment later, Wren made her way to the stool in front of me. As the photographer readied himself, she rested into me with her head brushing my shoulder and gave one of the most content, beautiful smiles I’ve ever seen. It turned out to be the picture we chose for the announcement.

We had a spare hour before meeting the wedding planner, so we went to a coffee shop. In a corner, I found an empty booth with a small circular table in front. Wren sat while I ordered a few coffees. As usual, we checked out, browsing through our phones, except it wasn’t a comfortable silence. I couldn’t take it anymore.

I didn’t understand her. Why didn’t she look at me? What was her problem? Used to women staring and touching without my consent, she took a turn in the opposite direction. I get we’re strangers, but it wasn’t hard to act fucking normal. Wren paid no attention to me, disliked touches, nor did she initiate any herself. I was sick of it! She was going to be my wife. There’s no way I could bring her out to meet friends and family when she acted indifferent. She must get comfortable, especially since we’re meeting the wedding planner.

I turned to her. “Wren. Put your phone down.” She conceded, except it took her a while to meet my eyes.

Lowering my tone, I said, “You have to stop acting like I’m a stranger. You signed a contract, so you better live up to it.”

She shifted on the seat, looked down, and said, “I know, I’m—”

I hissed, “Fucking focus on me when you’re talking.”

Wren readjusted, her damn thumb finding a soothing rhythm on her index finger and met my eyes. “I’m sorry, Finn. I’ll do better.”

Facing forward, I shook my head and ran my hand through my hair. Wren stared straight ahead. Then I felt her hand move over mine, intertwining our fingers. Surprised by her action, I recovered by giving it a quick squeeze to acknowledge her effort, and then she let go.

We arrived at the country club. The hostess brought us to a corner four-seated table by a wall of windows. Wren tucked herself into the corner and I sat to her left. The country club restaurant had a fall theme going, floral arrangements on each table, candles lit to add a softness to the gloomy day. Most of the tables had club members making business deals, retirees meeting up, and so forth. I ordered myself a beer and a glass of wine for Wren to calm her down. She drank half the glass while we sat waiting.

Fuck me!Of all the wedding planners out there, we got the one that looked like a Sports Illustrated model. She had long blonde hair that fell in waves around her shoulders, lashes accentuating her blue eyes. When she approached, I stood to shake her hand, smoothed my tie down as I sat down, and we both gave a sly smirk.

This will not go well. Shit, how am I going to remain professional, pretend to love Wren, while talking with this woman?I adjusted the growing bulge in my pants.

She offered her hand to Wren, who gave a weak shake, and took a seat across from me. Wren made herself as small as possible by slouching in her seat. I tapped her side, indicating to sit straight, and put my arm around the back of her chair. Our wedding planner, Jillian, asked for the wedding date, June 6, which she marked down and said she was available.

“So, the most eligible bachelor in Maryland is getting married.” Jillian smiled, turned to Wren, and said, “You are a lucky woman.” Wren smiled, took in a deep breath, and looked over at the other patrons.

Are you kidding me? The wedding planner is showing more interest in me than my fiancé.

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