Page 3 of Resisting my Roommate

“Maybe you’re just scared,” she offers softly. Sweetly. “Scared of hoping for something better. Something real.”

Her words hit me like a sucker punch, catching me off guard. I’m not sure what I expected her to say, but it certainly wasn’t this. Didn’t expect this complete stranger to see through all the bullshit.

But I’ll never admit that. Not to her or anyone else.

“Believe what you want.”

I shift in my seat, feeling exposed under her intense stare. As if she’s slowly peeling back each of my layers one by one, revealing parts of me I’ve kept hidden for years. It unnerves me.

Yet there’s also a sense of comfort in being seen so deeply by someone again. But I quickly push the thought away, using the burn of the whiskey to distract myself from the strange sensation bubbling inside of me in response to this woman. This…stranger.

“I appreciate your concern.” She finally looks away, and I feel like I can breathe again. “But I’m going to take my chances. Thanks for the chat and the interesting…perspective.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Perspective.” I finish the rest of my drink and stand, tossing several bills onto the counter to cover my tab. “Good luck with your upcoming wedding.” I head toward the door, my steps wavering from the alcohol.

“And good luck with whatever it is you’re trying to forget,” she calls out over the sound of nineties music blaring.

I pause, glancing over my shoulder and locking my eyes with hers for several moments.

Then I face forward and continue into the night, letting it swallow me whole.

CHAPTER TWO

ABBEY

The afternoon sunlight pours through the tall, arched windows of the bridal suite, casting soft, golden beams that dance across the floor. The room smells faintly of gardenias, a sweet scent that’s supposed to be calming but does little to settle the knot twisting in my stomach.

The knot that’s been there since running into the stranger at the bar the other night. His words still linger in the recesses of my mind, making me examine my reasons for getting married through a microscope.

Am I only marrying Carson to check off a box?

One minute, I tell myself it’s more than that and to forget about the bitter ramblings of a man who’s obviously been burned before.

The next, I can’t help but wonder if there’s some truth to his assertions.

I take a deep breath, shaking off the mere thought. It’s just pre-wedding jitters. Everyone gets them, right?

I’m not marrying Carson out of some delusional fairytale fantasy. He’s always been incredibly supportive of me. Hell, when I was laid off last year, he was my rock, urging me not to stress about finding a new job while also planning our wedding.Granted, he makes a really good living as a financial planner and can afford to support both of us, but the fact he routinely puts my wellbeing first shows how thoughtful he is.

Still, there’s a weight on my chest that won’t go away. What if the stranger was right? Am I only getting married because I think it will fix what’s broken?

“Knock knock. Are you decent?”

I snap out of my thoughts and shift my attention to the closed door.

“Come in,” I call out.

My closest friend, Maia, slips into the room, her yellow bridesmaid dress swishing with her steps as she approaches me.

“Are you ready for your big day?” she asks, her eyes shining with excitement as she adjusts a button on the back of my wedding gown.

The crystals adorned to the fabric shimmer in the light as it cascades in layers of satin and tulle, hugging the curves of my body before flaring out in a dramatic train behind me.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I let out a shaky breath, smoothing a hand down my stomach.

“You have nothing to worry about. Carson’s a good man.”

Maia would know, having worked with him at the investment firm for the past five years. In fact, it’s how we became close friends. When Carson and I started dating, we’d often go on double dates with Maia and her husband. Now Maia and I plan our own outings without the guys.

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