Page 27 of Trash the Dress

“I’ll think about it. Maybe you can show me your place tomorrow.” I can’t believe I conceded without more of a fight.

He releases his hold on me. “I’ll show you whenever you’d like.”

I turn around and face him. The food is thinking about making a second appearance. I dart toward the bathroom andstart to gag. The contents of my stomach are emptied into the toilet relentlessly, and then I flush it down. Behind me, I hear running water and turn to see Zander wringing out a washcloth.

He dabs it on my neck and face. “Here.” He takes my hand and leads me toward the bed.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. Let’s get you to bed. I think you’ve had a long few days,” he says as he pulls the covers back for me.

“You didn’t…upset me, I mean.” I climb under the covers and settle in while he moves to the table where the ginger ale is.

“I’m going to set this on the nightstand,” he says.

He locks my door and turns the lights down. Then, he kicks his shoes off and lies on the bed beside me but propped up against the headboard and on top of the covers.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m going to stay a while and make sure you don’t need anything. I told you, I’m in this with you, and that means taking care of you while you’re sick. I’m not the kind of man who leaves when things get hard. Is that all right?” he asks.

I nod. “Thank you.”

He leans over and kisses my forehead. “Get some sleep, little sunshine.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Zander

Last night as I lay on the bed beside Scarlett listening to her soft snores, I tried to imagine myself as a dad. While those visions filled my mind, they were slowly accompanied by what it might be like to be a family. Not just co-parent with Scarlett but live under the same roof…all the time. People do that, don’t they? Even if they aren’t a couple.

Then my thoughts turned slightly more selfish. Scarlett is a beautiful, sexy woman. I think I’d go crazy living under the same roof without being able to touch and kiss her.Everywhere.My touch, the physical stuff is all I’m capable of. And I know it wouldn’t be enough for someone like Scarlett. Not only that, but she deserves all of it. If I loved her body, she would deserve the love from my heart too. I don’t know that I’m capable of loving again.

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep last night. Visions of what got us in this predicament in the first place replayed through my head on a loop. Her answering the door with no bra and nipples begging for attention didn’t help my focus. I’d love to devourthem with all my senses again…my eyes, my touch, and to taste them on my tongue and hear her sexy moans slip from her parted lips.

When she eventually stirred from sleep in the early morning hours, I told her to call me if she decided she wanted to see my house. I know I offered her my guest room, and I hope she accepts it logistically. But realistically…what have I done? What special brand of torture have I thrust upon myself?

I’m staring out my home office window and thinking of how hard this will be. Physically, I will have to control the desire I know will ultimately surface. Beyond that, I haven’t stayed or lived with another woman since Vivian.

But Scarlett isn’t Vivian. We aren’t in love or getting married. Speaking of Vivian, I still have no idea why she called a couple weeks ago. There’s nothing more to say. She left me. She was a runaway bride…with my best friend. I’ve not spoken to either of them in four years and two hundred eighty-three days. But who’s counting? I’m not going to break that streak now. Blocking her number was the right move. I told Dad it was five years, but I know down to the day how long ago it’s been.

From my office window, I can see the long drive up to my house. The house is on a hill overlooking the ten acres of land I own. I built this place for Vivian and me. It has more space than we ever needed. I get to see the sunrise from here, and the most beautiful sunsets with their vibrant pink and fiery-orange hues. At least, I could see them…before.

I don’t see them much anymore. I’ve thrown myself into long nights at High Road. I gave up on my artsy side. That part of me died when Vivian ripped my still-beating heart from my chest. We hadn’t been living here long before that impossible day. I’d had the house built before we were engaged. But it was still with her and our life together in mind. My photography business wasmaking bank, and my creative juices were flowing. And I still painted.

Capturing memories through a lens and holding a paintbrush used to be my dream. A dream I had the opportunity and chance to live. It’s hard to remember that side of me. I wonder if he even still exists underneath the rubble of my cold, shattered heart.

My gaze flicks to the painting of Scarlett in her dress I just painted right before I learned our night together resulted in an unbreakable tie. I stand and walk over to where it’s still on display on my easel. This is my first one in too many years. I trace the brushstrokes of where I painted her bare back. Scarlett Shepard managed to chisel through the iceberg of my heart. That means I need to keep it under lock and key if I hope to not have it burn to ash.

The sun is beautiful…a source of life, but if you get too close, you’ll burn up. And if I’ve learned anything about Scarlett in the brief time I’ve known her, it’s that she is the sun. For so long I’ve said I have no heart left, but that wasn’t true. It’s cold and frozen, some pieces have chipped away, and it may be buried. But even catching a glimpse of Scarlett has it thawing and clawing its way to the surface as I live and breathe. If she ever hurt me, I’d be incinerated. Nothing left to save. I’d do well to remember that.

My thoughts are interrupted by my security system alerting me to movement by the garage. I run a hand through my still-damp hair. I showered about thirty minutes ago. Scarlett called right before to let me know she wanted to come out here.

I leave my office after casting one last glance at the painting. I quickly close the door behind me before heading to the front door. I can see her silhouette through the frosted glass and my heart kicks into overdrive.Stop it, Zander.I can’t believe I’m having to berate myself right now.

Upon opening the door, she turns from where she was taking in the view of my property and faces me. Clear blue eyes meet my dark ones. Her nearly black hair falls past her full breasts in soft waves. She wears a denim jacket over a cream-colored dress. It stops right above her knee. Her lips are painted a soft pink, and they part as she speaks.

“Hi. I hope you weren’t too busy,” she says.

“Not at all. Please, come in.” I gesture for her to come in and step back to allow her entry.

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