Page 11 of Trust Me With Forever

Me (typed but deleted):If you only knew that I was married into their family, too. For now.

Me (actual reply instead):I’ll be there.

Emmy:Okay, see you then.

As I reread the exchange with my sister, part of me wished it was a little less distant and formal. And yet, it was entirely my fault that it was. I’d been the one to stay away from Starry Hills since our parents’ funeral. I’d also given up custody of Emmy when I was nineteen. True, I hadn’t been mature enough to raise a little girl at that point—we were nearly ten years apart—but I’d also blamed myself for making her an orphan.

I still struggled with that guilt, to be honest. Although Emmy kept telling me it wasn’t my fault that our parents had died in a car crash, even though they’d been driving to the airport to come see me play soccer in England.

A knock on my front door brought me back to the present. Few people knew where I lived on the outskirts of Starry Hills, but one of them would be my wife.

And sure enough, as I opened the door, Abby stood there. She wore jeans and a sweater, her dark hair long around her face and shoulders. With her cheeks flushed from the cold, I could barely tear my eyes from her face. When had the annoying little sister of my best friend turned into this fucking gorgeous woman?

She raised her brows. “Can I come in, or are you going to stand there and stare at me?”

Clearing my throat, I waved her inside and shut the door behind her. “How do you know I wasn’t staring at some bird shit in your hair?”

“There aren’t a lot of birds in February, Rafael. Have you been away so long that you forgot about that?”

“There are birds year-round. It’s not my fault that you haven’t paid attention.”

She rolled her eyes. “Remind me again why I married you?”

Neither of us had fully remembered the reason yet, and she knew it. “I was drunk.”

She flipped me off. “Maybe I should just leave, asshole.”

Sighing, I reached out and grabbed her hand. Ignoring how icy they were and how I wanted to rub them warm again, I replied, “Sorry. I’m going to work harder at being nice to you.”

“I don’t want you to be too nice, though. I like bickering with you sometimes.”

I frowned. “You do?”

“It’s like a sport in my family.” She shrugged one shoulder. “It keeps life interesting.”

“I’ve never had a woman want to argue with me.”

“Well, as we’ve already established, I’m not like the other women you’ve been with. I’ll never fit into a size two dress, for one thing. Or wear four-inch heels.”

I wanted to growl that her curves were perfect, but held back. If we stayed married, it would be platonic. The sooner I accepted that, the better.

However, I didn’t want her to keep harping on herself, so I said, “I like that you’re tall.”

“Only because you’re an inch taller than me. Trust me, when the guy is short and his eye line is right at your boobs, it’s a little creepy.”

“Well, that’s something else I can offer—if you stay my wife, I’ll glare and chase away any guy who talks to your chest and not your face.”

The corner of her mouth ticked up. “The boob-staring police? Is that a new department?”

“I would only serve one woman. Everyone else would have to fend for themselves.”

She tapped her chin. “Thatisa tempting reason. But I think I need a little more about the specifics, which means we need to talk.”

I’d been dreading “the talk” for days now. Because yes, it’d been a little over a week. Abby had been helping Nolan and Katiewith their whole scandal showdown with some actress. What was her name again? Oh, right: Wendy Webster.

But apparently Nolan and Katie were in love and together and would become yet another couple I barely knew but would be jealous of.

Not the time to think about that.I gestured toward the kitchen. “I’ve been practicing my coffee making skills. I also have brownies. They were your favorite at Emmy’s sleepovers as a kid. I don’t know if they still are, but I figured I should have something in case you’re hungry.”

---