Page 96 of Fireworks & Forehead Kisses

“I’m on a red-eye out of Atlanta tonight.”

If I wasn’t mistaken, I would have sworn that there was a flash of disappointment in her baby blues.

“Oh, okay.” She inhaled through her nose, then exhaled from her mouth as she looked down at the ground. When her eyes lifted up to mine, she licked her lips. “So, I guess I’ll see you in a few weeks, then.”

“In a few weeks.”

“Bye, husband.”

“Bye, wife.”

I bent down, fully intending to kiss her on her forehead, but instead, kissed her on her mouth. It was a quick kiss. Just a brush of the lips really before Luna called her from the door asking where the Cool Whip was, and Ashley turned and rushed back inside the house.

The entire drive back to the estate, my mouth tingled. I could still feel her lips on mine. I was only half listening as Dorothy and my grandmother talked about how lovely the Comfort family was and how much they enjoyed themselves. They said that they had made plans to play Mahjong with the woman who ran the boarding house. Fred remarked that he and Jimmy had plans to go fishing.

When we got home, Fred and Dorothy excused themselves to go to bed, and Gran did the same.

“Goodnight, Gran,” I said, still distracted from the kiss we’d shared.

She paused halfway up and glanced over her shoulder. The look in her eyes caused my chest to tighten with concern.

“What?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know exactly what is going on between you and Ashley, but don’t fuck this up.”

I stared at her, unsure of what to say. I’d never heard my grandmother use profanity in my life. With that simple yet significant declaration, she turned and walked back up the steps.

First, Skylar spoke to me, and now Gran. Neither of them knew thewholestory. They both only knew half. I hadn’t told Gran that our marriage had an expiration date. And it seemed Ashley had told Skylar that it absolutely had an expiration date.

As I left the house and headed to the hangar to fly back to Atlanta to catch the red-eye, I wondered what that said about thetwo of us. I knew what she wanted. She wanted the white picket fence dream. A dog, kids, and a husband who came home every night. Most of all, she wanted love.

Love. That enigmatic emotion.

That was the one thing I couldn’t give her. I couldn’t promise her that forever. I wouldneverenter into a contract, an agreement that I wasn’t absolutely certain I could fulfill, especially when it came to something as important as marriage. I’d seen the damage it could do when someone didn’t live up to their end of that bargain.

Love was an uncertainty. It wasn’t guaranteed. It was impossible to predict. Why did she need the impossible?

35

ASHLEY

“Holy hot tamale!”Nadia whistled as I walked out of the bathroom.

“Do I look okay?” I spun around in a three-sixty.

“No,” Nadia stated flatly with a deadpan expression. “You do not look okay. You look fucking unbelievable. You look like a million dollars.”

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I barely recognized the woman I saw. The dress I wore was a black, off-the-shoulder cocktail dress that molded to my curves. There was a slit that ran up my thigh nearly to my hip, yet somehow was still classy. I was wearing a black Jimmy Choo stiletto heel with a diamond ankle strap. Both were compliments of my husband.

Butterflies began racing in circles low in my belly like they were racing around in the Grand Prix as I ran my hands down my torso. “Thanks for doing my hair.”

“Of course, honey bunny.”

Nadia volunteered to come over to help me get ready. Declan had offered to get my hair and makeup done at the same place I’d gone before my audition forMarried by a Matchmaker, but I’d declined.

Tonight was the company Christmas party. If I agreed to get ready at the hotel, then the assumption would be that I would be spending the night at the hotel. If that were the case, it would be assumed that I would be spending the night in Atlanta, which could not happen.

Walking away from this marriage was going to be hard enough without spending another night with Declan. Since spending Thanksgiving with him, I’d been weaning myself off our nightly calls and only replying to about fifty percent of the text messages he sent.

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