Page 97 of Fireworks & Forehead Kisses

It was crucial that I emotionally detach myself from this marriage. The closer it got to the Christmas deadline, the more I found myself making the argument that a loveless marriage wouldn’t be so bad. I was actually talking myself into believing that a marriage where my husband traveled half the year would actually be a good thing because we wouldn’t get sick of one another. And maybe it would be okay for a few years, but long term, once we had kids, there was no way that I would be happy with that arrangement.

So, no, I could not stay in Atlanta. Because if I did, I’m sure I would come up with more evidence in the case for staying married to the honest, hard-working, sexy billionaire who gives me toe-curling orgasms, and my niece adores, that ticks every box, and is a walking green flag minus the huge tiny problem that he doesn’t love me, and I wasn’t even sure is capable of love, not in the capacity I needed to be loved.

Which was why another sleepover would not be in my best interest. No matter how tempting it was. And, oh boy, was it tempting.

All I had to do was stay strong tonight. I grabbed my clutch and made sure I had my wallet, phone, keys, lipstick, and mascara for touchups. That was all I needed. Nothing else, because I would be coming home tonight. Then I picked upmy bottle of Dior perfume. It was the fanciest, aka priciest, fragrance I owned, and I only wore it on special occasions. I sprayed three spritzes in front of me and then walked into the mist.

After I did, I cleared my throat, grabbed my Stanley mug from the nightstand, and sipped.

“How are you feeling?” Nadia asked.

“Better.”

Thanks to lack of sleep from tossing and turning in sexual frustration, I’d come down with a case of bronchitis last week. Or maybe it was just a bug that Luna had brought home from school. Or it could have been the lack of sleep I’d had from the Thanksgiving prep. In any case, I’d thought about using that as an excuse not to go to the party, but after a round of antibiotics, I was feeling better.

When Declan discovered I was under the weather, within the hour, half a pharmacy showed up on my doorstep. That was not hyperbole or exaggeration. Anything and everything one could possibly need for a cold or flu was on my porch. There was Vicks VapoRub, a variety of nasal sprays, cough drops, teas, diffusers, over-the-counter cold and flu medication, holistic remedies, and, after a telehealth call with Declan’s primary care physician, antibiotics. Dorothy and Fred had also dropped off her famous chicken soup, which had really hit the spot. And he’d also had immunity shots and smoothies delivered from the juicery that had just opened in the downtown arts district.

It was the first time in my life that anyone other than Skylar had taken care of me. When I got sick while I was with Garrett, he was always scared of catching it, so he stayed away. He went to prom without me junior year because I had a stomach bug. I told myself not to get used to this sort of treatment, but it was definitely something the little voice in my head was using in the pro column for reasons to stay in this loveless marriage.

“So he’s actually flying you to the party?” Nadia licked her hand, then smoothed a flyaway hair down from the top of my head.

“Yep.”

“You’re living out a real-life Fifty Shades, Pretty Woman moment.”

The comparison to the films had not escaped me. InFifty Shades, Christian Grey is a pilot like Declan, and he takes Anastasia on a helicopter flight to see Seattle. InPretty Woman, Richard Gere’s character hires a private plane and takes Julia Roberts's character to San Francisco to the opera for the night, but it’s the same idea.

“And he’s bringing you back tonight?” she questioned, tilting her head to the side.

“Yep.” I nodded. “I promised Skylar that I’d watch the munchkins so she and Hank can go Christmas shopping.”

“I can watch them if you want to stay and?—”

“No,” I quickly cut her off. I’d purposefully made plans for the following day so I wouldn’t give in to any temptation. “It’s fine. I don’t want to?—”

A loud knock on the front door interrupted my explanation.

My heart jumped into my throat. It had been three weeks since I’d seen Declan, and this would most likely be the final time I saw him before we signed the papers for the dissolution of our marriage.

The plan had originally been for him to go to Harlan and Daphne’s wedding with me, but I’d decided to let him off the hook for that event. Or at least that was how I was framing it to him. In truth, it was more of a self-protection move on my part. The less exposure to the man, the better.

“He’s here!” Nadia clapped her hands together.

I took a deep breath and placed my hands on my stomach, trying to calm the butterflies that were throwing a full-on rave.Nadia and I walked down the steps together. When we reached the bottom, my knees were shaking. The last time I’d seen Declan had been a surprise when he came to Thanksgiving. I opened the door, and he was standing there. This time was different. This time, I’d had weeks to run through a thousand different scenarios about how tonight could go.

Would we dance? What would we talk about? How would he act around other people with me? Would he kiss me again?

The last time he’d seen me, he’d kissed me goodbye. It wasn’t for anyone’s benefit. No one had been watching us. Would that happen again? Should it happen again?

I knew that I would be reading into every single second of this night. I’d play it over and over in my head. I would take it apart for forensic inspection. The innocent or not-so-innocent touches. The looks. The words we spoke and the words we didn’t.

My problem was that none of that actually mattered because none of it was real or sincere. I needed to remember that. No matter how much my heart, hormones, and even head were trying to convince me otherwise, the reality was we were only married because he needed a wife to save his company.

Nadia walked to open the door while I grabbed my coat.

“Hello!” She waved her hand in a half circle at the handsome specimen of a man who I happened to be married to, standing on the porch looking like he’d just walked off a Giorgio Armani runway.

Declan grinned. “Hello.”

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