They were the second pair of pantyhose I’d donned this day. The first pair had a snag in them that I only discovered after pulling them on, which only added to my growing list of disasters for the day.
Along with my ruined nylons, the dress I was wearing was my third option. I’d purchased an emerald green, backless, long-sleeved dress that accentuated my curves, but when I pulledit over my head, I managed to smear foundation all along the collar. With dress one a victim of a makeup wardrobe malfunction, I’d grabbed my ’50s style vintage floral midi dress and put it on, only to discover the zipper was broken. Strike two in my WhatNotto Wear Wedding Edition. The only other winter-appropriate wedding dress I owned was the one I was now wearing; it was a royal blue, form-fitting dress that hit me mid-calf, which made theRisky Businessslide that much more risky. With the way this day was going, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if I split the seam on my backside.
After quickly doing a booty seam check and finding my dress intact, I exhaled a sigh of relief and apologized to Mr. Purrfect as I detoured to the kitchen, popped open a can of cat food, and dumped it into his bowl. “I’m sorry.”
I set the bowl down, gave my tabby a quick kiss on his head, and then headed back to the front door. I slipped my feet into the nude Vera Wang heels, pulled on my camel trench coat, and grabbed the present, a scarf, and mittens for good measure. Daphne and Harlan’s wedding was going to be held in a tent in their backyard on the farm. I knew there would be heaters, but I typically ran cold, and since I was going to be Han Solo-ing it, I wouldn’t have anyone to snuggle up to for heat.
Part of me was disappointed that I’d told Declan not to come to the wedding, but another part of me knew that it was for my own good.
The part that was disappointed was the voice in my head that kept trying to talk me into staying in the marriage. It was doing a very good job at convincing me that I could be content, happy even, being married to Declan, even if he never loved me. It was making the argument that I could love him enough for the both of us.
The part that was telling me it was for my own good was the voice that was saying that staying in the marriage was justprolonging the inevitable. It said I might be happy for a year, two, maybe even five, but there was no way that I would ever be able to be truly fulfilled in a loveless marriage. Even if the sex was amazing and all my other needs were met. I needed love. I needed quality time. I needed to build a lifewithsomeone. I needed a husband who was available physically and emotionally.
It’s for the best,I assured myself as I opened the door and found Declan standing on my porch looking sexier than should be legally allowed. It had been one week since I’d seen him. We’d only texted in the past seven days. I hadn’t answered any of his nightly check-in calls.
“What are you… why are you… I told you not to…” I stammered.
“I know, but we agreed that you would come to the Christmas party, and I would be your date to the wedding, so I’m here. If you want me to leave, I will.”
Did I want him to leave? No.
Should he leave? Yes.
Should vs. want.
Want vs. should.
Who was I kidding? There was no way I could turn him away.
“It’s kind of hard to tell you to leave when you show up looking like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like Captain Dreamboat from Planet Handsome.”
He smiled as I stepped out onto the porch, turned, and locked the door. As we walked to the car, he took the present from me and then opened the passenger side door. Add Colonel Gentleman to his list of titles.
As we drove, the silence that hung between us was driving me a little crazy. The farm wasn’t that far away, and I felt like we had a lot to say and nothing to say at the same time.
“So, have you been busy this week?” he asked.
“What?”
“Have you been busy or just avoiding me?”
“It’s always busy around this time of year,” I answered without really answering.
Even though there was no reasonnotto tell him the truth, I didn’t feel like there was any point. The conversation wouldn’t lead to anything productive.
“Right.”
There was a tension between us that had never been there before. At least not in person. Over emails, before we knew each other’s identities, sure. But not since the launch.
“How’s Stella?” I asked.
I hadn’t spoken to her in a couple of weeks. I actually had been busy getting set up to start the new year with the grand opening of Artistic Horizons. And Christmas was always a busy time of year.
“She’s good. She started playing Mahjong with the woman who runs the boarding house.”