Page 73 of The Hero + Vegas = No Regrets

“That’s for sure,” Noah says. “You are horrible with women.”

“He’s horribletowomen,” I correct him. “There’s a difference.”

“I’m not horrible to women,” Oliver says. “They just think I’m a liar. So when I tell them I only want something casual, they think I actually mean I want to get married and have babies.”

I laugh. “Words are one thing. Actions are entirely another. You act like husband material—that’s your problem.” In contrast, Worth’s words and actions are completely aligned.

“Yes,” Noah says. “You need to act like a dick. Then you’ll be fine.”

I smile, gaze roving from Noah inhaling pancakes to Oliver, who’s sweaty and eye-rolling Noah.

I’m really pleased they came to visit.

TWENTY-SIX

Worth

I finger the pages from my lawyer as I pull them out of the envelope. I didn’t exactly ask him to draw up the papers, but I told him what happened and inquired about the easiest way to exit a spur-of-the-moment marriage. He’s taken the initiative to draw up divorce papers for us to sign. I knew what they were when they arrived at my office, which is why I brought them home. I didn’t want to look at them earlier, and I don’t want to look at them now. The last thing I want is to divorce Sophia.

The doorbell rings and I put the papers down on the console table before opening the door. Sophia is on the front stoop, looking beautiful. Her cheeks are pink from the cold and her hair peeks out from under her hat, making her look younger than usual.

“Hey,” she says with an adorable little wave.

“Thanks for coming.” I kiss her on the cheek and take the duffel she has by her side. I usually stay at her place. Tonight is the first time we’ll be staying together at the brownstone.

“This feels weird,” she says. “And you look so formal.”

She looks nervous, and I can’t help but smile at her. She’s so beautiful. It’s good to have her here. “I just stepped through the door. You must have followed me up the street.”

“Did you walk?” she asks, as I help her out of her coat.

I laugh. “No. My driver dropped me.”

“So here we are,” she says. “I’m officially staying over at the brownstone.”

I want her to feel comfortable here, like she’s at home. I know she doesn’t want to move in, but I want her to see that living together would be something positive. Nights spent at her apartment are just that: nights. We go there after dinner or a movie. But I want to hang out here. I want this to beours.

I put down her bag and pull her into my arms. “I’m happy to have you here.”

Her smile falters. I don’t know why.

She glances sideways, and I follow her gaze. She’s staring at the papers from my lawyer.

“I got them today from my lawyer. I’ve not had a chance to look at them.”

“Divorce papers?” she asks.

“I think so.”

“Let’s look,” she says, nodding at the table.

My body sags. This is not what I had planned for our first evening here. I want to cook together, slow dance in the kitchen to some Luther Vandross, eat dinner, then take a bath together. I want us to talk. I want to hold her. I really don’t want to talk about divorce.

“You can read it,” I say. I’m not hiding anything from her.

She picks up the papers, follows me into the kitchen, and slides them onto the kitchen table.

“Would you like some wine?” I ask.

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