Page 90 of Kiss the Bride

“Babe, about tonight,” Mitchel’s mouth is close to my ear. Distracted within my thoughts, I hadn’t noticed him creep closer on the picnic rug. A romantic picnic lunch followed by champagne and nibbles for afternoon tea, followed by yet another romantic dinner delivered to us on the beach.

Poor Mitch has never understood my definition of romance is a look across the crowded room reminding me I’m in his thoughts; a random text message on his busiest day from hell; breakfast in bed on the first rainy day of autumn. All things that Hunter understands. Mitchel’s definition comes with a credit card bill. Hunter picks me flowers from his parents’ garden and hands them over with stems wrapped in wet tissues and foil. Mitchel purchases the most extravagant bunch from whatever florist is convenient. Or at least, his assistant does.

The hampers are beautiful and thoughtfully presented but are all ordered online as set packages. Buy the most expensive romance package and have it delivered. Comparing it to the hamper that Hunter hand delivered complete with a story of how he got it, I feel like the biggest bitch in the world.

“Babe?” Mitch asks again, trying to hide his annoyance. At least more than usual.

“Sorry, I was thinking.”

“About tonight, please come back to my villa.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. At least give us a real chance to get to know each other again.”

“Mitch, after what I saw, I need more time. I can’t just rock up to your villa with you and pretend.”

“I’m not asking you to pretend.”

“Mitch, please don’t pressure me.”

“I’m not pressuring you,” he storms. “You are my fiancée and I have a right to expect you to stay in the bloody expensive villa that I’m paying for.”

“Mitch, we aren’t engaged anymore. I’ll return the ring if that’s what you want.” At least I didn’t burn it with my dress.

“Keep it.”

“Thank you, but I’m not your fiancée, and I wish you’d stop referring to me in that way.”

“I asked, you said yes. Engaged to be married.”

“Okay, if you want to play it that way, you made a fuckload of promises and then broke them.” I sit up straighter, prepared to have it out. “Starting with fidelity. I don’t trust you.”

“And how are you supposed to get over your trust issues if you won’t come back to the villa with me tonight.”

“My trust issues?”

“As soon as we get back to Sydney, Hunter will be cut from our lives, and I won’t have any trust issues. You’ll be the only one with issues.”

“That’s because from what I heard, your cock has been known to roam in various directions and land in any random woman.”

“Because you weren’t supportive. You weren’t there for me.”

“Are you saying if I don’t stay at the villa with you tonight, you’ll find some other random woman to hook up with? Should I warn Jess and Tash that you’re on the lookout?” My sarcasm is thicker than butter on bread. It works, and he immediately changes tack, like the expert negotiator the corporate world is beginning to notice.

“Babe, I’m sorry. We can sleep out here on the beach, or you can come up and we can fall asleep on the daybed. Or, I’ll take the daybed and you take the real bed. Your choice.”

“How can I trust you?”

“One day and night at a time.”

In the end, we talk most of the night. We talk, fight, and talk some more. I remember why I fell in love with him, but also realize that we both got caught up in our families’ expectations of adulting and marriage. If Mitch hadn’t been caught with his pants around his ankles, we might never have looked at our lives this way until ten years post-kids.

I fall asleep leaning against the side of the daybed outside his villa, and at some point in the night, Mitch wraps me in a blanket in the first unselfish act I can remember him doing in years.

“Morning,” he greets the morning sun with two coffees. “How’d you sleep?”

“I can’t remember falling asleep. We were talking one minute—“

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