Page 73 of Kiss the Bride

My phone doesn’t buzz. Not with messages from back home, or from Hunter. I can’t even imagine what’s going through his head. Our kiss was so sweet, so hungry, and so final. That’s what had been missing. Every other kiss had the hunger and hope for the future. None of them tasted of the end.

“Can I get you anything to eat?” The waiter can’t stay away any longer. We’ve sat on our single drinks for almost three hours, and no business can sustain cheap tables.

“I need to get back.” I stand and stretch my back, trying not to yawn. My body is deliciously tired and sore from last night with Hunter.

“I’ll get rid of him.”

“No.”

“But, Olivia, we just agreed.”

“You talked; I didn’t agree to anything.” Already I feel the shackles of his control tighten. This time, I want to be free—free to live and to love. Hunter has never wanted to control me. But has he ever fought for our relationship? Does he even know how?

“But you love me!” Mitch says it with such conviction that I find it almost frightening. Does he think he can badger me back into loving him?Why hasn’t Hunter checked in with me? Even a POL would prove he’s thinking of me.

“It’s been a lot to take in. A lot to process.”

“Then let me get rid of the distraction. We’ll have time to talk things through, and you’ll come around.”

Has he always been so controlling? Yes. From the TV remote to what suburbs he would consider worthy of living in. Where I could work—for his father’s company—and where we ate out. No variety there. How can he love variety in women but not food? Not exactly a question I want to ask.

“Hunter stays.” My first attempt and standing my ground is met with a tight jaw and cold stare.

“It will be very uncomfortable for him, seeing us together.”

“We aren’t together.”

“Not yet, but we will be. You just need to work on being able to forgive me like I’m going to forgive you.”

I have to hand it to Mitchel; there is noif you forgive me, he just assumes that eventually, I will.

“Give me the rest of the honeymoon to change your mind.”

“No.” A feeling I feel quite confident about. Committing to Mitchel for the remaining two weeks is, quite frankly, two weeks too long. Looks like marriage is out of the question, then.

“A week, then. Give me a week to prove to you how much we deserve to be together.”

“What am I supposed to do for the remaining week?”

“If I have my way, by then, you’ll be back in my arms and bed, and we’ll be better than before. I got cold feet. I messed up. We can get past this indiscretion.”

“I’m going back to my villa now.” I need space. Mitchel has talked at me for hours, and I need peace and quiet to think.

“Not with him. Tell me you aren’t going to sleep with him?” Mitchel’s face distorts with pain I never thought possible. Jealousy or love? Is there a difference?

“Mitchel, we aren’t—“

He interrupts before knowing who we are. “Babe, please. I’ll find somewhere to sleep tonight—the beach if necessary. But please don’t sleep with him. Not tonight. Not when we are so close to having everything again.”

“And if I do?”

“I don’t know whether I could forgive you.”

On my way back to the villa, I call the resort’s restaurant and order the crispy skin salmon fillets with caramelized lemon and steamed vegetables to be delivered. Hunter and I have always rated a restaurant on how well they delivered crispy skin salmon. Soggy skin, and we’d never go back. Overcooked salmon was the kiss of death. But well-cooked salmon was almost sex on a plate as we shared the flakes of flesh with a single fork.

“Any desserts to go with that order?”

“One of everything.” I don’t need to think twice.

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