Page 179 of From Best Friend to Bride
Clutching the ripped annulment in one hand, I walked over to the desk and picked up the others.
Divorce papers.
Our divorce papers.
Why was Fred at his desk with the divorce papers we’d drafted before we got married?
I’d meant it yesterday when I’d asked for this, but now that I was looking at them in front of me, I didn’t want this at all.
If he was going to do this, why had he not just done it last night? Why do all those things to me if he was just going to give me the papers in the first place?
Wait.
No.
I knew Fred. This wasn’t like him. The fact the annulment papers were torn and tossed into the fireplace told me everything I needed to know—that there was a genuine reason for this.
Besides, he’d told me he loved me. And the part of me that desperately wanted him to mean that the way I did clung to those words. Panicking and overthinking wasn’t going to achieve anything right now.
I sat down in the chair opposite him, putting the annulment papers on the desk, and gave the divorce ones my full attention. I didn’t need to flick through them. I knew what they said. The memory of writing them and the fights that ensued were as clear in my mind as if it were yesterday.
I wanted nothing.
He was the one doing me a favour, after all.
Now, I still wanted nothing.
Nothing but him.
I swallowed, staring at them until the letters all blurred together. I couldn’t live without him. That had always been the case, but now, it was pure fact.
I couldn’t divorce him.
I wouldn’t divorce him.
I had to tell him how I felt. I had to be honest with him.
I was going to look him in the eye and say, “I’m in love with you, Fred,” as many times as it took for him to get the message.
Because he loved me, too.
“Deli?”
My name was but a whisper from his lips, and my stomach clenched at the fearful undercurrent in his voice.
I peered up slightly. “Well,” I said softly. “I didn’t take you for someone who’d fuck me then divorce me the next morning, Fred.”
He froze. “It’s not—no. It’s not what you…” He moved quickly, knocking something to the floor with a smash. “Oh, shit.”
He’s panicking.
Just like last night when he burst into my room.
“It’s fine,” I said, deliberately keeping my gaze averted from him.
If I looked at him, the jig would be up, and I wanted to punish him a little for leaving me alone in bed all night.
And, well, putting a bit of fear in him usually worked out in my favour.
