Page 81 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding
Instead I concentrate on summoning excitement for tomorrow, but instead, all I feel is apathy. Which, in itself, is funny.
Do I love Hunter?
Yes.
Am I in love with Hunter?
I don’t know.
Is Hunter in love with me?
I don’t know that either.
Hunter is definitely not in love with this version of me. The version that is closer to the real me than I’ve been in a long time. I think back to the night that Pax and Gregor brought me home, and the longest conversation that Hunter and I have had in almost three weeks. He’d carried me into the house, then set me down and helped me up the stairs to our bedroom.
“You need to take a shower. You smell like vomit and look like hell,” he’d said.
So, I did. I took a hot shower first, then blasted myself with cold to help me wake up and sober up. I had a feeling Hunter wanted to talk.
“What is going on with you and Pax?” he’d asked when I exited the bathroom.
“Nothing is going on. They happened to be at the same club we were. I had too much to drink and Pax helped me get home.”
“I’m going to be honest, Tabatha. I don’t know whether to believe you or not.” He’d sounded more like a father scolding a delinquent child than a man speaking with his intended.
“Why would I lie to you, Hunter?” I’d asked.
“You tell me.”
“If I wanted to be with Pax, I would be. I wouldn’t sneak around behind your back. Especially not when we are about to get married.”
“You’ve changed.”
“Changed how?”
“Your attitude, the way you dress, taking the role in the movie, not helping me with the wedding, to name a few.”
I’d looked down at my feet, feeling ashamed. Because he was right, I hadn’t helped with the wedding, and I did take the role without talking to him about it first. But I’m also a little mad too. It’s a mini-series, not a movie. Like he can’t even bother to get it right.
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
“Well, I am,” I snapped.
“From here on out, can we just go back to normal?” he’d asked.
I’d answered yes, even though I wasn’t quite sure what normal was any longer. Because he was right, I have changed. The problem is, I like the changes. And I don’t know what to do if he doesn’t feel the same.
* * *
“Ohmigod, Maisey, you are a miracle worker!” Crystal enthuses. “I can’t believe how pretty I am.”
“Shut up,” I say and backhand her lightly on the arm. “You are always gorgeous and you know it. If Maisey did anything, it was just enhance your natural beauty.”
Crystal does look amazing. She has a new dress on for tonight—a sleek, black, long-sleeved mini-dress with a deep V in the front and ruching around the middle—that she’s paired with knee-high, stiletto-heeled boots. Maisey has given her very natural-looking makeup with a deep red lip. It’s striking.
My dress is a blush colored body-con, with sleeves that fall just off my shoulder, a tiny bit of ruching in the middle, and a ruffled bottom. I’ve paired it with gold-colored, strappy stilettos. I don’t know what I would do without strappy stilettos, to be honest. I must have a million pairs, in different colors and heel heights. They go with almost every outfit, and I love them.
