Page 73 of Anywhere With You

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

Della woke up to the smell of bacon.

When she cracked open her lids, her gaze landed on Van Claybourne’s handsome sixteen-year-old face. “Oh, hell.”

The last time she’d slept in her childhood bedroom was when she’d transitioned from her apartment to her gig at Wild Wolff Resort six months ago. She’d left the stupid posters on the wall as a good luck charm, hoping she’d get to meet the man of her dreams.

Well, Della, you not only met him, but you married him.

She threw the covers back and got out of bed. After a quick shower, she brushed her teeth, got dressed, and went to grab her notebook out of her suitcase.

She hadn’t written a poem in a long time, and she needed to untangle a whole pile of emotions. Digging through the clothes she’d bought at the resort, she found a playing card.

How on earth did this get in here?We never—

A memory flitted into her mind and burst to life.

Bex shirtless, sitting across the table from her. Laughing.

Her heart seized.

They’d played strip poker in Vegas.

That was all she had of their night together—that single glimpse of champagne bottles, a mess of cards, and the love of her life.

She’d never seen him laugh like that. A smile stretched so wide it changed the shape of his features.

Oh, how she loved that man.

Flicking the card toward the garbage bin, she pulled out her toiletry bag. She didn’t blame him for honoring his contract, she supposed. Though she figured bands broke them all the time. But she wouldn’t allow their love to turn tepid and dull. To become nothing more than quick phone calls catching up on each other’s days.

I want so much more than that.

So much more of him.

She understood he was a businessman, and she absolutely didn’t imagine them canoodling on a couch and having deep conversations every day. But she did need him to be true to himself.

A flash of crystal glittered in the early morning light, and she unearthed the wedding stilettos.

Damn, they’re stunning.

But the lawyers were working on the annulment, and so the shoes represented everything she couldn’t have, so she cocked her arm, ready to toss them in the garbage.

Nope. She couldn’t do it. They’re too pretty.

Clutching the sandal, Della sat down on the bed.

What have I done?

As angry as she was at him for retreating into the safety of his old patterns, she had to accept that she’d pushed him too far. He wasn’t wrong—she was one more person telling him who she needed him to be.

And who am I to tell anyone what to be? I’m living in my childhood bedroom. I have no job.

She’d start her business, of course, but…it just didn’t excite her.

Without Micky, why the hell did she want to be an event planner? Without Bex, everything felt blah.

“Hey, hon.” Her dad stood in the doorway in his pajama bottoms and an Arizona State T-shirt, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. “I made your favorite breakfast.”

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