“Oh. Okay. Yeah. Will you be long, do you think?”
“I wouldn’t wait up,” he advises me, before slipping back into his closet.
A bit numbly, I take a seat on the edge of the bed and stare at his closet door. He comes back out a moment later with new shoes and he’s fastening a watch on his wrist.
He looks like he’s going out, not going to work. I guess he does dress nicely whether he’s working or playing, but the weight in my gut feels like fear and suspicion joined together in a really ugly marriage.
Don’t do this, Rafe. Don’t make me hate you.
It wouldn’t be the first time I said it today, so I don’t speak the words. He probably is just going to work. Yesterday was a mess, so it’s feasible that he has fires to put out. Fires that demand he change clothes.
It’s not the end of the world. It’s barely even a real wedding night. At least I’ll have time to move my toiletries to the bathroom, I guess.
He heads for the bedroom door to leave. I feel a sudden sense of urgency, so I rise and follow him. “Rafe.”
He turns back to see what I want, and I catch him off-guard, throwing my arms around his neck and sinking against him. His arms slowly move around my body and he pulls me tightly against his chest. He takes control of the kiss, his tongue sweeping into my mouth and overpowering mine. My tummy tightens with arousal and my heart rate picks up as his hand slides lower and he grabs my ass.
We remain tangled together for a long moment, kissing and touching, but then he pulls back. His questioning gaze sweeps over me and I reach a hand up, caressing the side of his face.
“I love you,” I tell him quietly, like it’s a secret.
The corner of his mouth tugs up faintly, but he looks more pensive than anything. “I hope so.”
It’s a strange response, but it has been a strange day, and clearly it’s going to be a strange night. I let him go and pull back, looking over him one more time, memorizing him just in case this is the last time. Just in case his self-destructive behaviors overpower whatever feelings he does have for me and ruin everything.
In case this is the last time I ever like him, I want to remember it.
38
Virginia
There are aspects of married life I don’t hate, but overall, I’m not settling into it as well as one might hope to. It has been a long week, and I have slept with my husband twice. And when I say slept with, I do mean slept. I don’t know where he goes at night, and the words he spoke to me when we were friends echo in my head, his fears about ending up in a committed relationship, but rebuilding his parents’ bad marriage. People routinely turn into what they fear becoming the most, and for Rafe, that might mean becoming his dad. For both our sakes, I hope not, but it really feels like he’s actively avoiding me—not just avoiding fucking me, but avoiding me, period.
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Naturally, that feeds into all my darkest fears.
Today I do not feel frazzled. After drinking too much of the free champagne the bridal shop offers and snuggling with Nicky, I’m feeling much better.
Today is Sunday, and the first time I’ve seen Laurel since the ceremony. Tonight is family dinner, but before that we had to do a little shopping. For one thing, Rafe informed me I needed to get some dresses and skirts so I have outfits for family dinner each week. Secondly, we had to stop at the bridal shop so we could try on our dresses for Laurel’s wedding and see if they need more alterations. I’ve already tried on my bridesmaid dress, now I’m waiting for her. Skylar is at the house with Sin and Rafe, but I appreciate Nicky time more than Rafe does anyway, so he can just wait.
Rubbing Nicky’s fingers, I tell him warmly, “You’re just the most wonderful thing your father has ever done, aren’t you?”
He grins up at me and shakes his fist.
“You wanna bop him on the nose? Me too. We’re gonna serve him dinner instead. Life is weird, baby boy. Weird, weird, weird.”
He grins wider, his perfect little lips glistening with slobber. I grab the cloth and preemptively wipe it so it doesn’t get all over everything.
“I love you, cutie pie,” I tell him. He squeals at me and blows raspberries in response.
From behind the closed curtain of the dressing room, Laurel calls, “All right, I’m coming out.”
“We’re ready,” I assure her, propping Nicholas up so he can see her, too. “You wanna see your mommy in her pretty dress?”
He slobber-grins and tries to eat his fist. I take it as a yes.
The bridal consultant pulls back the curtain and reveals Laurel, beaming as she slowly makes her way toward us. Yards and yards of white chiffon swathe around her body, a long train trailing behind her. Breastfeeding has plumped her boobs up a little, so they look incredible with the tastefully blinged out sweetheart neckline. The dress is strapless and ruched at the butt with pretty laces up the back.