Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“Somehow, I don’t think it’d be a hardship to enjoy the marital benefits, judging from what you told us about last night,” she says dryly.
My chest flutters with nerves. Asking for what I want is a big hurdle. What if they reject me? What if one does, and the other doesn’t? How does that even work? This is uncharted territory for me. “But how do I broach that? How do I say can we keep seeing your friend while we are married?”
“Say that,” Trina says, like it’s so simple.
“I hate putting myself out there,” I mutter.
“It is hard,” she acknowledges. “But sometimes that’s what you have to do.”
Later that night I’m pacing through my apartment, trying to locate the nerve to go upstairs and see Hayes, when there’s a knock on my door. My heart races. Then it sprints when a voice says, “Hey. It’s Hayes.”
I’m still frustrated with him, but I’m also eager to just say what’s on my mind.
I fling open the door and whoa…
My husband is standing on the other side holding a basket of artsy, illustrated notebooks in bright pink, soft lavender, and cherry red, along with…is that what I think it is? “Is that a bouquet of pens?” My voice squeaks.
“Yes,” he says, clearly pleased. He hands me the pens, wrapped with a huge purple bow.
I must have ingested helium when I ask, “For me?”
He smiles and laughs. “Is there someone else here who has a thing for notebooks with women in vintage dresses on the front and beautiful colored pens for all her ideas?”
I reach my arms out and happily take the basket, hugging it close. “Thank you. I love it.”
“Open the first one,” he says, then hands me the notebook with the purple cover. On the front is a pencil drawing of a woman in a flapper dress. Gingerly, I open it, and the first line on the paper reads: I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first. If you forgive me, I promise to be the best fake husband there is.
The apology is more than I expected. I close my eyes, letting a new, warm feeling flow through my body.
When I open my eyes, I vow to put my frustrations from this morning fully behind me. But I also need him to understand a few ground rules. “I don’t want you to make decisions like that without me,” I say, clear and firm.
He nods, understanding in his dark eyes. “I get that. I do.”
“I’m a part of this.”
“I understand. I should have handled it…differently.”
“I know you felt like you were doing it for me, but it affects me,” I add, gentler now.
He sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, his eyes full of regret. “I wanted to help. But I didn’t do it in the best way. If you want to get an annulment now, I’ll handle it all. I did some research. It’s not that hard, and I’ll just man up and explain it to Ms. Rose.”
I set a hand on his arm, reassuring him. “I appreciate that, but you don’t need to do it. I’ll go to the golf event with you. You’ll go to my ex’s wedding with me.”
“Absolutely.”
I let go of his arm, square my shoulders, and say, “I just want to make a few things clear.”
“Lay it on me.”
Deep breath. Say the hard thing. “I hate to bring this up, but given what happened with my ex, I have to. I don’t want to be made a fool. You can’t see anyone else.”
He blinks. His brow furrows. “Are you fucking crazy?”
I tense. Did I misread everything? “That feels reasonable to me,” I say, standing my ground.
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t you get it, Ivy?”
“Get what?”
“I want you. Only you. I tried to resist you because we work together, and a lot of good that did. So I’m standing here, still wanting you.”
A smile takes shape on my lips, slow and easy. “Good. Then I only have one condition for us staying married.”
The next night when I arrive at The Great Dane, I say hello to the hostess then add, “I’d like a table for three.”
Well, I’m having a double date after all.
26
A DOUBLE DATE
Ivy
“Tell us.”
The demand comes from Stefan, delivered in the smooth, playful voice that matches his whole easygoing demeanor. He takes up all the space in the chair, stretching an arm across the back and crossing his legs.
“C’mon, you know you want to,” Hayes goads in a rougher tone, leaning closer. His stubble is filling in even more, the start of a beard coming in.
We’re at a private table in the corner of the rooftop patio at Stefan’s restaurant-slash-bar, and they’re trying to pry a secret out of me.
I shake my head, adamant, my hair swinging back and forth. “Nope.” I lift my bubbly water—no liquor for this girl tonight—and swirl it defiantly. A statement. “You’re not winning this one. I refuse to give up team secrets. You’ll find out next week.” That’s when the team will debut the first of three options for a new mascot/team name.