Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
He quit his job for me. And I suspect, ended things with Anna because of me as well.
The realization is terrifying, because big gestures like that come from big emotions. Emotions such as . . .
My brain rejects even thinking the word.
And around the confusion, the panic, the sheer surprise, I feel something a little like anger bubble up.
He promised that it was just sex, that he wouldn’t get his heart involved, so that I wouldn’t have to break his heart . . .
I put a hand on my stomach and let out a gasp. “I hate him. I hate him for making me feel this way. I was just fine before he came along, I was just . . .”
I feel a sob coming on.
“Mac. I know it doesn’t feel this way right now, but believe me when I say: you’re going to be okay,” Stephanie says soothingly.
I believe her. She’s tiny but her voice is strong. And even though she’s not wearing her combat boots tonight, her clunky Mary Janes look as though they’d double nicely as a weapon.
“This will work out as it’s meant to, but in the mean time, what can I do?” she asks.
I manage a smile. “Be my bodyguard? I just . . . I can’t deal with Thomas right now. I don’t know what to say, or what to do . . .”
“No problem,” she cuts in confidently. “I can run interference, and even enlist Ethan to help as well, but on one condition,” Stephanie says, raising a finger to get my attention.
“What?”
“I’ll help you stall this conversation with him, but that’s all it’ll be. A delay. You have to promise me that you will have the conversation. Just as soon as you possibly can without affecting Collette’s day.”
I take a deep breath. It’s brutal, but she’s right. The sooner we have the conversation, the sooner we can move on.
My conversation with my mom replays in my head. At the end of the day, it’s the kindest thing we can do for someone else—letting them go before things turn ugly.
I missed the turn; they’ve already gotten a little ugly, because I’m faced with a realization that makes me ache inside:
I’m either going to have to risk my heart . . . or break Thomas’s.
And I just don’t think I’m brave enough for the first one.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Saturday, November 5
My plan was almost pretty good. I made it through the rest of the rehearsal dinner without having to talk to Thomas with relative ease.
He’d been preoccupied by conversation with his family, many of whom were from out of town for the wedding. And any time he made his way towards me, I’d chat up someone else. The closest call had been when I was on my way out, waiting for my coat at coat check, and Thomas had made his way over with a dark frown.
Stephanie’s husband is a peach. Ethan Price had stepped into Thomas’s path, giving me the chance to head home.
Thomas must have gotten the hint, because he’d texted only once. You okay?
No. Not okay.
I’d replied that I had a headache, even adding the headache emoji for good measure. It’s the oldest, lamest line in the book, but it’s a classic for a reason. It worked. He told me to feel better, drink lots of water, and that he’d see me tomorrow.
And so here I am.
Tomorrow is today, and I feel less up to facing him than ever.
The morning had been easy enough. Maid of honor duties had kept me plenty busy and out of his path. Bow tying, hair curling, safety-pin hunting, bouquet distributing . . .
It had all been perfectly diverting, right up until the moment I didn’t think through, and thus didn’t plan for.
For all its hastiness, Collette and Jon’s wedding is classic to the max, which means we follow every tradition to the letter. Right down to the maid of honor preceding Collette and her dad down the aisle.
By myself. Walking towards Jon. And his best man.
Thomas.
My smile never wavers, of that I’m very sure, because it feels frozen in place. I try to keep my attention on the pleasant-looking pastor. An over-the-moon happy Jon. Collette’s mom, who’s already crying.
But like a damned beacon those silver eyes call to me, I feel them, I feel him, and in a moment of weakness, just steps away from the altar of the church, my eyes flick his way, my gaze colliding with him.
My breath whooshes out, softly, and I feel something more terrifying than yesterday’s anger.
A little click of possibility for something I never, ever even thought about. The possibility of some day walking down this aisle, on my mom’s arm, finding those same silver eyes waiting for me, with Jon there too, but the two men would be in reverse order . . .