Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Still, I keep a semblance of composure, even if it’s only a thread.
“Get going, single lady,” he says, and it’s fire to my fuse.
The thread breaks.
Everything inside my body feels … tight and warm. Feverishly warm. An unnerving, prickly sensation spreads along my skin. I stand way back, giving the other two single women ample room to catch the bouquet.
“One, two, THREE!”
Danielle tosses it over her head, and holy fucking Tom Brady arm … she surpasses the other two girls as the cannonball of flowers nearly takes off my head. I catch it, earning me disappointed frowns from her sister and BFF. Flipping it back into the air like a game of hot potato, it lands in the arms of her sister.
“No. You caught it.” She hands it back to me.
The small gathering claps. And that sparked flame? It hits the other end of the fuse. I’d say I’m seeing red … but it’s really cranberry. I see nothing but cranberry. Feel nothing but pure rage. Hear nothing but the whoosh of blood in my ears as I turn and stomp my heeled feet toward Zach. I guess everything in life is fine … until it’s not. Not fine rarely comes with any warning.
He’s grinning, but that grin begins to fade with each enraged step I take on my way to him. His gaze follows my hand clenching the bouquet like an ax. With my final two steps, I lift the bouquet over my head.
“I AM NOT SINGLE!”
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
“YOUR WIFE IS NOT DEAD!”
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
“I AM YOUR FUCKING WIFE!”
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
“YOU INSENSITIVE ASSHOLE!”
All that’s left in my hand is a wad of flowerless stems tied with a ribbon. I drop the stems as Zach slowly lowers his arms that shielded his head while I clobbered him with the bouquet because he said his wife was dead.
Because he stepped away from me.
Because he called me his wife before he put his face between my legs.
Because he stuck his hand in his pocket when I went to hold it.
It’s so quiet I not only hear my own pounding heart, I think I can hear his too.
What have I done?
Did Zach ask himself that same question after he gave Suzie an overdose of morphine? Were his actions well-thought-out? Or was he acting on impulse, letting his fragile heart make the decision?
“Y-you’re married?” Cecilia’s voice breaks through the air as she appears at Zach's side.
The lifeless expression on his face mirrors mine. He knew about the elephant in the room. He chose to ignore it. Now it’s come out of the corner and destroyed everything with its raging stampede.
“Yes,” he whispers.
“W-when?” Cecilia asks.
Zach blinks several more times, the only part of his face that moves. “Last year.”
Cecilia’s hand shoots to her chest. She knows that means we got married not long after Suzie died. She just doesn’t know why. And maybe it’s none of her business. And maybe I should have held my shit together—there’s no maybe about it. I channeled my inner three-year-old, and I can’t undo what I just did. But love makes people do crazy things. It won’t sit idle in a corner. Love demands recognition or … it explodes.
“Were you …” Cecilia gets a little choked up. “Having an aff—”
“No,” Zach cuts her off.
“Then why?”
I can’t take my eyes off Zach, and he can’t take his off me.
“Do you want to tell everyone why we got married?” Zach asks me. His tone holds no anger. It’s the epitome of surrender. Defeat.
Be mad, Zach. Please be mad. Be human!
I blink, releasing my tears, feeling toxic with regret. “No,” my voice cracks. “I …” My head inches side to side. “I just wanted to be acknowledged as your wife.” I sniffle while snot works its way down my nose. A lovely accessory to my fancy dress.
“Well … now everyone knows you’re my wife. Happy?” Zach pivots and worms his way through the small gathering. A few seconds later, the front door slams shut.
I chase after him, but he’s already pulling out of their driveway. Lifting the skirt of my dress, I run to catch him, but my heels can’t keep up. When I reach the end of their long drive, I wipe my tears through my labored breaths.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to his taillights.
By the time I return to the porch, everyone’s gathered at the front of the house, gawking out the windows. I open the door and the crowd scatters—everyone except Cecilia.
“I am … so sorry,” I say to her. It hurts to look at her, so I don’t. I retrieve my purse and wrap from the library and order a ride.
“I’ll take you home or wherever you want to go if you please tell me what just happened,” she says.
“Your son is a good Samaritan. That’s what happened. He’s given me more than I deserve. And it wasn’t enough. That’s on me. And I’ve ruined a wedding and ruined my relationship with him. I am incredibly sorry.” I wipe a stray tear as I make my way to the front door again.