Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
After the dishes were rinsed and put in the dishwasher, we sat down with pen and paper and tried to come up with vows, but neither of us could think of anything.
“What the hell? It’s like we’re not in love or something,” she joked.
“Maybe we should just let the judge do all the talking.” I leaned back in the chair and stretched.
She shook her head and pushed her glasses up her nose. “No, I like the idea of personal vows. I think you’re right about it being more authentic.”
“Maybe we should write them for each other,” I suggested.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you get to come up with a couple things you want me to say, and I’ll do the same.”
A slow smile crept over her lips. “And we have to say what the other person has written?”
“Sure. Just don’t make it too long.”
“I’ll keep it short and sweet,” she promised.
“But not too sweet.” Suddenly I was afraid of that smile on her face. “Don’t make me sound ridiculous.”
“I won’t,” she said, laughing. “I’m just going to make you sound in love with me. You can do the same thing. It’ll be fun.”
“Fun?”
“Oh come on.” She thumped a hand on my leg. “What if this is the only wedding either one of us ever has? Don’t we deserve to hear our soul mate say nice things about us?”
“But it won’t be real. It’s made up.”
She shrugged. “It’s what we’ve got.”
I tried to think of an argument but couldn’t.
That night when we said goodbye at her door, she hugged me. “Thanks for the flowers. I appreciate them.”
“Thanks for dinner,” I said, trying to conceal my shock at the fact that she wanted to get close to me without an audience.
“Any time.” She released me and stepped back. “I like cooking for people who love to eat. My ex was always on a health kick—didn’t eat carbs, didn’t eat dairy, didn’t eat sugar.”
I made a face. “What’s the point of living?”
She laughed. “Right?”
“Well, goodnight.”
“Night.”
I walked over to my car and got in, started the engine and turned on the heat. But I didn’t leave right away. I sat there, staring out at the harbor in the dark, wondering about the strange tightness in my chest. What the hell was it? Second thoughts? Guilt? Dread? Nerves? It actually felt like a weird combination of all of the above. I took a deep breath, hoping the tension would ease, but it didn’t.
I could still smell her.
The following evening, I went over to Cole and Cheyenne’s house to help him paint the living room. Cheyenne was making dinner in the kitchen with Cole’s daughter Mariah, who was chattering excitedly about a science project she’d just gotten an A on.
“They still do that volcano project?” I asked, shaking my head as I rolled on the paint.
“Yep. And it makes just as big a mess as when we did it.” He glanced over at me. “Bet you’ll be doing that same project in ten years.”
I swallowed hard, focusing on the color going on the wall. “Maybe.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I cleared my throat and took my roller over to the tray. “Just a lot going on this week.”
Cole laughed. “No shit. You’re getting married in two days. I had to trade my Saturday off in order to be there.”
“Sorry.”
“Hey, I was joking. You know I don’t care about the day off.” Cole’s tone was concerned now. “What’s going on?”
I shrugged, working the foam roller into the paint. “It’s not a big deal. Bianca just said something yesterday that put me in a funk.”
“Don’t let it get to you. You guys know exactly how to push each other’s buttons.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it? What did she say?” Cole stopped painting and faced me.
“We’re writing each other’s vows—don’t ask, it was my stupid idea, which I now regret—and when I warned her not to go overboard, she said something like, ‘What if this is the only wedding either one of us ever has? Don’t we deserve to hear nice things about ourselves?’”
Cole nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“And it just made me, I don’t know, sad or something. She’s throwing away her one chance to hear someone say why he wants to spend his life with her on me.”
“So say nice things about her.”
I frowned. He didn’t get it. “But I won’t mean them.”
“So? It’s what she wants.”
“Something about it doesn’t feel right,” I insisted stubbornly.
Cole started to laugh. “Moretti, you are marrying this girl on Friday afternoon. Not because you love her, but so that you can inherit your family business. And you’re worried about the three-minute vows?”
“When you put it that way, I guess it does sound kind of stupid,” I admitted.
“I don’t think it’s stupid that you don’t want to say things you don’t mean—I think it’s admirable. But realistically, you are faking this relationship. It always involved a measure of dishonesty, right?”