Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 94313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
I lifted my arms like a child as Micky helped me strip to my underwear so I could climb into bed. The familiar smell of my parents’ house was soothing, and I relaxed as much as I could into the pillow.
“Sleep,” Esther whispered, kissing my shoulder.
Then I was down for the count.
I woke up the next morning with Esther curled up against my back and my mouth tasting so rancid that I could’ve puked again. Slowly sitting up, I gave myself a minute to make sure the headache was gone before stumbling to the bathroom. It always took at least twenty-four hours to get back to one hundred percent if I took my migraine medicine and it didn’t look like that day was going to be any different. After using the toilet, I stared at myself in the mirror. I really did look like shit. Brushing my teeth and washing my face helped, though, and a few minutes later, I was back in the bedroom.
Esther was already up and dressed when I got there.
“How are you feeling?” she asked quietly from the side of the bed.
“Better,” I rasped. My throat was sore after all the puking. Shit, I’d puked in the car. “Sorry about that.”
“Why are you apologizing? You can’t help it if you’re sick.”
“Still pretty fuckin’ gross,” I countered.
“Well,” she huffed, shrugging a little. “You love me, so I guess I can overlook it.”
I startled. That’s right, I told her I loved her. In the worst possible way. Fucking fantastic.
“Fucked that one up, didn’t I?” I asked, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Not sure how you could mess up telling someone you loved them,” she said, smiling.
“How I did it,” I clarified, moving into the room. “Should’ve bought you flowers or somethin’ first.”
“Well, I love you, too,” she said. “So I think it turned out okay.”
I froze. “When did you decide that?”
“Oh, sometime between when you collapsed in the bathroom and throwing your puke bag away last night,” she said conversationally, watching me closely.
“Jesus,” I muttered under my breath.
“There’s something about seeing someone vulnerable,” she continued quietly. “It really brings things into focus.”
“You love me because I passed out inside a locked bathroom like an asshole?”
“No.” She snickered. “I realized that I loved you when you passed out in a locked bathroom like a—a butthole.”
I smiled at her refusal to swear.
“I think I started loving you a little when you gave me my slippers after the wedding.”
“Those fucking slippers.” I shook my head. “You’re a weird woman.”
“They were thoughtful,” she argued, waving me off. “But I think what sealed it—” Her voice grew hoarse, and she swallowed hard. “I think I really started when you snapped at me last night after the grocery store and apologized for it as soon as we got home.”
“I was a dick.”
“You apologized,” she said softly, emphasizing the words. “You knew almost immediately that you’d been unkind and said you were sorry.”
“Hell, I’m unkind a lot.”
“Are you really arguing with me about whether I love you or not?”
“I was ordered to marry you,” I blurted, uncomfortable with the way she was looking at me.
“What?”
“Straight from the top,” I confirmed. “I was ordered to marry you.”
“Oh,” she breathed, looking away from me. “Do you regret it?”
“No,” I choked out. Why the fuck had I told her that? I was such a fucking idiot.
“I just have one more question. No, two.”
“Go ahead.” My heart beat in my ears. What the fuck had I just done?
“Do you always follow orders, no matter what?”
“Yes.” The word was practically torn from my throat.
Esther nodded before looking at me again. “If they’d told you to kill me, would you?”
“No!” I stared at her in horror.
“So, maybe you wouldn’t always follow orders,” she said softly, her eyes on mine.
“I’d never hurt you,” I continued as she got to her feet. “I’d kill anyone that tried. Period.”
“I know,” she said with a sigh, sliding her arms around my waist.
“I probably wouldn’t have married you right away, though,” I confessed, wrapping my arms around her. “But eventually—”
“And I probably would’ve told you about the baby…eventually,” she countered in a whisper. “Or maybe my parents would’ve found me a husband and you would’ve never known.”
The truth of that statement hit me straight in the solar plexus. Neither of us had been in control of the situation, no matter how much we would’ve preferred it otherwise.
We were quiet for a while, and I assumed that, just like me, she was thinking about all the different things that had happened, leading us to that point. Decisions made by other people, circumstances beyond our control, but also the decisions we’d made.
“Some day,” I said, pressing my lips against the top of her head. “You’ll have to tell me why the hell you decided to hook up with me at that party.”