Chapter 8
Eight
Eloise
I insert my shiny new key into the lock of Tristan’s front door. We’re only days away from marrying one another, and I’m moving out of my apartment this week, but I’ll stay with my parents until we’re official because of his grandpa and grandma’s demands that we don’t live together until after the I-dos.
“Tristan!” I call, getting no response.
The kitchen and family room are empty. I drop my purse on the counter and head to the back door, hoping he might be outside by his pool.
Tristan recently moved from his downtown condo to the north suburbs to be closer to his parents and grandparents. Mostly his dad and grandpa, since he has to spend so much time shadowing them to take on a larger role at the company at some point. I had looked forward to choosing a house together, but one day, he surprised me by driving me here and telling me it was ours.
I shouldn’t complain. It’s a beautiful four-bedroom, three-bath custom home on a private street with many families. When I mentioned raising our kids here though, Tristan was adamant that we’d be in a bigger house by the time we have kids.
The backyard is empty, so I grab my phone from my purse and go to the fridge to get a drink while I wait for him. I dial him up, and he answers on the first ring.
“Hey, baby, sorry, I’m on my way home now. Merrick asked me to stop for a drink after work. His dad is on him about that Paris getaway he took Ashley on last weekend.” He laughs. “But I’m just pulling down my street now. Be there in a second.”
He hangs up, and it isn’t until I open his fridge, which holds nothing but beer, white wine, and ten takeout containers, that I realize I never even said a word to him. And that he referred to the street as his, not ours.
I hear the garage door open, and Tristan walks in the door down the hall, still wearing his suit from the office.
“Thank God I’m not Merrick. He’s getting his ass raked over the coals about taking off.” He tosses his keys on the counter, wraps his arms around my waist, and buries his head in my neck.
“Why? Those two are always going out.”
He pulls back and goes to the fridge, grabbing a beer. “His dad told him he’d better marry her if he’s going to spend that type of money on her.” He unscrews the beer cap and raises his eyebrows. “I told him he should be smart like me. Let’s go out on the patio.” He walks by me to the French doors, and I follow.
“I was thinking, how about we go to the store and grab some things to make dinner here?” I sit on the patio furniture he bought a week after moving in. I’m not a huge fan of the hard iron, but his mom picked it out.
He stretches his long legs out and rests his feet on the chair across from him, tipping back the beer. “I’m supposed to go out with the boys tonight.”
I frown. “You were just with Merrick.”
“Yeah, which is when we decided to live it up before we’re both chained down.” He chuckles again, and when I don’t, he sighs. “Oh, come on, it’s a joke.”
“Well, you make it sound like I’m going to be cramping your style.”
“You’re so sensitive. This wedding has made you lose your sense of humor.”
“There didn’t have to be a wedding. I wasn’t the one who got on bended knee, or was it your father demanding you marry me to make you a company man?”
He alluded to that once when he was drunk, and when I asked about it the next morning, he said he didn’t remember or know what I was talking about.
“Damn, baby, you’ve been different since Saturday. Did the bachelorette party really go that badly?”
I stare at him, but he’s too busy pulling his phone out of his pocket to notice. “I told you about my night. Penelope was drunk. The drink I had poured on me.”
He laughs and drops his phone on the table, exchanging it for his beer. “Oh, yeah, how much did that QR code make us? Will it cover the liquor cost for the wedding?” His head rocks back in laughter. “Fucking Penelope.”
“She did what she could in the small amount of time she had.”
He rolls his eyes. “Ashley told Merrick the whole night was a mess.”
I hope Ashley didn’t tell Merrick about Conor because I don’t want to explain anything about him. I’m not even sure I could if I wanted to. I’m still confused about everything.
“It was fine. Wait here, I want to show you something.” I stand from the chair to head inside, wanting to change the subject.
“Not another wedding question. I’m tapped out, baby. Just call my mom.”
“It’s not wedding related.”
I head through the French doors and grab my list out of my purse. He’s back on his phone when I return, and I take a moment to watch him from behind. Tristan is attractive. He’s tall and lean but muscular. He’s always put together and turns a lot of eyes when we’re out. But he’s different than Conor. Where Conor holds a cockiness in his stance, Tristan is more arrogant. Although Conor is way more well-known in the world, Tristan thinks everyone should know who he is when he walks into a room.
Jesus, what am I doing comparing the two? This is madness.
I stop by the side of his chair. “Is this seat taken?” I ask, eyeing his lap.
He mindlessly wraps his arm around my waist but still concentrates on his phone.
“Tristan?”
He shuts off the screen and tosses the phone on the table again. “Sorry, work thing.”
Does he think I can’t tell it’s his friend group chat?
He lowers his feet to the ground, and I sit on his lap.
“So, I have something I want to share with you, and I was hoping tonight… well.” I open the sheet of paper.
“This is cryptic. Are you about to tell me some secret about yourself?”
I ignore him because I’m so scared to show him my list, and I don’t know why, except that Tristan likes to poke fun at my expense quite often. “When I was twenty-five, Jade and I wrote these lists on a girls’ trip.”
“Oh, this should be good.” He laughs, but it’s not a good-natured one. In fact, it comes off as patronizing.
“It’s a bucket list. Of things I wanted to do before I turned thirty.” I hold out the paper to him and bite my lip, waiting for his reaction. I watch him read it over, my heart beating faster with each second.
“You want to smoke a cigarette?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. “Adopt a puppy? You know I’m allergic, so that’s never happening.” He frowns.
“I want to cross some of these off. What do you think?”
“I think you turn thirty in November, so it’s not going to happen. I’m good, but I’m not a magician. There’s not enough fairy dust to get this done.”
I take the list back, and he willingly gives it up. “I’m not asking for all of them to be done, but I think it would be fun to do a couple. Like, we could get tattoos together.” I hate the note of hope I hear in my voice.
“And have my dad disown me? No, thanks.”
“How about dying my hair? I could be a brunette.”
He twirls my hair around his finger. “You know I love blondes.” He grips the edge of the paper. “I could get down with this one.” He’s pointing at the line that says, “say yes to everything for a day.”
“When do I ever tell you no?” I roll my eyes.
“Last Thursday.”
I’m not going to get into an argument again about not having sex with him last Thursday when I wasn’t in the mood because my entire bachelorette party was combusting.
I lean back into him, and he holds me, his hand splaying across my stomach. “How about we watch a sunrise tomorrow morning? You’re off work for the week, right?”
He guffaws. “So I can sleep in. This wedding is stressing me out.”
“You? Your mom has been on my ass, and I’ve done most of the planning.”
“You both keep dragging me everywhere. I don’t care about the cake or the meal. As long as the liquor is top shelf, I’m good, and my mom knows to make sure it is, otherwise she’ll have to deal with my dad.” He kisses my temple. “Let me change then we’ll go eat so I can meet up with the guys.”
I sit up. “You’re really going out with them?” I fold up my list, disappointment settling in my chest since he’s clearly not going to help me cross off anything.
He nudges my hip to get off him, which I do. I don’t want to sit on him anymore anyway.
“Baby, you have me for the rest of our lives. This is my last week.”
“So, you won’t be hanging out with the boys after we get married?”
He laughs, leaves his beer on the table, and walks toward the house. “No, I’m chained to you, remember?”
I follow him, grabbing the bottle off the table. “Tristan, you know I don’t like the whole chain reference.”
In the kitchen, he turns around and tugs me toward him. “I’m just joking. I’d be glued to you if I could be because I love you.” He bends his neck to kiss me, and I pull back.
“This list is important to me.” I hold up the folded piece of paper between our mouths.
He blows out an annoyed breath, and his shoulders sink. “Fine, we’ll cross off that ‘say yes to everything for a day’ on the honeymoon, okay?”
“Seriously, Tristan.”
He scoffs. “I hope your sense of humor comes back after the wedding.” When I don’t say anything or move, he acts all dramatic by rolling his eyes and moving his body as though he’s losing strength in his muscles. “Fine. You pick some out, and we’ll do them on the honeymoon. But no dogs and no hot air balloon ride, baby, that’s so cliché. You should pick more extravagant ones. Like a trip on a private jet to Italy or having a wine named after me. You’re marrying a Somerset, after all.” He kisses me quickly and releases me before jogging up the stairs. “Stay the night. I want you in my bed when I get home,” he calls on his way to the bedroom.
It’s like I’m only a warm body for him to lose himself in when the mood strikes. He only wants me here to have sex, and he cared nothing about my list or how important it is to me.
Five minutes later, he barrels down the stairs in jeans and a V-neck T-shirt, his hair freshly styled and with more cologne on. “I’m sorry. Your list is great. Wait up for me, and we’ll lie down on the chairs tonight and stargaze. Maybe you could wear that lingerie I bought you last month that you’ve yet to show me.” He kisses my cheek, swiping his keys off the counter simultaneously.
He says stargaze, and my mind veers to Conor and our one night together.
“We’ll see. I should clear up some of the pending wedding items.”
“Let me know, because if you’re not staying, I won’t rush home.” He gives me a chaste kiss and walks toward the garage. “Oh, and hire a decorator if you want. I know how much you hate the white walls.”
I don’t respond because he’s not waiting for an answer, which the garage door shutting moments later confirms. I tuck my list back in my purse and look at the beautiful kitchen, willing myself to imagine Tristan and me in this space, living as a couple in love. The image won’t materialize, so I grab my purse and leave.
Surely this is just me nitpicking him because of Conor. Or wedding jitters. Everyone says they’re natural. I’d be insane to call a wedding off this close to the big day.