Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Cole
W illa’s face looked a little green when she met me in the lobby for dinner.
I hovered close and kissed the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. “You look gorgeous, wifey,” I said softly.
Two little spots of pink appeared on her cheeks, making her look a little less pallid.
I got the sense that she had not been told nearly enough how beautiful she was. And while I’d keep my mouth shut and uphold my end of our bargain, I couldn’t help but admire her. Thick honey-blond hair and an upturned nose. And her lips? Fuck, she had the most kissable lips. Full and pink, with a cupid’s bow.
We’d kissed last night. The memories were fragmented, but the sensation of my hand splayed across her ass as I threw dice and the warmth of her body pressed to mine when she threw her arms around my neck in celebration were vivid.
Despite my hangover and the general anxiety about the situation plaguing me, being with her right now felt right.
Even so, I didn’t want to walk into that room and announce yet another fuck-up to my family. I especially didn’t want to drag Willa down with me. As annoyed as my family would be by my drunken Vegas wedding, they’d be horrified that I’d corrupted the saintly Dr. Willa Savard in the process.
The Savards were good people. The best people. Willa’s dad had been the town doctor for decades, and her mother was a psychologist who worked in several area schools. They showed up at every event and every fundraiser, and they were always the first to offer help to their neighbors. The town loved them for it.
I stood a little straighter. So I’d made a drunken mistake, but I was pretty impressed with myself. There was no way I could land a woman as incredible as Willa on a normal day. So we headed down to dinner, ready to face the music.
Unsurprisingly, Owen had gone all out for his fiancée. The same private chef who’d curated an incredible gluten-free meal our first night here was holding a tasting dinner in the private wine cellar at the Bellagio, and as we approached the massive mahogany doors, we were greeted by tuxedoed waiters.
I’d almost nailed my head on the doorframe before I remembered to duck—underground cellars were not tall-guy friendly—but once I straightened, I was blown away by what I saw inside.
The space was filled with priceless sculptures, Renaissance-style carvings, and tens of thousands of bottles of wine, neatly organized and laid out to create a small, intimate space in what was otherwise a medium-size underground cavern.
My family was all here, chatting and milling around. The champagne was already flowing, and a harpist was playing in the corner.
The sight warmed my chest. My family was together and happy. Debbie was beaming, taking photo after photo and chatting with Lila’s mom, no doubt making wedding plans. Chloe was sitting on Gus’s lap, and he had his hand splayed protectively on her belly. Finn and Adele were standing, telling some hilarious story and finishing one another’s sentences.
And then there was Lila. She was tucked into Owen’s side, looking radiant in a short yellow dress. Her smile was so big and so genuine, I had the urge to hug her and tell her how happy I was for her.
There was a time when I thought I’d be the man she married. We’d stuck it out for so long together, and she’d given up so much for me. But we brought out the worst in one another. I’d wanted to love her. She was inherently loveable, and for some ridiculous reason, she had believed in me.
So I tried, for many years. But eventually, I stopped putting in the effort.
And I hated myself for that. For not being a better man. The man she deserved.
Lila, like hockey, was another thing I’d lost because I hadn’t worked hard enough to earn it.
We’d gotten a few steps into the room when a hush fell over the crowd.
Beside me, Willa went stiff and let out a small squeak.
I squeezed her clammy hand, silently reassuring her. We could do this. We would do this.
Debbie charged toward us, her eyebrows at her hairline.
I braced myself, waiting for a lecture or a tirade. This woman loved me more than anyone ever had, but she had high expectations, and I was sure I hadn’t lived up to them. I assumed Gail had filled her in already, but as I scanned the room, taking in all the people watching us, it was hard to be sure.
“Is everything okay?” Debbie asked, giving us a warm smile. “Come get something to eat. The chef has been spoiling us.” She turned and gestured to the large table.
Feet rooted to the floor, I turned and assessed Willa. She was staring at her shoes. When she looked up, her eyes were swimming with desperation.
With a deep inhale, I scanned the group again, landing on Lila, the last woman I’d let down. And in this moment, I swore I wouldn’t do it again. Nope, I was gonna make this work. Come hell or high water, I would not disappoint Willa.
The silence stretched, only interrupted by the quiet harp music and the sound of Owen’s dress shoes tapping on the floor as he strode over. He wore the expression he always had when speaking to me. One that screamed annoyance.
“You okay?” he asked, looking straight at Willa and ignoring my presence.
I reached out and snagged Willa’s hand again.
When she gave it a firm squeeze, I cleared my throat. “Actually,” I said, looking around at all the eyes staring right at us. “We got married last night.”
Immediately, a buzz of voices erupted around the room, and people closed in on us. I tugged Willa closer as Debbie pulled us both into her arms and squeezed.
“Gail mentioned something,” Debbie said, releasing us, beaming. “But I didn’t believe it. I had no idea you two were dating.”
I summoned every ounce of strength I had to play this right, despite the downright terror flooding my system.
Miraculously, I got through it, repeating the story we’d come up with, keeping the focus on Willa and how I was so in love with her. Every few minutes, I’d pull her close and kiss the top of her head for good measure.
She never left my side. In fact, she was incredible, chiming in with anecdotes about going for hikes together during the summer and our first kiss at Moxie Falls.
I’d always assumed she was the bookish, wallflower type, but I was quickly learning that there were many facets of my wife that I was not yet acquainted with. She was charming and bubbly—the champagne certainly helped—and effusive with her affection, clinging to my arm like a woman in love.
After dessert, I walked her to her suite, where she packed her bag, then brought her back to my room. We’d decided the best way to sell the newlywed story was to cut out early. It’d be natural for us to want to be alone, right? And it would limit the questions and hopefully the suspicion.
Inside my room, I pulled a bottle of water from the mini fridge and chugged it, then dropped to the oversized chair and put my head in my hands. The fake smiling and laughing and thinking on my feet had worn me out.
Willa quietly slipped into the bathroom to change into pajamas and take off her makeup.
After several minutes, she came out with a pillow tucked under one arm. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“No way,” I said, sitting straight. “You take the bed.”
She shook her head. “It’s your room. And that couch is way too small for you.” She gave me a once-over that made my heart rate speed up. Damn, I liked the feel of her eyes on me. “Get some sleep,” she said, shuffling to the couch, clearly done arguing. “We’ve got to fly home tomorrow and get our story straight.”
“I’m sorry.” I wasn’t sure why I said it, but the events of the day were hitting me. There was an anvil on my chest, making it hard to breathe, and as this beautiful, kind woman curled up on the couch of my hotel room, I felt like the world’s biggest piece of shit.
“Good night,” she said firmly, eyes closed.
Clearly being dismissed and all out of fight, I shuffled to the bedroom.
For a long time, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of it all.
What had I gotten myself into? Marriage? With Willa?
I got up for another bottle of water, making sure not to wake my wife.
From the doorway, I watched her sleep, taking in her thick lashes, the blond hair spread out on the pillow, and the curve of her hip under the thin blanket.
I should be panicking. I should be spiraling.
But as I took in every detail of her, all I could think was:
This is my wife .