Chapter 6
SIX
SADIE
I cried. I heard the garage door open and an engine rumble down the drive, and heavy sobs tore out of me.
Then I wiped my face, found the bathroom, took a shower, and got my favorite pajamas out so I could sleep.
This kind of hurt was familiar, and I could deal with it.
Sex always sucked; this was no different.
I didn’t believe any of those silly romance books that talked about explosions and passion and waves of sparks.
Complete bull, as far as I was concerned.
Sex was awkward, painful, and, unless you were one of the lucky ones, it always involved men. Blegh.
Despite the tragic lack of pillows on the cottage bed, I slept.
Around midnight, I woke up with my bladder about to burst and my head in an even greater amount of pain—crying always did that to me—so I crept out of the room and went to pee.
When I couldn’t find any Advil in the bathroom, I expanded my search to the kitchen.
The cottage was dark and quiet. Gideon still wasn’t back from wherever he’d gone, and that was fine.
Completely fine. I wasn’t hurt, or worried, or jealous.
I was glad, actually, because I didn’t have to see his stupid, handsome face and try to find the words to explain what had happened a few hours ago.
Okay, I was a little hurt. I’d kind of gotten wrapped up in the whole wedding thing and started to think this was meant to be. Marital bliss. Not.
When I woke up around five, it was still dark out. I padded out of the room to find the living room undisturbed; Gideon was still out.
I was not making up stories of him shacking up with a hypothetical ex on our wedding night.
I wasn’t going to spiral. That was not happening, no matter how badly my brain wanted to take me there.
So my last ex had cheated on me on top of everything else?
It didn’t mean Gideon would. I was a grown woman, damn it.
I wouldn’t be reduced to petty jealousy about a man who obviously didn’t give two shits about me.
No.
What I did instead was make myself a strong cup of coffee from the stash in the cupboard and take stock of my situation. As I sipped my coffee and watched the sky lighten to gray, then purple, and finally blue, I came to a conclusion.
I couldn’t stay here.
Yes, I’d had fantasies of happy endings, but they were just that: fantasies.
There was no basis in reality for those feelings, and I refused to put myself through one more minute of torture.
I was clear-eyed as I watched the sun rise over the water, taking deep, cleansing breaths to let the decision settle over my shoulders.
I’d tap out. I’d go to my parents and ask them for help.
They would look at me like I was their biggest disappointment as usual, but I would survive.
I’d go to the family holiday and sleep on the pull-out couch and endure comments and criticisms, but I would not debase myself by staying with a man who wanted nothing to do with me. Marriage ceremony or no.
Air filled my lungs, and my spine straightened.
The crumbling tower of my self-worth repaired itself just a bit with the decision.
I took my coffee to the bedroom, where I packed up the few items I’d taken out of my suitcases.
Then I tossed my toiletries back in their case and packed that away too.
I zipped everything up and planted my hands on my hips.
It felt good to take action. I rolled the suitcases out and stood them next to the hallway to the garage.
Back in the living room, I looked around to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. As soon as my tire was fixed, I’d get on the road. Until then, I’d book a hotel room so I wasn’t stranded in the middle of nowhere. That meant I needed a taxi.
Before I could call one, a car swung into view at the bottom of the drive, and my heart began to thump.
Gideon was home.
I forced myself to sit down on the couch and resist the urge to run to the bathroom to make sure I looked presentable. How I looked made no difference. Gideon would never be my husband—not really. This was a blip in the story of my life. A funny anecdote that I would tell at parties.
Nothing more.
I sipped my cold coffee and stared at the glittering surface of the water, pretending that every fiber of my being wasn’t focused on the sound of the garage. The car engine stopping. Footsteps on concrete. The squeak of a door hinge.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
I turned in my seat, looking over the back of the couch.
Gideon stood in the mouth of the hallway, looking like he hadn’t slept all night.
He had dark purple circles hugging the bottoms of his eyes.
His stubble had grown out overnight. His hair was a mess.
His shoulders were slumped. He carried a tray with two huge cups.
The logo on the cups proclaimed they were from Knead More Bread.
But it was his expression that made my breath catch. He was…careful. His eyes skated over my face, then moved to my packed bags. He went still for a beat, then swallowed. “You’re leaving,” he said, voice nothing more than a scrape.
I stood to face him. “I think it’s for the best.”
His pause was excruciating, but Gideon finally nodded. “You’re probably right.” His fingers covered the logo as he grabbed the cup on the left, sliding it out of the tray before extending it toward me. “Matcha latte, half sweet, made with almond milk,” he said.
I blinked at him. He’d gotten my favorite coffee order exactly right. “How did you know?”
A dusting of red bloomed on his cheeks, and his gaze slid away from mine. “It was in your profile,” he said, then cleared his throat.
I frowned. “It was?” I didn’t remember reading about his coffee order in his profile, and I’d combed through those three pages like my life depended on it.
He grunted.
And then I remembered. There was a section in the application where I was asked to describe my perfect day.
I’d written a bunch of drivel that held a kernel of truth: With my husband, I’d watch the sun rise while drinking a half-sweet almond milk matcha latte, have a leisurely breakfast consisting of a fat stack of pancakes with way too much whipped cream, spend some time outdoors, sketch wedding dresses in the sunshine with my head in my husband’s lap, and then have dinner at home and curl up together to watch a movie.
After I’d written it, I’d laughed, because it was so different from the fast-paced, pressure-filled life I’d built for myself in the city. And then I’d cried, because I wanted it so badly.
But if Gideon had read that…it meant he’d read my application. And not only that, he’d remembered it. I blinked at him, then at my drink. “Thank you,” I croaked, and he replied with a sharp nod.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he said after a moment.
He looked at my suitcases. It took long, sticky seconds for him to meet my eyes.
He swallowed. “I know how little interest you have in sex. I shouldn’t have pressured you into that.
Especially not when I know you aren’t interested in having sex with me. ”
A frown pulled at my brows. There was a lot to unpack there, and I didn’t know where to start. What came out of my mouth was, “You didn’t pressure me.”
“You don’t have to do that.” He waved a hand. “Make excuses. I know what I did last night, and I feel like I need to scrub the skin off my body for how ashamed of myself I am.”
Confusion clouded my thoughts. I couldn’t follow what he was saying. “What you did last night?”
“Forced myself on you.” He spat the words, gaze sliding to the side. “God. I don’t know… I don’t even recognize myself.”
“You didn’t force yourself on me!”
“Stop it, Sadie—”
“No, you stop it.” My voice was sharp as a blade.
“You’re doing that thing again, where you tell me what I’m supposed to be thinking.
How about this time, for a change, you listen to me.
I wanted to…to do what we did.” My cheeks flushed.
I couldn’t say anything more crass than that, or I’d burst into flames.
I certainly couldn’t tell him that I’d wanted him from the moment I’d seen him, or that I’d lied on my application, or that even now, when I had decided to leave, I wanted to push him down onto the couch, straddle his lap, and kiss him.
I took a deep breath. We stared at each other. The truth hovered on my lips, but I was nothing more than a coward. Now that Gideon was here, it was so hard to tell myself I never wanted to see him again. No one had ever made me feel as electric, as alive, as he did.
But that was because he didn’t know the truth about my body. My shortcomings.
I already knew the real truth. The truth that was as consistent as the sunrise and predictable as the tide.
I would never be enough.
Gideon proved it by shuttering his expression. “Either way, at least now we know that this was never going to work.”
There was a boulder in my throat, so all I could do was nod.
“Where will you go?”
I took a sip of my drink. Delicious. It made me want to cry, but instead I shrugged. “I guess I’ll move back in with my parents.” Even as I said it, I couldn’t help my grimace.
Gideon watched me as he took his own drink out of the tray.
He tossed the cardboard onto the kitchen counter and made his way to the opposite couch.
He sat, took a sip, then said, “You could stay here.” As soon as the words left his mouth, it was Gideon’s turn to grimace.
Because the thought of me being near him was repulsive.
I wasn’t that much of a masochist. I just laughed and replied, “That’s okay. I’ll figure it out.”
“I mean, we have six weeks.”
“Five weeks and six days.”