Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
Aspen
The next morning, I wake up angry with myself. The kind that even the scones with cream and berries and loads of heavily caffeinated tea on my room service tray can’t fix. A shower and putting on fresh makeup and doing my hair doesn’t help either.
I shouldn’t have read those two letters last night. I shouldn’t have had the whiskey he left. And I sure as hell shouldn’t have gone into his room half dressed. I made my own bed, and now I have to lie in it.
Memories from the night start to replay in a montage as I take the last sip of my lukewarm tea, and I press a hand to my forehead to try to block them out.
How am I even going to face him today? Or hold any sort of high ground when I crumbled so far and so fast in just one night.
Worse yet, how the hell am I going to live in the same house and be his roomie?
I was going to have to confront this whole thing head-on.
Explain that I’d been overwhelmed by the day and a little tipsy and emotional.
I bristle at the thought of admitting that.
I’m not an emotional person. At least not when Bishop isn’t around.
He comes into my life like a freight train, and suddenly, I don’t even know myself.
Nostalgia. That’s what it was. I was nostalgic. For a time that doesn’t exist anymore and people we can never be again. But it was fun to pretend for a night.
The memory of his touch skates over my nerve endings and sends a curling wave of interest through my body. The soft way he told me he prefers this version of me better. The look on his face. The dirty way he begged for me.
But none of it matters. I have to block it out.
I can’t remake the same old mistakes. I know better, and I have to do better. For Fallon’s sake, if not my own. I can’t afford to make a mess of this and have her lose her shot at getting to know Bishop. It would break her heart, and mine would break twice over for both of us to watch it happen.
I slip my heels on and check my reflection in the mirror.
A quick trip to make this business permanent by turning in our marriage license, then another trip to watch Bishop and his grandmother sign the paperwork, and we’ll be set to get this whole thing underway.
I toss the rest of the things off the counter into my overnight bag and sling it and my purse over my shoulder.
When I open the door, Bishop’s already in the hallway waiting for me.
He looks infuriatingly good this morning, doing his little cowboy lean against the wall, and smirking when his eyes hit my heels.
“You look gorgeous. And like you’re going to rip throats out in a boardroom somewhere.”
“If I have to, I will. Hopefully, your grandmother’s lawyer has everything ready and follows through.”
“They will as soon as we make good on our end by giving them the paperwork that proves we’ve tied the knot.
Ready to make all this official?” He slips his aviators on, and I’m grateful for it.
I don’t like being under the intensity of his gaze or seeing the way his eyes look when the light hits them just right.
It reminds me of last night, and I absolutely cannot think about last night anymore.
“Let’s do it.” I start walking for the elevators as fast as I can.
“You can send that bag upstairs before we leave, unless you need it.” He nods to my bag as we wait for the interminably long arrival of the elevator. I was going to discuss this with my brother.
“Send it upstairs for what?”
“They didn’t tell you yet?”
“Who didn’t tell me what?” I lost too much sleep last night to connect dots on my own.
“Ramsey had his penthouse turned over for us. It’s got three bedrooms and two bathrooms, so he thought it’d be a good spot for us until I’ve got the homestead ready. He had yours and Fallon’s stuff sent over, and I’ll bring mine down from the Springs today in the truck.”
My baby brother is kicking me out of his ranch house without so much as a word.
Not that I can blame him. He probably wants his privacy back with his own wife-to-be.
I’m positive from the muffled laughter and late-night music I’ve heard that we’re cramping their style.
We’ve long overstayed our welcome, and he and Hazel probably figure we’ll want our own space together.
But I didn’t plan for this. I’m not ready. I thought I had time before I had to be on top of Bishop, day and night. Not literally. Shit. Now I’m imagining being on top of him literally. All while his brow quirks up over the rim of his aviators.
“Okay,” I answer flatly, and blessedly, the elevator dings so we can get on.
We’re halfway to Colorado Springs with the low volume of the radio trying to cover the blaring silence between us.
Not that I’ve noticed it much. I’ve been too busy staring out the window, thinking about the million things I’m going to have to do when we get back to the penthouse tonight to make it tolerable for the two of us to live together.
Not to mention getting Fallon set up and comfortable in her new space. She texted and asked if she could stay another day at her friend’s house, and I agreed. Although I’m starting to wonder if she’s avoiding this new life too.
The music suddenly goes silent, and I look over to where Bishop’s turned it off.
“Did I do something wrong? Say something wrong last night? Because if I did, I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to come to my room.”
And the movie starts to replay in my head again. His heavy-lidded look. His disheveled state.
Shit.
A blush threatens to hit my cheeks when I see myself hitting my knees in front of him on replay.
Like some wanton, desperate, ridiculous woman who can’t get over the crush she had a million years ago.
The night before the wedding was bad enough, but at least I hadn’t technically broken my rules.
Last night, there was no excuse. He left when I asked, and I still pursued him.
I only have myself to blame for that. I can’t expect him to follow my rules if I can’t.
“No, you didn’t say anything wrong.” I keep my response short, trying to think of the best way to explain last night.
“Are you sure? You seem… not yourself today.”
“I’m myself today. I wasn’t myself last night.”
He doesn’t say a word in response, so I continue.
“I shouldn’t have gone to your room. It was a long day.
I didn’t have much to eat, and then I had several glasses of whiskey.
I broke my own rules. It was my fault. I apologize for putting you in that position.
” Oh my god. Position? Honestly, Aspen. You’re a mess.
I cringe as I ramble on, “I won’t let that happen again. ”
There’s a long beat of silence between us before he speaks again, and when he does, it’s not what I was expecting. Not that I know exactly what I was supposed to be expecting.
“Okay,” he agrees and presses the button to turn the music back on.
It feels deceptively easy. He doesn’t apologize back. He doesn’t tell me how he feels about it. Whether he liked or hated it. Just “okay,” and the anxiety I’ve been feeling about all of this returns.