Chapter 12 #2
Our hands shook, and for a second, I imagined him using it to pull me to him. Into his arms. Against his chest. My face up to his. No.
I tugged my hand free and buried it in the oversized T-shirt. “I’ll still stay here,” I blurted awkwardly.
“Of course.” Max pushed his hand back into his pocket. “Nothing else will change. Just the paperwork.”
For health insurance. “When…”
“Monday morning, we’ll go to the courthouse, and then I’ll call our health insurance rep and get you on my plan so you can reschedule your doctor’s appointment.”
“Okay.” I nodded slowly again. “Thank you, Max,” I said, the gratitude like lead on my tongue. I didn’t like the feeling of being grateful for something I could never repay, and how could I ever repay him for this?
Worse, I hated knowing that buried far underneath that gratitude was the ache for something more.
I want to marry you.
Even worse, why did I keep hearing those words as real rather than a remedy?
Did a bride wear white to her fake wedding?
I stared at myself in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door, my wedding dress only marginally less rumpled for the half hour it hung in the steam-filled room while I showered.
It didn’t look the same as it had a little over two weeks ago.
Not the way it fit over my changing body, nor the way I saw it after my change in circumstances.
Reaching up, I undid the braids in my hair, running my fingers through the resulting full waves.
White was meant for pure and innocent, which I certainly wasn’t.
It also signified a new beginning, and that wasn’t this either.
This was…a means to an end. Biting my lip, I slid my hands to the zipper on the side.
I shouldn’t be wearing white, not when this marriage was a lie. Not a complete lie, but a white lie.
My fingers stilled. A white lie. My arms lowered, feeling a kind of comfort in the thought.
That was why I could, should wear white, because this marriage wasn’t a lie.
It was true I needed Max’s help, and true that he wanted to help me, and this served both of those things.
The omission was that our marriage was for any other reason.
The omission was that we weren’t getting married for love.
I closed my eyes and saw Max’s face when he proposed, staring up at me from his knee on the floor.
Wanting to marry me. My breath caught, and I sprang my gaze open.
White dress. White lie. I went and walked to the window at the front of the apartment, glancing out the glass just as Max stepped out of his truck below.
He looked up, and I quickly moved away from the window before he saw me watching…waiting.
Was I really going to do this?
My heart beat against the front of my chest, wanting a front-row seat to my decision. My baby kicked, and I steadied myself in my decision, splaying my hands on my stomach.
I know, little sprout. I haven’t even met you yet, but I would do anything for you.
Anything, including marrying my ex-fiancé’s best friend.
I heard Max’s footsteps on the stairs. By now, their sound was synonymous with the beat of my own pulse in my ears.
“Come in,” I called at his knock, looking down at myself once more.
The wrinkled white fabric stretched over my stomach, which seemed to have popped overnight.
The hem of the dress now hit my shins rather than below my ankles.
I couldn’t even wear the little matching jacket because my boobs were too big, barely fitting zipped into the bust of the dress, my chest spilling over the neckline.
It looked ridiculous. Why didn’t I see it before?
I looked ridiculous, like a sausage stuffed into too tight a casing.
“Daze.”
I jerked my head up, and Max’s eyes captured mine. Not just his eyes, the intensity in his stare as it roamed over me. The hunger. “You look beautiful.”
Heat dammed in my cheeks. How did he know?
How did he know what to say? When to say it?
“You’ve seen me in this dress before,” I said, like it would pop the bubble the butterflies in my stomach were fluttering in. It didn’t. In fact, it seemed to have the opposite effect.
“Not like this,” he murmured, his stare leaving a path of fire over my skin.
“Like what?” More pregnant? More belly?
Or about to be his?
And in that moment, I let my own eyes wander over my soon-to-be groom.
Unlike me, Max had on a different suit than my last attempt to get married. Deep navy instead of dark gray. It favored his dark caramel hair and warm skin. It also highlighted his wide shoulders and trim waist. And somehow, I’m sure, the perfect proportions of his face.
His gaze snapped back to mine, and I watched him rein whatever had come over him back in. “Ready?”
I nodded, suddenly too overwhelmed to speak. A condition that plagued me as we went down to his truck and through the entire drive all the way to the courthouse.
Was I ready? Why was I acting like this was some huge change? It was signatures on a piece of paper. A document as a means to health insurance and safety, stability for me and my baby. Nothing more.
So what was I afraid of? That it would turn into something more?
Or that it wouldn’t?