Chapter 5
Chapter Five
EMERSON
I sn't wedding dress shopping meant to be enjoyable? I imagined it would be, but the reality is so different. Seems like that’s why people call them fairytale weddings. Nothing about them is real.
If I was the one planning my wedding, I’d want it to be special and intimate. It wouldn’t be anything like the one my mother and Conner’s mother, Makayla, have put together. They’ve gotten little input from me and don’t seem the least bit bothered by it.
“We’re waiting,” my mother calls.
Nikki, the sales assistant at the bridal store, purses her lips. Nikki has been nothing but kind to me, but I can tell she’s attempting to conceal her dislike for both my mother and Makayla.
“One second,” I call back, not wanting her to come in here. Her presence definitely won’t help.
“Let’s get this over with,” I tell Nikki under my breath. I say it low enough so that only she can hear me, and her eyebrows lift in surprise.
“This one is ugly. You know that, right?” That was not what she was saying moments ago when Makayla and my mother were gushing over it. “It doesn’t suit you.”
I was thinking the same thing, because it’s hard to breathe in it.
“I know, but it’s not exactly my choice.” I grab the glass of champagne she gave me and take a sip. The bubbles burn my nose, but I swallow it down and give it to Nikki. She takes a giant sip herself before setting it down.
“All right,” Nikki says before pulling back the curtain.
I walk down the small runway to where Makayla and my mother are sitting at the end.
Dread fills me with each step, but I guess it’s a good representation of what my wedding will be like.
I know I'll have this same feeling as I walk down the aisle to Conner, who has become a giant pain in my booty.
Who knew if you ignored someone, they would show more interest?
I need to start pretending to be clingy.
Then he might go back to avoiding me again.
"What do you think, Makayla?" my mother asks the woman beside her.
She actually cares for her opinion. If my mother believes that a person is on a higher level than her, which means more money and power, she starts to mimic them.
At one time I thought it was annoying and weird, but now I see it as sad and small.
“Her hips look so wide in that one.” Makayla’s critical eyes move up and down my body, and it’s clear what she thinks of me.
“There’s not enough time for her to lose any more weight.” My mother sighs in annoyed agreement. “Thin is back in.”
Is breathing in? Because it’s hard to catch my breath in this thing.
“Try another.” Makayla shoos me along with a wave of her hand, and I hurry back down the runway.
When I get to the back, Nikki quickly closes the curtain behind me.
“I can’t breathe.” I turn around so she can undo the ties she laced up to get me into this thing.
Because of the short engagement, the dress has to be almost off the rack. They’ll only have a few days to make alterations, but it seems everyone is less worried about my well-being than getting me into a dress they approve of.
“Shit,” Nikki curses, and I press my hand to my chest. I’m trying to slow my breathing and not panic, but the sensation of claustrophobia springs to life inside of me. "It's stuck."
"Oh gosh." My breath comes faster, which I know isn’t helping, and I have to gulp in air. Black spots dance along my vision, and I think I’m going to pass out.
"Move," a deep voice that I remember all too well fills my ear.
When I peer over my shoulder, Nikki moves out of the way and Gideon is standing there. Where did he come from?
"That's expensive," Nikki says to him and then cringes as Gideon grips the back of the dress.
"I'll pay for it,” he tells her and then with one hard tug, the fabric rips. The material is no match for his strength, and I take in a deep breath as the dress falls away.
"Are you the groom?" Nikki asks.
"Yeah, can you give us a second?"
Did he just say he’s the groom?
"Of course."
"Don't tell them I'm here." Gideon nods beyond the curtain, and Nikki smiles at him.
"I'll keep them busy." She slips out, leaving me alone with Gideon.
"You're here." I turn to face him, but when Gideon looks down at me, I remember that the dress is gone. "Oh crap."
I stand there, not sure what to do. I'm only wearing a bra and panties, and they don’t even match.
"Allow me." Gideon reaches for a white silk robe that’s hanging on a hook next to me. I swear it takes him forever to grab it and hand it over, but once he does, I quickly tie the front.
"Sorry."
"Don't be sorry for that." He smirks, and I lick my lips nervously.
Is he implying he likes what he sees? No, I shake that thought free. Gideon looks like he dates women who are classy and elegant. That’s not me, no matter how hard my mother tries.
"What are you doing here?"
"Searching for a wedding dress."
"Oh." Right, that was a stupid question. Why else would he be here? That’s when it dawns on me that he’s also getting married.
A disappointment I shouldn’t feel fills me. I haven't been thinking about Gideon in the most appropriate ways, but is it my fault that when I was reading a dirty book last night, it was his face I kept picturing as the hero? I couldn't stop it, not that I tried real hard.
"I was teasing you." He cocks his head to the side, a half-smile pulling at his lips. It's playful and disarming.
"So you're not getting married?" I try not to fidget under his stare, but it’s almost impossible.
“Not at the moment.” That’s a strange way to word his answer, but I suppose I’m strange too. At least I’ve heard people call me that before.
“So, um.” I glance around. “You’re here,” I say for the second time. “Is there a problem?” Why else would he be here unless there was an issue?
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” My breath hitches at his honest admission. That’s the last thing I thought he’d say. I figured he’d likely never think of me again after our meeting. “The prenup.”
Oh. That’s why he’s here. Of course. I’m so silly.
“I signed it.”
“But you still haven’t read it.”
“You’re really hung up on that,” I say, and Gideon runs his fingers through his hair, appearing frustrated. “Are you mad at me?”
“I’m pissed you’re getting screwed in this prenup. You don’t even want to know the part about children.” I open my mouth but quickly close it. I hadn’t gotten that far in my head.
“Oh god,” I whisper to myself. Why hadn’t I thought about the possibility of children?
My heart gives a small flutter before it’s quickly snuffed out.
The idea of having kids with Conner makes me want to throw up, but the idea of never having them makes my chest hurt.
“I don’t even want to have sex with him, let alone procreate,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
"You know what happens when you get married, right?" he asks, and I nod my head.
"I mean, I do, I just—" I huff a breath, suddenly feeling exhausted. "Did you fertilize your philodendron?"
"That's what you're asking me right now?"
What I don’t tell Gideon is that thinking about his plant is better than thinking about sex with Conner.
Gideon runs his fingers through his hair again, making it a bit untamed. I have the urge to reach up and fix the unruly locks.
"Well, now I'm thinking about your hair." There’s no reason I can't fix it, so I reach up and do it. I have to stand on my tiptoes, but I manage to get them back into place.
"You need to be thinking about yourself." I drop my hand from his hair, but he catches my wrist and holds on to it. "You don't want to marry him."
"Are you asking me or telling me?"
"You don’t,” he says with finality.
“I don’t,” I say in agreement. “But I am.”
“Emerson.”
“I love the way you say my name. Usually my name makes me feel old, but when you say it, it’s kind of—” I trail off.
“It’s what?” He tugs on my wrist, bringing it to his chest. The motion makes me step closer to him. So much so I can feel the warmth of his body, and I want to curl into him. “Tell me,” he encourages, his tone soft.
“It sounds kinda sexy when you say it.”
“Is that so?” A smirk plays on his lips, making me smile with him.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” he says without hesitation.
“Careful there,” I laugh.
“I’m not joking, Emerson. You can ask me anything.”
“I’m going to ask for something from you,” I say, clarifying.
“Anything,” he repeats, again without hesitation.
“A kiss.” His eyes drop to my mouth as heat climbs up my body. “I don’t want him to be my first and only kiss. Would you?—”
That’s all I manage to get out before his mouth comes down onto mine. This time when I can’t breathe, I don’t feel trapped. In fact, I’ve never felt freer.