55. Wren
55
WREN
Do you want to stay married to me? That’s the fifty-four-million-dollar question.
“Yes. No. I don’t fucking know. This was supposed to be a fun getaway before I go back to New York. I wasn’t supposed to marry you … or anyone.”
“Well, you did,” he snaps. He drops his hands from my cheeks and takes my hands in his. He brings my left hand to his lips and kisses the rings on my ring finger. “I can’t get you out of my head, Wren, but I know without a shadow of a doubt, you and I could be something amazing if you’d just give marriage and me a go.”
“Stefan—” He presses his finger to my lips, shushing me.
“Don’t talk, just listen. I love you, Wren. I really, really love you. As I said, I can’t get you out of my head. We’ve been sneaking around for months now, but when you drunkenly said we should do it, I jumped because I want it. I want you. I want us. You make me a better person, and the last six months with you have been amazing. Can’t believe I’m saying this but getting arrested with Kallen was the best thing to happen to me because he made me realize you’re worth it, Wren. You. Are. Worth. It.” Leaning into me, he places his lips on mine and when our lips touch, a spark ignites. It sets every nerve ending in my body ablaze. My soul comes alive in a way that I cannot put into words. It’s true, Stefan and I have this chemistry. It’s indescribable. I’ve never felt it with anyone before and in the last twenty-four hours, it’s intensified greatly, but are we just caught up in the hurrah of Vegas?
“Stefan, I…” I don’t finish because I don’t know how to articulate what I’m feeling. But he’s right, the last six months sneaking around with him have been amazing, but what’s the world going to say when it comes out that I’ve hooked up with a client? Going by the text from him last night, he won’t sit back and keep his mouth shut regarding us from years ago. He’s a vindictive pin-pricked weasel, and after what happened last night, he’s going to be pissed. Especially since I didn’t react to the text he sent, well, I did react, I got fucking married.
I need air and I need to think. I have to get out of here. “I … I n-n-need to go,” I stammer and before he or Jaxson can say anything, I’m out the door.
Thankfully, the elevator doors open and a couple steps out. Smiling at them, I jump into the waiting car and punch the button for the lobby. When I look up again, Stefan is standing in the hallway. He has a melancholy look on his face, and that look alone has me second-guessing my actions.
I reach the ground floor and when I step out into the lobby, my phone rings. I smile when I see Fern’s name on the screen. “Hey,” I say in greeting.
“Don’t hey me, you bitch. You didn’t sleep here last night, why did you not answer any of the million texts I sent? But most of all, where the fuck are you?”
Shit , I internally hiss, I really am a shitty friend but I think when you wake up married to your client after a bender in Vegas you’re entitle to a free pass, right? “Across the road at the Paris?—”
“Why the hell are you there?”
“Long story, but umm, can you and I meet. I … I.” But words elude me. My eyes well with tears and in the middle of the Paris Hotel lobby, I cry into the phone while my friend listens on the other end.
“I’m on my way,” she says, in the background I can hear her shuffling about. She calls out to Bradford that she’ll “be back soon” and then I hear a door close. “I’m going to stay on the line while you cry. When I get to you, I’m gonna hug you and then I’m going to kick whoever’s ass made you cry.”
“I think you might need to kick mine,” I tell her.
“Well, you let me decide on whose ass I kick.”
A laugh escapes me and I listen as Fern tells me about the amazing breakfast she had. Ten minutes later, she walks across the lobby, pulls me into her arms, and hugs me. As soon as her limbs wrap around me, I fall apart.
She ushers me into a bar off the lobby and we grab a table on the outdoor patio that overlooks the Bellagio fountain. Fern orders us some cocktails and then she stares at me. “Okay, spill.”
“I need a drink first.” Thankfully fate is on my team because the waiter returns with two glasses of what looks like sangria. “Keep ’em coming,” I tell him. He nods and leaves.
“Okay, you have your drink, start talking.”
Nodding, I take a sip … and another … and then I fill her in on everything that’s happened since we parted ways last night.
“Holy shit,” she hisses. “What are you going to do?”
Before I can answer, she flags the waiter down and orders a round of shots to go with our sangria. Then she looks at me expectantly and awaits my answer.
“Get a divorce, I guess.”
“Divorce. Schmivorce.”
“Really, schmivorce?”
“What word I used isn’t important. What’s important is that you love him and he loves you.” I open my mouth to dispute that fact, but she raises her hand and gives me a look that has me sitting back in my chair while I mime zipping my lips. “That man loves you, Wren. Unconditionally. I told you before you two even started sneaking around that it would happen and I was right. Just like I’m right when I tell you, divorcing him will be a mistake. He remembered your dream house for fuck’s sake, who does that? If that isn’t a sign of unconditional, unwavering love, I don’t know what is.”
“But we were drunk,” I say all defensively.
“So?” She nonchalantly shrugs. “Liquor loosens lips and causes you to be honest and, clearly, you two wanted to get married. Why not give it a go? If it’s shit in six months get divorced then. Don’t give up before you even try, but from where I’m sitting, this is just the beginning of your epic fairy tale.”
“Ugh, you’re such a romantic.”
“No, I’m calling it as I see it. Now, show me that bling again and then go back upstairs and tell your husband that you’ve reconsidered the divorce. Then fuck him silly to apologize for being a butthead. Then you can both head back to LA and live happily ever after.”
“I head to New York next week.”
“Put in for a transfer.”
“You sound like Stefan.”
“Then he must be a very wise man.” I laugh. “But seriously, you should listen to the two of us.”
The waiter returns with our shots and another drink. Smiling, I thank him, and as I shoot back the tequila, I decide that yes, I need to speak to Stefan.
Chugging back my drink for liquid courage, I excuse myself and head back up to the suite to face my husband.