Chapter 17 #2
The adjoining door opens, and I’m overwhelmed with the smell of Fisher. Clean and woodsy and familiar and home.
“Still freaking out?” he asks with a smirk.
“What do you think?” I set out what I’m going to wear on the flight home later today and pack my other clothes into my suitcase.
The knock on the door keeps him from responding. He opens it and passes a tip to the guy and steps aside so he can put the tray down. When he’s gone, Fisher leans against the closed door, the picture of ease with legs crossed casually and his damp hair threatening to fall in his eyes.
“You need a haircut,” I blurt.
His smile turns into a massive grin. “I think you like my hair. Gives you something to grab onto.”
My mouth falls open, and he chuckles as he passes me and uses his index finger to close my mouth.
“Sit. Eat.” He gestures to the small table in the corner where the food waits for us. “I’m starving and you must be too.”
Following him over to the table, I sit down and wait for him to make the first move.
“Coffee? Orange juice?” He gestures to the smorgasbord of things in front of us.
“Coffee, please.” The caffeine will hopefully help me feel more human.
He fills one of the cups with warm coffee from the carafe. His fingers move with ease to scoop up the cream and sugar, adding the exact amount I would if I were making it for myself.
“You remember how I like my coffee?” I ask accusingly.
Flicking his hair out of his eyes, he gives me an adorable half-smile.
It takes me back to a memory long ago, the two of us in a café in Paris.
His hair was much shorter than it is now, but still wavy, and his face was free of any stubble.
His smile was just as easy as it is now, but his eyes were lighter—happier.
“I remember everything about you. You don’t just forget those things because of a breakup, Ebba.”
I know he’s right, because even though I’ve tried so hard to forget everything about him it’s impossible. Fisher Grant is embedded in my very DNA.
“Thanks.” I take the cup from him, and he dips his head in acknowledgment.
The hotel coffee isn’t the best I’ve ever had, but somehow it tastes sweeter than normal and I know it’s only because he made it for me.
“French toast,” he says, passing me the correct plate. “Do you want some fruit?”
“Yes, please.”
He fixes a small bowl with grapes, cantaloupe, pineapple, and what looks to be honeydew melon.
“Are you spoiling me on purpose?” I tease.
“You know I’m not.”
It’s true. He’s always been like this with me. I wouldn’t say he spoils me, but he wants to take care of me.
He waits until I’ve eaten a few bites of food before he says, “I don’t want to get the marriage annulled.”
I drop the grape I was about to eat back into the bowl. “You’d rather get a divorce instead? That seems far more legally annoying than an annulment.”
The stern look he gives me is nearly laughable.
Fisher and “stern” just don’t go together.
“Last night wasn’t nearly as much of an accident as I think you’d like to convince yourself.
” I drop my gaze from his, because he’s right.
I could’ve said no. I wasn’t so far out of my mind to not know what we were doing.
“It doesn’t make sense for us to stay married.”
He cocks his head and his lips twitch in a way that I know he’s holding back laughter. “How so?”
“Our lives are very different.”
This time the laughter does escape him. “How? We both are always traveling on the ATP Tour. I’m not sure you can get any more perfect than that.”
“I just mean, I have a place in Miami and I’m sure you live in Texas where Noah is.”
“And how often in a year are we really home?”
He has me there and he knows it based on his smirk. “Like a month.”
“Mhm,” he hums. “So, since location isn’t really an issue, what are your other worries?”
“Well, we’re not together,” I remind him. “Marriage seems like quite the leap.”
“Are you worried we don’t know each other well enough?”
His eyes are probing, downright penetrating. I squirm beneath the intensity like I can escape it. He’s baiting me and I know it.
“Not exactly. But we know the old version of us. People change.”
“Then let me get to know those new pieces of you. I’m smart, I’m sure I can reassemble the puzzle I already have of you.”
I really wish he’d stop saying all the right things.
It would be so much easier if he really was just a run of the mill jerk, but he’s not.
Yes, I’ve harbored anger over the years after going through the miscarriage alone, but my emotions were at an all-time high.
Just being around him these few days has been eye-opening for me, because I know I’ve held onto things I shouldn’t have.
I think it was easier to be angry at him than to allow myself to grieve.
“How is this going to work? Are we going to keep this a secret again or what?”
He arches a brow. “Considering our friends and your brother were at the chapel, I think keeping it a secret has gone out the window.”
“Obviously, I just mean from our parents? From everyone else?”
He sucks in his cheeks and shrugs. “That’s up to you. I never wanted to keep you a secret before, but with Noah and Elias—”
I lay my hand over his on the table. “I know. We made that decision together. They hated each other back then. It wouldn’t have been pretty.”
“Now that we don’t have to worry about them, I want to shout from the rooftops that you’re my wife, but I also understand that you might not be ready for that.”
I shake my head. Hearing him call me his wife is confusing, because a part of me loves the sound of it and another part of me wants to run in the other direction because I’m scared. I don’t want to get my heart broken again. I barely recovered the first time.
My silence must worry him, because he says, “If you can’t forgive me for not getting to the hospital in time, I understand. We’ll go get it annulled right this second. But if you think there’s even a sliver of a chance that you can forgive me then please let me prove to you what you mean to me.”
I’m stubborn. Not someone who gives second chances easily. But even I can see that I let my grief get the better of me.
“I shouldn’t have hated you for it for as long as I have, but I guess I needed someone to blame. But it wasn’t your fault, or even mine, but I was just so heartbroken. I know we were young, and our relationship was secret, but I was excited to be a mom—to raise a child with you.”
“I know.” His eyes fill with unshed tears. “I wanted that with you, too.”
Even though it’s been years, my hand falls to my abdomen.
“Six months,” he says suddenly, pulling my attention back to him. “Give me six months to prove to you that we’re the real deal and this marriage can last. Please, that’s all I ask. If after that you want a divorce, I’ll give it to you.”
It might be insane, but I find myself nodding. He looks so hopeful that I can’t bring myself to dash his dreams.
“Deal.”