Chapter 22
When it comes right down to it, I’m not as blasé about the situation as I was hoping I’d be. Something is shaking inside me as I lie under the covers while Wes comes out of the bathroom to climb into bed on the other side.
We look at each other as he gets comfortable.
“Well, we’re husband and wife,” he says at last.
“Yes. I guess we are.”
“I’m tempted to ask once again if you’re really okay with it.”
“Please, I’m begging, don’t ask me that again. I’m fine.”
“You really are a trouper,” he says with a fond smile. “A lot of people wouldn’t have gotten through this circus with as much composure and humor as you.”
Okay, maybe I’m melting a little, but it’s in a very good way. “Um, thanks. And the same back at you.”
We smile at each other. Then keep gazing at each other from our respective pillows even after the smiling has stopped.
I clear my throat.
Then he does too.
“You don’t want to…” My voice breaks.
He’s immediately alert. “I don’t want what?”
“I don’t know. We’re married. And in bed together. And we have chemistry.” I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but I am. The words are coming out. “You don’t want to…”
“Consummate our marriage?”
“Y-yeah.”
“Is that what you want?”
“I’m not… opposed.”
He breathes in and out a couple of times. Loudly.
“Are you opposed?” I ask.
“Definitely not opposed.”
“Okay. Then… then… should we?”
“From a rational perspective, we probably shouldn’t.” His eyes are suddenly warmer than warm. All the way hot. “But I’m not thinking rationally at the moment.”
“Me either.”
“Okay.” His face works like he’s thinking quickly. “Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to go out onto the balcony for ten minutes and let the time pass. If, when I come back inside, you still want to… do this, I agree to the proposition.”
Laughter spills out of me because he sounds so dry and professional, but I can tell the gesture is out of genuine consideration for me.
He doesn’t want to take advantage of a stray impulse.
He wants to know I really want this.
So I say, “That’s a good idea. I’ll see you in ten minutes.”
He gets out of bed and takes his phone with him as he steps out onto the balcony.
I lie in bed and giggle with excitement. Then I close my eyes and try to settle my mind, settle my heart, settle my body.
I take one deep breath after another.
I can’t believe this is actually happening at last.
I’m so excited.
I’m also really tired after a very long day, after getting up at four in the morning, after so much champagne.
Before ten minutes have passed, I fall asleep.
I wake up several hours later and get up to go to the bathroom in sleep routine.
It’s only halfway through that I remember what happened.
After I’ve finished and washed my hands and face, I run back out into the bedroom, peering at Wes sleeping on his side of the bed.
Shit.
I fell asleep on him!
What must he have thought about me?
I’m climbing back into bed when he stirs and mumbles something.
“Sorry,” I say softly.
“S’okay.” He makes a few mouth noises and opens his eyes. “Oh. Hi.”
“Hi.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m so sorry I fell asleep. I really did want to…”
“I know. It was probably for the best. We can return to the conversation tomorrow if we want. For now, just go back to sleep.”
Washed with a flood of relief that I didn’t accidentally hurt, disappoint, or annoy him, I’m smiling as I pull the covers over me. “Okay. Thank you for being so great.”
“I’m always great.”
He’s teasing, but he’s also right. “I know you are. You’re a pretty good husband to have.”
We sleep in the next morning and then call down for breakfast in bed.
They give us the full romantic treatment, so I snap a few photos to make Natalie happy before we dig in.
Wes doesn’t appear in any sort of huff about last night. In fact, he’s in a really good mood, laughing and telling funny stories and asking me about random details from my past as if he’s genuinely interested in them.
We play pickleball again in the late morning and then walk along the bay and eat a late lunch at a nearby bistro. We browse some adorable shops, and we buy some small gifts for Jake, Grace, and each of my sisters.
As we’re standing to check out, I’m having a private gush over our choices and how much they’ll be loved, and I catch Wes watching me.
“What?”
He shakes his head and glances away. “Nothing. I just like to see how close you are to your sisters.”
“That’s normal, isn’t it?”
“Is it? I haven’t seen that to be the case in all families.”
“I guess that’s true.” I pause, thinking about Wes and how he notices things. “Do you ever wish you had siblings?”
“Sure. I bet every only child wishes that occasionally.” He reaches over to play idly with my hair in that particular way he has. “But I’ve got a great family. It doesn’t matter that it was small.”
“No. It doesn’t matter.”
“The only thing I wish was different is that I didn’t lose Mom so soon.”
I rub his back in the only way I have to comfort him.
“But you know all about that,” he says in a different tone.
“I do.”
“And it’s always felt, in a way, that your sisters are mine. So it’s not like I’ve missed out on everything family gives us.”
“No. You haven’t.” I check his face and then check it again, but I can find no clue about whether his wording was intentional.
My sisters are his sisters, he said.
As if I’m the only one he doesn’t think about as a sister.
I sure as hell hope he doesn’t see me as a sister.
That would put a real crimp in my plans.