“Sorry to disappoint you, but Roman did not keep mein bed this morning.” I laugh. “Actually…” I hesitate to tell her this part because she won’t approve. “We’ve decided to sleep in separate bedrooms until the wedding night.”
She narrows her eyes as if she can’t quite get her head around what I’m saying. “Wait… is this a recent thing, or are you saying you two haven’t, um…” She hooks her fingers together.
“Nope,” I admit, toying with my crucifix necklace absently. “He’s old-fashioned. Wanted to be married first.”
“Oh.” She frowns. “That’s… weird.”
I shrug. “Is it? Old money and old-fashioned?” I laugh. “Maybe I’m more open to it having been raised Catholic. His family seems really conservative. I think it goes with the territory.”
She takes a long sip of wine. “But, I mean, he’s not like a virgin or anything?”
I laugh. “No.” And neither am I, but then she knows that. I don’t share that Roman’s been so busy with work that I haven’t even seen him in two days. “Honestly, I just overslept. I’m exhausted. Planning this wedding, the dress, the flowers, the cake, it’s taken a lot out of me even with the hired help.”
Vivian’s face falls. “Do you think it’s your fibro?”
“Don’t say its name out loud. I don’t want to tempt the universe with the wedding tomorrow.”
Her eyes fill with pity. I hate that. I can take anything but pity. “I don’t want to jinx you, but after what happened before…”
She means the first time I had a full-blown fibro attack, after Marion was killed and my central nervous system seemed to go haywire with my grief. I’d pushed myself too hard and ended up in bed for weeks. I flatten my napkin on the table with my palm. “It’s possible. This whirlwind relationship, the travel, the wedding planning, it’s all stressful. Not to mention I haven’t been able to write in months.”
Her eyes widen. “Still?”
“Not a word.”
She lowers her voice as if there’s an editor spying on us from a neighboring table. “Wasn’t your latest Alex Rogue manuscript due, like, months ago?”
I’m relieved when my wine arrives, and I take a fortifying sip before answering. “Try a year. They gave me an extension following the accident, but my writer’s block isn’t getting better. First I thought it was because I was grieving Marion, but now I just feel like I can’t hear Alex anymore. It’s like she’s chained up inside my head and refusing to have any further adventures. I haven’t been able to write anything more creative than a grocery list in a year. I’ve tried over and over to startThe Milkmaid. The story is justgone.”
Her brows sink. “Oh, Fiona. I’m so sorry.” She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Grief is a powerful emotion. Losing a sister like you did...” she shakes her head. “It makes sense that it might take up all the room in your head. I’m sure your writing voice will return once you have some peace and quiet in your life, room to heal.”
I nod. “After the wedding. I’m sure of it.”
“But it does beg the question.” She leans back in her chair and studies me.
“What question?”
“Everything’s happened so fast with you and Roman. The travel, the gifts, the overwhelming publicity of dating a billionaire. Are you sure about this marriage?”
I almost blow a sip of water across the table. “I better be sure. The wedding’s tomorrow.”
“But… Please don’t take this the wrong way. You and Roman movedveryquickly.” She pins me with a knowing look.
“Four weeks from the time he bumped into me at a bookstore to the night he proposed in a hot-air balloon over Paris. Now here we are, wedding in the south of France. Am I sure I want to marry a handsome billionaire who swept me off my feet and proposed with a diamond ring the size of Plymouth Rock? Yes, Vivian, I am.”
My attempt at humor doesn’t earn her smile.
“Do you love him, Fiona?”
I glance away, wishing the server would interrupt us. “Why else would I be marrying him?”
She squints at me. Sees through me. Damn it. Vivian knows me too well.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and decide I owe her an honest answer. “Look, I get that the romance writer in you wants a big love story with instant chemistry and explosive feelings. You want Roman to be my Henrik Angel.” I purposefully use Alex Rogue’s on-again, off-again love interest to drive home the point that this is full-blown magical thinking. “But love like you readabout doesn’t exist. Roman is a solid option. I’m confident my feelings for him will grow with time.”
She gapes at me. “No. No. No. Fiona, that’s not why you should marry someone.”
“Hmmm.” I rub my chin as if I’m seriously contemplating her warning. “Well, it’s enough for me.” When she huffs in response, I lean toward her. “Let me tell you what Iloveabout Roman. He can support me, which I need because my sales are officially in the toilet. I’ll have health insurance when my fibro makes it impossible for me to get out of bed, and I’ll be able to afford the best doctors, nutritionists, and physical therapists once I’m married to him. Oh, and I’ll be able to pay off that property Marion loved so much, literally the last piece of her I have in my life. As it is now, I’m barely keeping my head above water. This engagement is a lifeline.”
