I was doing what I would call decently well until that kiss.
That kiss.
Is it wrong to enjoy kissing your fake husband? Granted, our marriage license was real, but we’re not married-married. We’re friends, but definitely not romantic friends.
I slip off my shoes in the closet and strip out of my white dress, slipping into my silk pajamas before heading to my vanity.
My lipsstilltingle.
I touch my lips, making sure I’m not burned, blistered, or anything elsefrom that kiss that has been playing on repeat in my mind.
They look the same as before I got married, yet, they’ve been branded by Mateo. The fire that flowed through me when we kissed was something I’ve never experienced before—and something I can’t let happen again.
It’s too dangerous.
I can’t fall in love with Mateo. It’s out of the question.
I stare into the mirror and grab a makeup remover cloth. I wipe away my foundation, wishing it was this easy to get rid of all my baggage too.
There’s too much, too many things in my past that no good man wants to deal with. I know I have issues, which is why I see a therapist monthly. Mateo doesn’t want to be married to a woman who goes to therapy.
I grimace. Dr. Ward would be very upset if she heard my intrusive thoughts. Although she’d be happy to know that I just identified that thought as a cognitive distortion.
I wipe away my eye shadow and pull out the few bobby pins left in my hair.
I know I have value, and Dr. Ward and I have worked on this in many sessions together. But right now, I feel like a snake in a woman’s clothing who trapped the perfect man in a marriage of convenience, thus keeping him from finding the true love of his life.
I stand up and move away from the mirror, not able to take looking at myself anymore. My feet carry me to my bed, but suddenly I can’t stand the pile of decorative pillows. I throw them across the room, each one quietly thumping against my closet door. I thought that would help me feel better, but now I just feel wound tight. My chest heaves as if I’ve run a mile instead of throwing five pillows.
There are too many emotions, too many feelings.
I can’t handle this.
I climb into bed. It’s late afternoon, but I’m not going anywhere for the rest of the day.
“The ball is in your court.”
The words run through my mind, building the need to run away or punch something with every repetition. I grab a pillow that escaped my crazy moment and scream into it.
I want to kiss Mateo’s infuriatingly tender face while wishing I never saw it again.
How can my marriage feel so right and yet so wrong?
How did I feel so much peace one second and then feel like everything was wrong the next?
Panic creeps into my chest, tightening my muscles with each breath I take.
Dr. Ward warned me that sudden large changes could cause more anxiety and panic, something about how it’d reminded me of my parents abandoning me. Their haphazard choices left a lasting scar.
It’s called anxiety, and we’re learning to become friends.
Although I want to focus on the tingle in my lips, my body starts its meltdown process instead.
My heart races as my body trembles. I lean over and turn on the sound machine on my nightstand. Calming wave noises fill the room. I lay back down and start my focusing exercises, noting the feel of the sheets, my pillowcase, and all the other things I can think of.
The trembling subsides, and my heart rate slows. I match my breathing with the rhythmic crashing of waves. My eyelids close, and before I know it, my mind is floating away, the feel of Mateo’s lips on mine my last memory as I drift off to sleep.
Chapter 16
