“Indeed.”
She thinks for a moment before answering. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”
As we navigate escaping through the dressing room window, which is a sight to behold with Hayden in her sparkly, poofy dress, one thought grips my mind: Hayden calmed me down from a panic attack, a feat only my best friend has ever accomplished.
We slide into the car, most of the backseat taken up by Hayden’s gown, and I tell Lionel to head for home. The atmosphere is near silent, with only the light pants of our breaths to be heard. I side-eye Hayden to see if she’s still breathing as hard as me (making a mental note to add more cardio into my workout routines), but she is side-eyeing me too, and we simultaneously burst into laughter.
“That was…” Hayden begins through laughter.
“Something.” I finish. We laugh a little longer, then both take a few grounding breaths to mellow out. I place my elbow on the siding of the door and rest my head into my open palm. The sights of the city creep by as we drive through the crowded city, and with each moment closer to home, my stomach tightens.
I am married. To Hayden Bennett. My campaign manager. And I’m paying her to be my wife.
Sneaking another glance her way, I notice she’s in the same position as me—her elbow resting on the doorframe with her headin her hands. Is she having the same daunting realization as I am? That we are married and heading to live together?
My throat tightens, and I reach to loosen my tie, forgetting it was already undone from earlier. There’s no relief for the panic setting in, and I refuse to let Hayden see me like that again. Yes, she was comforting and helped me, but I don’t want her to see me as weak. I take deep breaths in and then let them out, focusing on the passing buildings and people.
Hayden has already broken something down within me—I enjoy her smile and her laugh, and she brought me comfort in the midst of my panic attack. She seems to understand me in a way no one else does, and it causes me to wonder if she knew my secret about my sister’s death, would she understand my pain instead of blaming me? I know I’m at fault, but what if someone other than my therapist, best friend, and mother told me that I wasn’t? That I had permission to let Ophelia go?
Would I listen?
The questions stirring within me become too overwhelming. I shut my eyes and rub my temples.
“Are you okay?” Hayden asks in a gentle, concerned voice.
I simply nod my head.
She sighs then says, “I’m here, Darcy.”
I want to believe her. Some small part of me does believe her. But Hayden has already seeped into my life in ways that I never would have imagined, and I have to throw walls back up to protect myself. I can’t let her in anymore. Everyone that gets too close leaves.
And frankly, I don’t want Hayden Bennett to do the same.
Chapter Fifteen
Hayden
“So,” I draw the word out as I rock back and forth on my heels, standing at the front door of Ophelia Estate with Darcy—my husband—by my side. My eyes are firmly planted on the golden door knobs and not on the groom dressed in a killer black tux. During the duration of the ceremony, my brain kept short-circuiting over how handsome Darcy looked—still looks. I see him in a suit everyday, but there was something about him saying covenantal marriage vows, holding my hand, sliding his grandmother’s 10-carat marquise diamond (I choked on my coffee when Ruth told me that would be the ring I was receiving) on my finger, and our lips briefly touching that sent my hormones into a tailspin. I sneak a look at him from the corner of my eye before joking, “Aren’t you supposed to carry me over the threshold or something?”
He gives me an incredulous look, rolls his eyes, then shoves the door open. Not being a complete caveman, he holds the door open for me to walk through first. I stare at him and wonder where thesoft, vulnerable, raw man that I sat on the floor in my wedding dress with went. The man who suggested ramen instead of the spread that the reception party offered. Where did he go? Why is Killjoy back?
Be patient with him, I remind myself, Ruth’s words floating through my head.
As I walk through the door, Darcy makes sure to stand as far away from me as humanly possible. I step across the threshold into my new home.
I’ve walked through this house a million times, but this time…
It doesn't feel different like I expected. This is a job, and I am only here to fulfill my newfound duties as his campaign manager.
But still, it feels like I'm supposed to be here.
Surely time will bring about the feeling of change, like I don’t belong here. Ophelia Estate isn’t truly my home.
Home is a concept that doesn’t exist for me. Until Heaven. Yes, that’s the only place I’ll completely belong.
But can I be honest? When Darcy met me halfway down the aisle and looped his arm with mine, it felt like home. It was a moment of undoubted safety and belonging.
It’s all a ruse,I remind myself.He did it for the cameras.
