I proposed with my grandmother’s ring. The bright canary diamond in the center was originally offset by a halo of peridot stones, the silver scrollwork a work of art itself due to the fact it was art deco. Cam thought Savannah was a fool to change it. He vehemently advised me to not let her change it, but I wanted her to be happy. So I let her remove the stone and set it in something she liked better.
“Still,” I say, sliding my fingers between hers. She glances down at my hand, but she doesn’t hold it. I pull it away.
I’m sure she’s just tired. It’s been a long day, but I know it’s not over yet.
Just as I settle my free hand in my lap, the limo stops. I roll the window down, taking a look at our house.
It’s been ready for two months, but my parents told me I wouldn’t get the keys until the wedding. So I could sweep Savannah up and carry her into our house, and it would be our magical moment.
It’s big, but I knew it would be. My parents wouldn’t want us to have anything less.
I’d never questioned such things. So why am I questioning it now?
I get out of the car and come around to let Savannah out. I hold my hand out and she takes it, but she doesn’t look at me. I lower our hands, squeezing hers tightly as I walk her slowly up the sidewalk, which is already landscaped with bushes and flowers I didn’t pick out.
We come to the front door, underneath the porch. I notice to my left there’s a rocking chair, with a big pillow that reads Brewer Est. 2017.
With shaky hands, I insert the key and open the door. It swings open, the inside bathed in darkness, and I can’t shake the feeling that this is all wrong.
This isn’t home
But it is our home…
I feel along the side of the wall for the lights, and flip them on before I turn to Savannah, who is tapping out a text on her phone.
“You want me to pick you up?” I ask, but she doesn’t answer. “Savannah,” I call, the annoyance in my voice more than evident.
She huffs out an exasperated sigh. “What?”
“Do you want me to pick you up?” I grit out. “You know, the threshold and all that.”
She crosses her arms. “I can walk in a door, Austen.” She bristles past me, stepping through the doorway. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
I enter the house, closing the door quietly, before turning to her. I grab the phone out of her hand and throw it across the hallway.
That gets her attention. She sucks in a breath and I take two steps toward her, imploring her gaze with my own.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Brewer,” I say, settling my hand on her neck. Her pulse is steady, even.
With my free hand, I pull her close to my body. Her hands rest on my abdomen, but they don’t move any further.
I lean in and kiss her, as I have a hundred times today. For the pictures, every time someone tapped their glass with a fork…
Those had been staged, quick, and for everyone else.
But this kiss, I want it to be for us.
For me.
My lips move slowly against hers as I test the waters, seeing how far she will let me go.
She kisses me back for the briefest moment and I take the initiative for once.
Usually I need a drink or two to take the edge off so I don’t get in my head, but I realized last night as I laid awake thinking about today, that I’ve never fucked Savannah sober.
Tonight, I plan to change that. I need us to have a fresh start. I need to know I’m not crazy.
That I’m well and truly straight, and not…notstraight.
