“Hey, don’t—”
“Maybe it’s because we’re having an extended sleepover and my brain wasn’t ready to see you shirtless and tatted while watching you do lumberjack cosplay.”
“Lumberjack cosplay?”
“Or hear you talk about having a fake wife when you never talk about who you’re dating.”
“No one, and you know that,” he says lowly. I keep that detail tucked away for later because I’m unable to put the brakes on my rant.
Although I really wish I could, given what I reveal next.
“You know what? It probably is all my fault,” I say, nodding. “How were you supposed to know that the very specific combo of buying me freshly baked cookies followed by chopping wood would send me into a tizzy? It’s not like you’re aware I haven’t had sex in years or that the only way I’m ever able experience an orgasm is with a rechargeable little toy that I didn’t realize I should have packed in my toiletry bag for survival in the wilderness after leaving my ex-fiancé at the altar,” I say all on one breath, leaving myself gasping for air.
The tiny person in my brain who is responsible for drafting all of my coherent thoughts must be off on holiday, because a moment too late, I realize what I’ve said and slap a hand across my mouth as I shut my eyes tightly.
I wait for it.
The shock or confusion that’s sure to come.
I count my breaths and wait for the pity.
Instead, I jolt at the sound of Luke’s stool scraping across the hardwood floor. His measured steps are silent in his socked feet. His warm hands on my shoulders gently turn me to face him.
I sigh as I drop my hand and open my eyes, resigned to face the inevitable, but I’m taken aback by the look on Luke’s face.
Pure and unfiltered anger.
My wide-eyed gaze must clue him in to how he must look, since he reels it in significantly. Then, in a soft voice, he says, “You’re going to have to explain this to me. Because I can’t for the life of me understand how you were engaged for a year andlivingtogether and never—”
“It’s not because I didn’t want to,” I start, seeing a flash of something on his face before he schools his features again. “I’m not a virgin or saving myself for marriage, but he said that it would make more sense to wait until we were hitched since he was running his campaign on “family values” and didn’t want to feel like a hypocrite. So he gave me my own room in our apartment and said we would have a shorter engagement. I guess I went along with it and we never… well, yeah,” I say, ashamed of my naivety.
“That sounds like a crock of shit to me. Because if I—” He stops short as he grits his teeth.
“If you what?” I push. If I’m going to lay it all out there for him to see, he’s going to have to stop filtering himself around me as well.
He shakes his head. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you not being treated the way you should have for far too long. Not feeling cherished, appreciated.” He hesitates slightly. “Pleasured.”
I suck in a shallow breath at the sound of that word from his mouth. My eyes dip, chasing the view as well when his hands squeeze my shoulders and my attention is brought back up to the set of baby blues that seem to have taken on a darker hue.
“Pleasured. Well, I um…” I clear my throat and take a reluctant step back. “That’s going to be a task for me since I can’t, uh…” I scratch behind my ear as I shake my head slightly. “I don’t even know how we got here. We were talking about my cooking, right? Must be the ciders. How much alcohol is in these things anyway? Must be going straight to my head.”
He crosses his thick arms over his wide chest, looking none too impressed. “Not even 3 percent. Everyone knows you have a low tolerance for alcohol, and I didn’t want you to have to deal with hangovers on top of everything else on your plate. So if you don’t want to talk about this, then tell me it’s none of my business. Because we’ve never bullshitted one another before, so we aren’t going to start now that the truth is being laid out.”
I bite my lip at his tone, and his eyes seem to lose the same battle mine did a few moments ago when they dip to my mouth.
“Luke,” I hedge, not knowing how to respond.
“Daisy, did—did you love him?” he asks, voice cautious.
I drop my head. This isn’t the first time I’ve been asked this question, and the fact that it needs to be asked at all is telling. But I’ve always had my answer ready and practiced for those around me who clearly had their doubts.
I think back to that night a few months ago during Isabella and Luisa’s bachelorette party, when my loved ones tried to ask me the very same question.
“Everything okay, Daisy?” Nick asks, worried.
My head snaps up. I scan our small crew while putting my fake smile back on display. “Yep. Just thought it was normal for couples to be a bit off before getting married. Only finding their footing later on like you guys did. But it seems like you guys were playing a completely different game from the one I pictured.” I force a laugh.
Luisa’s fingers tap on the table a few times before she stops and straightens in Nick’s lap. “Daisy, you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to. But…” She looks around the table, meeting everyone’s eye before settling on mine. “Why are you marrying him?”
