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But he isn't saying that.
He isn't saying anything.
My deep breath does nothing to calm me.
His expression does nothing to illuminate his feelings.
My stomach churns. It's not just Bella, you're a failure. It's also what the hell does Joel want?
I need a break from this.
I take the remote. "I'm going to watch more Harry Potter."
He nods and pulls me back into his lap.
It still feels like I'm exactly where I belong.
17
Bella
My thoughts refuse to settle.
Joel wants me.
He likes me.
He cares about my future.
But we're divorcing in less than a week.
That doesn't make any fucking sense.
I try to push my thoughts aside through Harry Potter, but they stick. Even as we dress and take his flashy sports car to the venue in Hollywood.
We're right by the walk of fame. The sidewalk with star's handprints is familiar. The white Hollywood sign is bright against the dark hills.
But here, on the street, our surroundings aren't glitz and glamour. It's dirty, and gritty, almost like a real city.
We park at an underground garage and walk three blocks to the venue.
It's a brisk night. I feel incredibly uncool in my flats, jeans, collared shirt, v-neck sweater combination, but I'm grateful for the layers.
Joel slides his arm around my waist. He holds me close as he leads me to the venue.
It's confusing how good his touch feels. The sexual part I understand.
But there's more to it.
This feels like the touch of a husband.
Or at least a guy I could see as my husband, one day.
I push the thought aside as we walk into the dark venue. It's all black with a rock and roll vibe.
The bouncer nods hello. "Hey, Joel." His eyes linger on my chest. "Who's your friend?"
Joel pulls me closer. "My wife."
