He blinked. Waited. Still on one knee, but a bead of sweat now rolled down the side of his face.
“It might be better if you …” I gestured weakly to the chair where he had earlier sat and ate half his pasta because he was going low carb.
The moment stretched painfully; after what seemed like an age, he hauled himself upright and took a seat, placing the ring box on the table.
“There’s only one way to say this … I’m already married.”
“You’re …” He looked understandably confused. “Married?”
“Yes, it happened in Vegas about a month before I met you, but I only found out about it recently. I’ve been trying to get it annulled. It was an accident. A huge mistake. And I have to get a lawyer involved to handle the paperwork.”
It was a lot, so he took a moment to process it.
Finally, he asked, “How did this happen?”
“How else? Alcohol. A mass wedding of Elvises and Marilyns. Me thinking it was a joke. And him, too. He didn’t realize until he came across the marriage certificate not long ago and reached out. I’m working on getting it fixed so that it never happened. I swear to you I did not know I was married when I started dating you. I would never have?—”
He held up a hand, rather imperiously. I did not enjoy that. “I was about to ask you to marry me.”
“Yes, I figured that was why you had champagne and a ring and were down on one knee. But I can’t, in all good faith, answer when my situation is in limbo. I know this must be painful to hear.”
He stood and paced a moment, hands on hips.
“Why didn’t you tell me before I opened the champagne?”
“I was trying to get it fixed and then you went out of town and?—”
“You still decided I didn’t need to know. I thought we trusted each other.”
He was right. For most of my life, a lack of trust and honesty had impacted all my relationships, especially with men. Yet here I was, unable to practice what I preached.
“We do. I screwed up here, Thad. But you know how I like to take care of things myself.”
He scoffed. “Do I ever. You wouldn’t even let me hire someone to fix that running toilet.”
“Because I wanted to learn how to do it myself and I didn’t have time until the hockey season was over.” It had been a kind gesture, but Thad often thought he knew better. Like someone else I know. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but it didn’t seem like a phone conversation.”
“So you just found out?”
“About two weeks ago.”
He looked flabbergasted. “Before my trip? Is that why you wouldn’t stay over at my place the night before I left?”
“I-I felt weird about it, as I’m technically married to someone else. Not because I have any feelings for this person. In fact, Ass-arov is being an absolute dick and?—”
“Ass-arov? Do you mean Alexei Nazarov?”
“Yes. We ran into each other in Vegas and then, this mistake happened.” Passive voice, darling. I’m not to blame.
His entire demeanor changed. It was almost as if … was my boyfriend fanboying my husband?
“You’re actually married to Alexei Nazarov?”
“Against my will! I’m trying to get out of it.”
He grabbed one of the flutes and slammed an entire glass of my signing-Riley celebratory water. “But he’s an amazing player.”
“Sure, but that doesn’t mean I want to be married to him. I’m trying to get out of it and he’s dragging his heels.”
