Page 45 of Let Me Keep You

“Surely, that’s not enough time to figure out all the details. The decorations, the flowers, the invites, my dress.”

“Sweetheart…” His voice lowers as he spins me around and tilts my chin. “That’s why I hired a wedding planner. Let her worry about it. Just tell her what you want, and she’ll get it for you. There’s no budget when it comes to giving my bride what she wants.”

What I want is not to rush into walking down the aisle. I thought I had at least seven more months to prepare. My father loves Robert and the idea of us getting married so much he lights up anytime it’s mentioned. I know Daddy wants the absolute best for me, and I want nothing more than to make him proud.

I inhale a deep breath. “Can I think about it?”

“Sure, dear. But not too long because I need to tell Winnie.”

I smile as he kisses my cheek. “I won’t.”

After Robert walks out of the kitchen, I finish rinsing the other dishes, then load the dishwasher. I try to imagine myself living here and this being my home. I’d cook, clean, and raise our beautiful kids while trying to be the perfect wife for Robert.

Right now, it’s decorated for a man, not a family. It’s clean and modern, but it doesn’t feel lived-in. Certainly not like my cottage where I have pictures, candles, and throw pillows scattered on the furniture. He hired an interior designer after he built this house but never added any personality to it.

If we get married in three months, everything will change. I’ve barely wrapped my head around the date we set for next year and pushing it up sounds more stressful than waiting. Robert’s kind, and it’s obvious he has my best interests at heart. And while I love him, I’ve also been questioning if I’m in love with him. Though I’ve dated in the past, Robert was the first serious relationship I’ve had and the first guy I told I loved after Tyler left. I have strong feelings for him, and I care, but I wonder if that’s enough.

How do you know if what you’re feeling is love, lust, or infatuation?

Can you ever know for sure?

After I finished getting ready, I sent Katie a text to see if she could hang out—or rather, talk me off the ledge— and she was all for it. I stopped by the liquor store for margarita ingredients, then made my way there.

“Hey!” she greets as she whips open the door, then pulls me in for a hug. “You look so cute.”

“So do you, sexy mama.” I step inside and follow her to the kitchen. “I brought the goods.”

“Thank God, because honestly, I’m at my wits’ end. If I don’t drink some tequila, I might lose my shit.” She plugs in the blender and grabs the ice while I unload the bags.

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Owen,” she says flatly. “He’s been acting out more than usual, and by the time I pick him up from my parents’ after work, I’m exhausted, and he’s found his second wind.”

“Why do you think he’s acting out?” I pour the margarita mix and tequila into the blender.

“Well, I imagine it’s preteen hormones.”

“Already? He’s only nine.”

“I think so. He’s asked about his daddy since he was four. However, I get the feeling he’s bitter or envious he doesn’t have one and his friends do. He’s at that age where he needs a father figure, and nothing I say or do is good enough.”

“Oh no.” I frown.

After Gabe, her husband and my cousin, died and my brother, Noah, went to prison for the accidental homicide, her entire world was rocked. So was ours.

That was almost ten years ago, and she’s still picking up the pieces. Owen wasn’t born yet and has never met his father. Though Gabe wasn’t a great husband, I think he would’ve been an amazing father. When he wasn’t drinking, he was a fun cousin to be around and always made me laugh. I miss him at times and wonder how different our lives would be if he were still alive.

“Yeah, so welcome to my pity party.”

She starts the blender, and I grab two glasses. Once it’s done, she pours the liquid, giving us the same amount.

“Your turn.” Katie smirks, then leads me to the patio where Owen’s playing with a friend on the trampoline.

“I have nothing to complain about.” I set my drink down and settle on the lounge chair with my legs stretched out. “It’s wedding jitters, I’m sure.”

“Already?” she asks, getting comfy in the chair next to me. “I thought the date wasn’t until March.”

“Robert wants to move it to November.”