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I want her. More than alcohol or fighting or fucking one night stands. I want her. This doesn’t feel like any other addiction I’ve had. This doesn’t feel shaky or reckless or controlling. This feels warm and welcoming and calming.
I head to where she’s dancing with Oaklee. Millie whispers something in Oaklee’s ear, and Oaklee walks away so it’s just Millie and me.
We don’t speak. Millie just leans into my chest, resting her head there as her arms go around my neck, and we slow dance together even though this song is fast. For a moment, the world stops, and it’s just her and me.
Our hearts beat together, our hips sway in unison, our bodies become one. Too many feelings flood through me, feelings that I can’t name. Feelings I shouldn’t feel for a woman who I was only supposed to stay married to for six months. We are still at the beginning of our time together, but when you have such a short amount of time with someone, every moment feels too short.
I know that time is going to move too quickly, so I try to soak up every second I can with Millie. I try to remember it all. No matter how my heart is shifting, I know I’m not husband material. I’m too broken. One slip would destroy us.
“I’m scared,” Millie whispers into my chest.
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. She can’t say what she’s feeling either, but her words tell me she’s scared of what we are feeling—scared of the pain that we could inflict upon each other.
“Me too.” I kiss her hair, wishing I had the words to comfort her. I do work healing people, helping them recover from their addictions, but I don’t have any words that can comfort her.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I need Millie a second,” Oaklee says, tapping me on the shoulder.
Every muscle in my body is screaming to hold onto Millie and never let her go, but reluctantly, I run my hands down her arms until only our fingertips are touching, and then I let her go.
I watch as Millie and Oaklee head toward the bathroom until they are out of sight. Then I head back to where our group is, but Kade corners me before I make it back.
“Did she sign the prenup yet?” Kade asks.
“I don’t give a damn about the prenup. I don’t need her to sign it. We aren’t getting divorced, so it doesn’t matter anyway.” My words aren’t true, but what I mean is that Millie won’t take half my money. She doesn’t care about my money.
“Sebastian, I’m just trying to protect you. She needs to sign the prenup. I saw your little spat earlier. You may not plan on getting divorced, but it could still happen. Even the best of marriages, couples who are deeply in love still end up divorced. Love isn’t always enough.”
I push past him, the anxious desire to quell my anger returning. I head toward the bar as old habits take over and sit down at the bar. I won’t actually order any alcohol, but I think this was a mistake—all of it.
I can’t pretend we’re together.
I can’t pretend we’re fighting.
I can’t pretend anything with Millie.
But what can I offer her?
“What can I get you?” the man behind the bar asks me.
“Club soda.”
He nods and then returns a moment later with my drink. When I grab the glass, I realize how much I feel like smashing the glass. I have pent up anger about Boden. About Kade. And even Millie. I don’t know how I’m going to survive five more months. Five more months when I know this is all going to end.
I glance over my shoulder, hoping that Oaklee is no longer in need of Millie so we can get out of here. But I spot Oaklee talking with Larkyn.
I stand from the bar, leaving my drink on the counter, and head toward Oaklee.
“Where’s Millie?” I ask her.
She frowns. “She said she was coming to find you.”
“We’ll help you find her,” Larkyn says, being able to read the tinge of electric fear zipping through me. I can’t explain the feeling, just that something doesn’t seem right.
I nod and start walking through the crowded night club. Every woman with blonde colored hair I think is her, but each face I search ends up not being her.
Did she leave without telling me?
I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial her number. It rings and rings, but no answer.
