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“I know. It’s wild, isn’t it?” She laughed and shook her head. “I spent a lot of time imagining my wedding and it never included getting married by a stripper in a priest’s costume.”
“Mine did,” I said, straight-faced. “It’s all I ever wanted as a young boy growing up on a Christmas tree farm.”
For a second it looked like she believed me, and then she shook her head. “Hardy-har.”
“Let me guess. You wanted a pink wedding gown and Baby Girl as the ring bearer?”
Cujo lifted her head from the pillow and growled at the mention of her name.
“Yes!” she said, like I’d read her mind. “I wanted an orchestra playing ‘I Think I Wanna Marry You.’”
“By Bruno Mars?” I asked.
“Yeah, but slowed down and all instrumental. So romantic. And I wanted, like…” she spread her arms out wide. “Thousands of white roses.”
“And instead you got a plastic ring and—”
“’Sweet Child O’ Mine.’”
I winced. “Did I pick that out? I had a real thing for Guns N’ Roses when I was a teenager.”
“You did. It’s a real popular stripper song.”
I put my head in my hands, and she laughed and patted my shoulder. “It was pure Vegas, baby.”
“Do you remember the proposal?” I asked her, searching back through the tequila-soaked memories and coming up blank.
“You don’t?”
I shook my head. The proposal. The ceremony. I didn’t remember any of it. “It must have been good, though,” I said, looking at this beautiful woman at my kitchen island. “If it convinced a woman like you to marry a guy like me.”
“I am a catch.”
“Completely out of my league,” I agreed. “I honestly don’t know what you were thinking.”
“Well, tequila was doing most of the thinking, ”she said and set down her fork. “And I liked your smile.”
“It’s the dimples.”
“No,” she said and reached over and touched my face, the corner of my mouth. And I sat up straight like I’d been hit with lightning. “I liked how when you smiled, you smiled with your eyes.”
Her touch on my skin was profound, and all the desire I’d been squashing down since she arrived, through the conversation about our apparent sex tape and watching her eyes glitter as she flirted with me, wineglass in hand—it roared through me. Uncontrollable.
And nothing ever in my life was outside of my control. Except this woman. I put my hand over hers against my face, pressing her palm against my skin. I felt her shuddering breath and I knew she felt the same way.
Her eyes were wide, startled but not scared. Not…uninterested.
“I want to kiss you,” I said.
“Of course, you do,” she whispered, trying to flirt. Trying to tease. But I was rattled and so was she. “I’m very kissable.”
“Lexie.”
“It’s a bad idea and you know it, Ethan.”
“I don’t know that.” It seemed perfect to me. “I want you, Lexie. And you want me. And what else?” I pretended to think. “That’s right, we’re married.”
She pulled her hand free and stepped away. The moment over. And maybe I was the only one feeling this chemistry. She was probably used to men trying to fuck her.
So why did she marry me?
“Where am I sleeping?” she asked.
With me, I wanted to say. My bed. My bedroom.
But I knew that was rushing things.
“I have a guest room upstairs,” I said, feeling the profound loss of something I’d never been aware of having. “There’s a bathroom too. Clean sheets and towels. I can take—”
“I’m fine, Ethan. Thank you. Dinner was delicious.”
She grabbed her purse and her wheelie bag and made her way up the staircase. Baby Girl jumped off the couch and followed her, ribbons and fur bouncing.
“Lexie,” I said, feeling again like I’d managed to say and do all the wrong things. When that wasn’t my goal at all. “All I remembered from that night was having fun.”
“We did have fun,” she said. “A lot of it.”
“What do you remember?”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Everything,” she said a little sadly. “I remember everything.”
10
Lexie
I’d rented a car from the airport when I came in yesterday, but it had snowed overnight and we stepped out his front door into a magical winter snowglobe. The pine trees were blanketed in snow, there were drifts of it on the bushes and sidewalks. Big fat flakes were still coming down and I tilted my head back and opened my mouth. Trying to catch snowflakes on my tongue, but they kept falling in my eyes.
This looked easier in the movies.
“What are you doing?” Ethan asked.
“Having a moment with the snow. Isn’t this what you’re supposed to do?”
“No.”
“Cut me some slack. I’m from a desert.”
“Good point. I’ll drive you to work. I don’t like the tires on that car.”
“They’re tires,” I said, shivering in my pink trench coat with the big coat over it. Ethan had put a knit cap on my head and handed me some mittens that were the ugliest things I’d ever seen but were very warm. It seemed in Colorado winter fashion was second to warmth and I could not support such a thing. “What’s not to trust?”
