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Chapter 1
Grace
G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S…I can’t get the lyrics to Fergie’s song out of my head. For the first time since my honeymoon, I am flying first class, and the irony of that is not lost on me. I stare down at the rings on my finger, and their weight is debilitating.
Why didn’t I leave them at home?
As men walk past me, they barely give me a second glance. Although, it’s probably wishful thinking that the matrimonial symbol on my finger is the reason why.
I let myself go. I got comfortable. That’s why Steven strayed.
I close my eyes and breathe. I am not thinking about that this weekend. I have three days to enjoy the sun. To sit on the beach, sip a cocktail, and read a book. Okay, maybe it’s more likely that I’ll spend the time crying myself to sleep, but at least I’ll go home with a tan.
Steven had been so calculated last week when he told me he wanted a divorce.
“Excuse me,” a voice interrupts my memories. I look up and find the most delicious whiskey-colored eyes I’ve ever seen. His voice is as smooth as the drink. “I’m in the window seat. Unless, of course, you want it,” he says, motioning to the space I’m currently occupying.
Steven always wanted the aisle. I’d gotten so used to deferring to his wishes that I’d taken someone else’s seat. I’m pathetic. I rush to stand up and get yanked back abruptly because I’m strapped in. “Shoot, I’m sorry.”
The man’s eyes soften, and he holds up his hands. “It’s fine. Honestly, I like the aisle, but you may have picked it for a reason. Whatever you prefer?”
His lips tip up in a kind smile, and I almost cry.
I almost cry because someone is being nice to me. A complete stranger is being nicer to me than my own husband.
See? Pathetic.
“You can take the aisle,” I offer.
He smiles brightly and begins to get situated. My rings beckon to me again.
Girl, slip us off. There is a hot man sitting next to you.
I roll my eyes at my inner dialogue but feel my fingers twisting the diamonds to face down. My inner dialogue is a ho and apparently my body’s listening.
“Traveling for business or pleasure?” my seatmate asks.
Oh, we’ve got a talkative one.
Truthfully, I’m not sure this trip could be categorized as either. My boss saw that I was hitting a wall and told me to take the weekend off. “All-expenses-paid trip to the Keys with Steven. You both deserve it.”
I couldn’t very well tell her that my husband had left me last week. As a dating coach and matchmaker for the rich and famous, I don’t exactly want to broadcast that I can’t keep my own husband happy. I had asked for a ridiculous arrangement to stay with Steven until I get my promotion. Until I become partner in the firm—which I am one project away from—we’ll keep up the appearance of being married. I can swallow my pride for my career, considering it’s the only thing I have left.
I bite my lip. “Pleasure. You?”
A dimple pops out as he smiles even brighter. “Me too.” He lifts his hand and motions to the flight attendant. “Two champagnes, please.” He doesn’t say it as if it’s a request. There is an air about him, a way he carries himself that says he’s going to get what he wants.
In all honesty, it’s hot.
While he’s facing the flight attendant, I slip the rings off my finger and into my pocket. I’m a hussy. Or at least that’s how I feel. We’ve been separated for a week and already I’m looking at another man like he’s a snack.
No, you are not a hussy. Your husband is a hussy.He didn’t even wait for you to separate.
I breathe and tell my mind to stop arguing with itself. This is getting ridiculous. When Whiskey Eyes turns to hand me a glass, I try to plaster on some semblance of a smile. I feel like I’m showing too many teeth. God, I’m bad at this.
This being communicating with another human. It’s not like he’s actually flirting with me. He probably just feels bad for the poor divorcée in 1A who looks like she needs to get drunk to survive.
“Thank you,” I mumble before he clinks my glass and takes a sip, his eyes never leaving mine.
