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Silence settled between us. It wasn’t awkward, but I still had a desire to fill it with anything to keep my mind from tripping over all thewhat ifscenarios it was coming up with. Problem was, those same topics were the only ones I could think of.
I thanked Hunter for breakfast and headed to the shelter. Deconstruction turned to scheduling more appointments, turned to making the budget work with fresh damage found under the carpet.
When my phone buzzed with a new text, I realized it was after eight at night. No wonder my eyes were dry and my neck ached.
You all right?The message was from Hunter.
New guilt. I should be much better at processing it, based on the last week.I’m fine. Just lost track of time. I’m sorry if I made you worry.
It’s okay, as long as you are.
I am,I wrote.I’m not sure when I’ll be home, though. It was both nice and a new kind of stress having someone at home waiting for me.
I got home a little before midnight. Tomorrow was going to be a long day. Hunter’s bedroom door was closed, but he’d left a lamp on for me in the living room.
Sleep sucked that night, and I didn’t hit that sweet, deep-slumber part until right before my alarm went off. I hitsnoozefar more times than I should have, and panic mingled with the lingering traces of bad dreams as I got ready.
As I was stepping into the shower, my reflection caught my attention and I spun. The person who stared back had dark circles under a glare of accusation. The Violet in the mirror almost screamed with accusation.
I shoved the self-loathing down and finished as quickly as I could.
Hunter was in the kitchen—at least something was pleasant about my morning. “I wasn’t sure if I should wake you.” His voice was kind. “This will have to do instead.” He handed me a coffee to go.
The simple kindness clawed at my throat and tears pricked my eyes. Was I really getting emotional over coffee? I forced a smile. “Thank you.”
“I can tell it’s a bad time to ask, but you’ll be more upset if I don’t.”
My insides clenched. “What’s up?”
“Are you still up for the fundraiser tonight?”
I forced out a laugh, but I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten. The reminder was in my calendar that I hadn’t had time to check this morning, and I hated that the event slipped my mind. Those stupid, useless tears were threatening again. Goddess, I needed sleep.
“Of course.” I smiled too brightly. Faking it for strangers would be a lot easier than with our friends.
I made it through the day thanks to heavy doses of caffeine and sugar, but I was ready to crash when I got home. It would have to wait. A new dress hung on the back of my bedroom door. Nothing as elegant as I’d worn in Vegas, but it was still stunning.
If I were less tired, I might be amused that Hunter and Ramsey were better at picking dresses for me than I was.
Events like this—fundraisers for whatever candidate Ramsey or his family was schmoozing at the time—had always been my least favorite part of dating him.
I doubted that being at one tonight, watching him from across the room as he smiled and laughed and flitted from person to person, would make the evening any better.
The instant we stepped from the car in front of the country club, even as the valet was pulling away, Hunter was by my side, offering his arm. I hooked my hand in the crook of his elbow, and he covered it with a long, tender kiss on the lips.
It may have been for show, but it felt natural.
When we stepped inside, Ramsey was the first person I spotted. The way Hunter’s hand tightened over mine, I suspected I wasn’t the only one. He leaned in close, mouth near my ear. “You got this?”
I nodded, fake smile in place as if he’d just whispered the sweetest thing.
So many people congratulated us that I lost count. I smiled through every guy with a version ofyou got yourself a real lookerand every woman sayingso sad you’re off the market nowimaginable.
As soon as anyone turned away, it was a different story. I’d learned a long time ago that listening to the background chatter at these things was toxic at best. Tonight it was impossible to ignore the murmurs.
Do you think it’s real?
It won’t last.
