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Settling my hands on the ornate railing, I repeat that thought, unable to muster an ounce of genuine remorse for what I did today. Yes, I regret hurting my family and his, not to mention the tens of thousands of dollars my parents spent and will never get back. And, of course, I feel guilty for hurting Anders at the last hour instead of talking about my concerns earlier in our engagement, but do I regret not marrying him?
Not even a sliver of my heart.
“Thank you.” The words fall from my lips unbidden.
Devin’s chest skims my back as he boxes me in, placing his hands on either side of mine on the railing. When his cheek touches the crown of my head and he inhales deeply, tears prick. “Thank you for trusting me.”
We stand that way for a few minutes before his lips kiss my hair, and he retreats back into the room, leaving me to my thoughts. Thoughts that too often go back to him and our time in my car all those years ago. Through the years, in conversations with my girlfriends, I’ve come to think of my preoccupation with Devin Hawthorne as something all girls have for the boy who takes their virginity. He should remain etched in my soul. No one else will ever be my first. I shared something with him I’ll never share with anyone else.
Or rather two somethings. I return to the window, climbing back into our room. Devin’s standing with his back toward me, his hands shoved in his pockets, his head dropped forward.
“I should’ve realized it sooner.”
His head lifts, but he doesn’t turn.
“I should never have agreed to marry Anders. My heart was never his.”
Gradually, Devin swivels around, considering my confession. “And how do you know this now?”
“Because this hotshot boy I met four years ago reminded me he stole it.”
The lines around his eyes soften, his mouth curving up a fraction as his shoulders unwind. “Will you tell me what happened? How you two came to be?”
I gesture to the bed. “I’m dead on my feet. Can we lay down for this conversation?”
“Of course.”
Slipping out of our shoes, Devin and I lay facing each other, pillows propping us up.
With a deep breath, I begin, “When Anders proposed, I should have said no. It wasn’t that I didn’t love him, but we never feltright. My joy never reached that boiling-over point it should have for a woman marrying the man of her dreams. It always simmered, but I thought maybe we had a different kind of love.” Blazing fires, like what Devin and I experienced, eventually burn out. I made myself believe we were a steady ember. One that could endure the test of time. “We’d reconnected a year earlier during our Pratt family Christmas in Whitefish.”
It was a month after seeing Devin in Burlington with his girlfriend. A month of second-guessing why he never reached out to discuss what happened between us in Oregon. Why did he say the things he said outside of The Whiskey Room if he had no intention of contacting me? In retrospect, my heart was tender. Bleeding. I’d spent two years attempting to decode the puzzle that was Devin Hawthorne. Anders was the bandage I thought I needed.
“We spent the break with my family and his—snowboarding, playing late-night card games, talking. When we returned to school for the spring semester, he called. Daily.”
My stare dipping, I trace the seams of the comforter. “He kissed me during the following spring break and spent Easter with my family in Burlington. That summer, he booked us a beach trip in Texas. We were a whirlwind.” Shame colors my cheeks as I bite the inside of my lip. “By the time we were back in school in the fall, we felt endless. So endless that he proposed on the first anniversary of our reconnecting. Even though we physically didn’t have much time together because of our long distance and schooling, I said yes, thinking we’d have plenty of time to plan. There wasn’t a rush. Until there was.”
“Why?”
I raise my gaze back to Devin. “He graduated dental school last spring, and an offer he hadn’t expected came through from a friend he went to school with. The guy’s grandfather owns a thriving practice in Wyoming and is handing it over to Anders’ friend. He invited Anders to work with him for a future ownership opportunity. And Anders didn’t want to settle into a new life without us being married.”
“You never even lived in the same place, Nova.” Devin resituates his elbow, shifting closer. “Did your parents not have an issue with that? Why not just live together?”
“My parents trust my judgment, and they’ve known Anders for years. They trusted him.” I rub my cheek against my pillow, my eyes drifting beyond his shoulder. “As for living together… We’re not a particularly religious family, but I don’t know. For some reason when we began seeing each other, I told Anders I wanted to wait until marriage.” Devin inhales slowly. “It was easy enough considering we didn’t spend all that much time together.”
“So it was get married or break up?”
“It sort of felt like that, yeah, but Anders never made that ultimatum. I just assumed life would work itself out, that we’d make it work.”
His stare consumes as if he’s absorbing every word I say. “And you two never…”
I shake my head, slow-blinking, as sleep weighs heavy on my eyelids.
What does it mean when a girl can’t spend two weeks with someone she just met without sleeping with him, but she won’t make love to the man she’s planning to marry?
twenty-three | devin
New Orleansin October is nothing like Vermont. And it’s certainly nothing like Montreal, which is what Nova’s jeans and sweaters were meant for. By the time we wake, everything is sticky. Thankfully, I packed workout shorts and tees, but Nova requires a stop at a clothing shop the guys in valet direct us to, where she finds a sundress among the tourist apparel and gator heads.
