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I’m not the kind of woman to devote myself to being what society would considera good wife.I don’t even know what that means. In my younger days, I was so opposed to marriage. The idea of devoting my life to one relationship seemed irrational and daunting. How could I promise one person that I would loveonlythem for the rest of my life? How on earth could anyone make that promise? Like we can see the future. Like any of us knows what’s waiting around the corner.
But then I met Hunter Scott.
Hunter makes loving him easy. He worships me, makes me better in every way, encourages me, inspires me, and makes me fall in love with him a little more each day.
So, naturally, I want him to feel that same radiating happiness he makes me feel, but I can tell by the way he’s twisting the wedding ring on his finger and chewing on his lower lip as he stares down at the red wine in his glass that something is up.
“Should we have invited him?” I ask.
His gaze dances up to mine. “No. It’s our anniversary. He understands. Plus, I’m sure he’s already shacking up with someone at the rental right now.”
I swallow down the unsettling feeling that image brings. Drake is a grown man, single and gorgeous. He can do whatever he wants. But is he really going to screw his way through our cross-country road trip? I’m sure it doesn’t help that we are touring four different sex clubs on our business trip-slash-mini-vacation. I feel like we’re taking our little boy to Disneyland.
An image of Drake in a hat with black mouse ears and his name embroidered on the back makes me giggle.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh nothing. Just wondering why we brought Drake, of all people, on this trip. There’s a good chance we will lose him somewhere along the way.”
“He always does this on our vacations,” he replies with a laugh.
“We should know by now not to share a rental with him,” I reply playfully.
“We really should.” His fingers squeeze mine.
“You know…we should have brought him to dinner. Since he was there the day we met.”
“Was he?” Hunter replies. “I only remember you.”
I roll my eyes as I try to hide my blush. “Stop.”
“No. Isabel, that was the best day of my life—the first of many. Seeing you on your way to the library, carrying that stack of books while your glasses started to slip down your nose.” He’s smiling, and it’s infectious.
“You’re mocking me,” I reply.
“No, I’m not. I remember the exact thought that went through my head at that moment.”
“Was it ‘who still goes to the library?’”
“No. It was… ‘I wish I could get a girl like that.’”
Leaning forward, I meet him halfway before our lips meet. “And somehow you got a girl like that.”
When he sits back again, he’s wearing another serious expression. “Because I changed.”
“No,” I argue. “Because I love you unconditionally.”
He fidgets with the sleeves of his shirt, tugging them down as a habit to hide his tattoos. They crawl all the way up his arm from his wrist to his neckline. My husband seems to think that making certain choices from sixteen to twenty-three makes him undeserving of love. And I see the self-consciousness.
When I met him, I was a doe-eyed seventeen-year-old virgin. He was a twenty-three-year-old tattoo-covered criminal who did what he had to, to survive. We came from two different sides of town, two different worlds, two different paths. But those paths became one, and although our histories were different, our futures were the same.
Suddenly, Hunter was everywhere I turned. Afraid he would scare me, it took him months to gather up the courage to even talk to me. He figured out pretty fast that I could be found at the public library at least three days a week. And when he finally did approach me, he was so nervous, I could see him trembling. It was adorable.
But Hunter never scared me. Even with the tattoos and the reputation, there was a soft kindness in his eyes. The truth was…I saw him long before he saw me.
Ironically, I always told myself—I could never get a guy like him.
“I love you,” I mumble softly as I rest my elbow on the table, placing my chin in my hand like a lovestruck teenager. In some ways, I guess I still am.
