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Fuck it.
I toss back the shot and revel in the burn that coats my throat, down to my stomach, and pushes away all the helplessness, the shame, the pain.
This is nothing more than I deserve.
I have nothing.
PartTwo
ALMOST SIX YEARS LATER…
Chapter Forty-three
JIMMY
The California sun beams through the large window, and I slowly open my eyes. I lie there half asleep for a minute until a small hand wraps around my waist. The light catches on her diamond, casting a light show on the ceiling. I roll over to chestnut-colored hair sprawled over the pillow, her eyes still closed.
Six years and some mornings when I first wake, I still expect to find Lilah and her bright blue eyes staring back at me. Like those people who lose a limb and say they still feel it years later. That’s what removing Lilah from my life feels like—losing a piece of me.
So even though I’m a shit fiancé, I resolve my guilt by telling myself that I’m not to blame. Eighteen months with Adelaide can't instantly erase the half of a lifetime I spent with Lilah.
“Morning.” I rub her shoulder.
Her mouth forms a small smile, but her eyes remain shut. “Morning.” Her voice is rough from a sound night's sleep.
“What do you have on your schedule for today?” I guarantee something wedding related. It always is.
Ever since we got engaged, the laid-back, easygoing, take-it-as-it-comes-and-don’t-stress-the-small-stuff woman I proposed to, has been swallowed up by the hyper-focused perfectionist lying beside me. I hope it’s a temporary change, but what would I know? I’m a guy. We’re just told what to wear and when to show up. Women man the reins and make sure the whole day is pulled off without a hitch. And when you’re A-list celebrities like the two of us, the pressure of perfection is greater.
Adelaide opens her eyes, her content gaze meeting mine. “I have to meet with the wedding coordinator about the flowers. Then I’m having lunch with some of the girls. How about you?”
“I’ve got a call scheduled with Keane around lunch to talk about what’s next for me. I’ll probably work out after that. Why don’t I make us dinner?”
“That would be great.” She places a chaste kiss on my lips.
“Anything in particular you feel like having?” I ask as she rolls over and sits on the edge of the bed.
“Yes, a leaf of lettuce. I have to fit into my wedding dress.”
I scoot up the bed to rest my back against the headboard. “You look fine. Quit with that shit.”
She looks over her shoulder, rolling her eyes. “Says the guy who can eat almost anything and keep a killer bod.” She stretches her arms over her head and stands, heading into the ensuite.
“You have a killer bod. And why isn’t my opinion the only one that matters?”
“Because our wedding picture will be plastered over every magazine and tabloid for years to come. Every time they make up a story about us having problems or ‘is she pregnant,’ they’ll post a picture from our wedding. And I for one want to look good.”
Thankfully, she’s in the bathroom, otherwise she’d see me rolling my eyes.
“Fine, whatever. Eat like a rabbit.”
I roll over and stand from the bed, adjusting my morning wood in my boxers. My dick begs for some action, but my fiancée doesn’t enjoy morning sex. Regardless, her mind is on the wedding twenty-four seven, not on getting me off.
I leave the master bedroom and head down the hall to the other bathroom to relieve myself. I cannot wait to put all this wedding nonsense behind us and start our lives.
In my opinion, which counts for nothing as far as this wedding goes, the wedding is one day—everything that comes after that is what really counts.
* * *
