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“No, thank you,” she murmurs, forcing another bite of pancake into her mouth.
“You don’t like coffee?” I ask, sipping from my own cup.
“No, it tastes terrible,” she says, scrunching up her cute little nose.
“What do you usually drink in the morning, then?” I ask, hanging on her every word.
I want to be the best husband in the world and that means learning everything that I can about my new wife.
“Usually just juice or water,” she says, popping the last bite of pancake into her mouth.
I file that info away, determined to order her juice for breakfast tomorrow. We need to figure out what we want to do during my last year in the NFL. I have a feeling that she won’t be satisfied to spend her days at my place in Boston, far away from her family, friends, job, and the only home she’s ever really had.
The idea of being separated from her doesn’t sit well with me. I guess I can fly to see her every chance I get, and I can fly her out to see me on the weekends. I’m mentally going through my game schedule for the next year as Emma shoves her plate away and pushes to her feet.
Her phone has been ringing and buzzing all morning and I know that she needs to get back to her cousin and the bachelorette weekend, but I don’t want to let her go.
Not yet, not ever.
“Happy Valentine’s Day. What do you want to do to celebrate?”
“Um…” she says, her eyes darting around the suite.
“We should go pick out your ring today,” I try again.
Emma’s eyes widen and she stills as my words hit her.
“That wasn’t a dream?” she squeaks.
My stomach sinks as I realize that Emma might have been a little drunker than I originally thought last night.
I mean, she had seemed okay to me. Maybe a little tipsy, but she was walking straight lines and talking clearly.
I freeze, too, and for the first time in my life, I don’t know how to act.
My gut tells me to put distance between me and this mess. It’s a miracle that none of the tabloids have heard about my sudden nuptials.
Distancing myself from Emma isn’t happening, though. Just the thought of putting space between me and her feels painful.
Even if I could walk away from her, we’re still going to the same small town in a few short months and I know without a doubt that my feelings for her would still be the same.
I still want to be married to her. I still want Emma to be my wife.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, swallowing hard as I step closer to her.
“For what?” she asks, her big blue eyes peering up at me.
“I thought that you were sober enough last night when I asked you to marry me, when we got married. I should have waited and done it when you hadn’t been drinking.”
Emma blushes, looking away from me.
“I’m a bit of a lightweight,” she admits and I give her a grim smile.
She seems a little nervous, a little lost, and my heart sinks.
“I know that we don’t know each other very well. Yet,” I add, meeting her wide eyes, “but I want a chance with you, Emma. There’s something about you that…I just need. I can feel it. We’re meant to be together.”
Her face would be comical if she wasn’t holding my heart and our future in her hands.
