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“Nowthat’sa show I’d pay to see.”
He flips me off but there’s a slight smile that accompanies it. “Josie left me a few messages to check I was okay too.”
“As she should,” I say.
“I’m nervous as hell.”
“How many times have you done this show?”
“Uh …” He stares at the wall, eyes squinted. “Like … ten, I think?”
“And with rehearsals?”
“I dunno, a lot more than that.”
“And how many times have you fallen into the backdrop and puked on the stage?”
“Okay, okay. So the odds are on my side. I get it.”
“You’re incredibly lucky to be marrying such a smart man.”
This time he takes a moment to run his eyes over my body, and I helpfully kick off the sheets so he has an unobstructed view. “Fuck me.”
“Already did.”
“I still have no idea how the hell we got into this mess, but I don’t regret it.”
“Good. Because if I have it my way, we’ll be in this mess for a very long time.” The words are hard to get out, because as much as we might talk about attraction, and support each other through our family shit, we never specifically mention feelings. As in, the feelings I’m having for him; as in, the feelings that are making it harder and harder for me towantto go through with this marriage. Which is stupid and dumb and completely irrational. Giving up helping a lot of people because I think I’m a little bit smitten with this ridiculous human would be the epitome of selfish.
I know Ican’tdo it.
But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to.
Christian shifts around, back to me, face barely in profile. I watch the way his tongue swipes his lips before he reaches up and gives his nose ring a tug. “Yeah, well, I hear planning weddings can take a while.”
Not the response I was hoping for, but what the hell else could I have expected? For him to confess feelings for me? For him to talk about forevers like this is some damn fairy tale? I can’t forget that I’m paying him to be here, and even though we slip occasionally and have incredible sex, he’s still cagey when it comes to actually talking about it all. About what this means for us.
If he’s still firmly in our agreement, I wish he’d tell me, but since he hasn’t said anything else, I have to go on continuing to assume that’s the case.
Christian leaves me with my thoughts while he showers and gets ready, and it’s not until he’s finished messing about with his hair that I climb out of his bed and dress too. I’ll head home for a shower before heading to his show, and then I can take him out for dinner after.
I don’t mention my plans because I don’t want to put that pressure on him, but in a way, I’m not even solely doing it for him. The thought of something like yesterday happening again, and me not being there to comfort him, is too much.
I need to be close.
I need him to know I’m his biggest supporter.
And, sure, he’s got his friends, who know him a hell of a lot better than I do, but I want to bemore.
Everything.
The one person in this entire world who’s his. Who he doesn’t need to worry about leaving him. Who he knows he can always count on.
Christian deserves it.
His phone chimes and he reaches for it, taking a moment to read whatever message has come through. When he looks up again, his face is white.
“What’s wrong?”
