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I hid that well, fortunately.
“She will be happy,” I agreed. I dreaded telling my mother. Because she would be ecstatic. She’d jump in the car and try to make the drive down before hanging up the phone. She’d try to inject herself into my life, into Fiona’s life. Because that’s the kind of person my mother was. She was sweet, easily excited, and had a giant heart. But she was overbearing. It had caused tension in my last marriage. A lot of it.
And that had been a real marriage.
It was already going to be hard enough around our friends and the busybodies of this fucking town. The last thing we needed was my mother scaring Fiona off all the way to fucking Australia.
“Might mend some things,” Rowan continued, not gauging just how tenuously I was holding on to my shit. “This marriage.”
“That, I doubt,” I replied.
Some things couldn’t be mended.
fiona
I didn’t remember much about my wedding reception.
On account of me getting blackout drunk.
Just like I planned.
Unfortunately, I remembered getting home.
Or parts of getting home.
Namely Kip carrying me from the car to the house.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I slurred, trying weakly to struggle. But his arms were a vise, and my limbs weren’t exactly cooperating.
Kip didn’t answer. His face was tight in my porch light, something similar to the glowering he’d been doing all night. When I looked at him, that was. I tried my best not to do that.
But we had a part to play. Our best friends were in attendance at the small wedding ceremony we’d held at the bakery.
If I had to guess, my getting wasted and Kip frowning the entire time weren’t exactly convincing them.
“You’re carrying me over the threshold?” I groaned. “Lemme down.”
“Shut the fuck up,” he muttered as we stepped inside the house.
There it was, the groom carrying the bride over the threshold.
It was so ridiculous I let out a giggle. Well, it was more of a snort. Not attractive. Then again, I didn’t need to be attractive. It wasn’t like I was planning on seducing my husband on our wedding night.
Kip moved through the house, switching on lights as he went. He’d only just moved his things in the day before, when I had thankfully been working. Giving him a set of keys was physically painful, and I didn’t need to see him settling into a space that had been mine for so long.
All day yesterday I’d been convincing myself to back out, to find other options, any other option.
There was no backing out now. I was married.
I landed on my bed, and the air came out of me in a whoosh. Kip stood above me in his suit, frowning. “You need a bowl to vomit in?”
I propped myself up on my elbows, displeased with our positions and the distribution of power between us.
Originally, I had intended on standing up and going toe-to-toe with him, but the ceiling moved dangerously with the simple act of propping myself up.
“I do not need to vomit,” I assured him. “What Ineedis a… grilled cheese.”
Kip quirked his brow. “You want me to make you a grilled cheese?”
