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“I think there’s only one thing left to do,” Clementine says, bringing a bite of mashed potatoes up to her lips. “I just need a dress.”
“I’ll go with you to pick one out,” I tell her, not wanting her to be alone until that ring is on her finger and we are legally married.
“Well, isn’t it bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her dress before the wedding?” Clementine asks.
“I think in this case it doesn’t really matter. It’s not like this is a real marriage anyway,” Dean blurts out.
I silently beg him to shut his fucking mouth, because if anything isn’t real about this marriage, I don’t know how I’ll be able to survive the next year.
“Right,” Clementine says with a nervous laugh.
I place my hand over hers again. “I’d like to still come with you to make sure everything’s ok. I don’t have to see the dress.” I give her a small smile, hoping to ease the tension Dean created in the room.
Dean raises a brow in my direction, but he doesn’t say a word.
After dinner, Clementine heads off to her room to sleep, and Dean and I convene in the study with some Prichard’s double-barreled bourbon and a pack of Cuban cigars.
“Don’t tell me you’re starting to develop feelings for her,” Dean says the minute I take my first sip of alcohol.
“I am. Is that so wrong? Maybe my grandfather saw something I didn’t.”
Dean uses the cigar cutter to cut off the cap of his Cohiba, before lighting the foot end. “It’s not wrong, but are you sure about this?”
I shake my head, lighting my own cigar in the process, stepping out onto the small patio off the end of the study. “I don’t know what’s going on anymore. I never wanted to get married, or be a stepfather. But, now with Clementine…” I pause. “I know I want her. I know I can’t stop thinking about her. I don’t know what it means.”
Dean follows me through the double french doors. “I think it means you’re in love.”
My heart skips a beat, or else it completely stops. I’m not sure. No, I’m not in love. Never been in love. Never plan on being in love. “I don’t think that’s it. I’m just a little consumed by her.”
“Love,” Dean says, taking a drag of his cigar.
“No.” That can’t be the answer. It just can’t be.
Sure, being around Clementine is pretty much the only thing I want to do right now, but it has to be a phase.
I’ve just never met anyone else like her. It’s the infatuation of having a shiny new object around—that has to be it.
But, then I remember being in the shower with her this morning. Feeling her, kissing her, touching her like a man who loves a woman touches. Is it the craziest thing in the world for a man like me to fall in love?
It is. No more talk about this love stuff.
I finish up with Dean, saying goodnight and head off to my room to get a good night’s sleep. When I open the door, Clementine’s fast asleep in my bed. I walk to the edge of the mattress and watch her.
Her eyes flutter a little as she sleeps, something I’ve never noticed before. I smooth away her hair from her eyes, and sigh. This woman will be the death of me.
“Gabriel,” she breathes out, her eyes opening just a smidgen, “is that you?”
“Yes.” I remove my tie, and then unbutton my shirt as she slowly wakes. “I’m here.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“You don’t need to explain.” I flip off the bedside table lamp, letting the only light in the room come from the moonlight streaming in through the windows. “You don’t ever have to explain anything to me.” I lift the covers, sliding in next to her.
She snuggles up next to me, her head nestled in the crook of my arm. It feels right. “I’m nervous.”
“You have nothing to worry about.” I would never let anyone touch her. “I’m here to take care of you.”
She lifts her head, resting on her elbow, her eyes gazing into mine. “I know. I think that’s why your grandfather wanted you to marry me. To take care of us.”
