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"I'm not your responsibility," I mumble.
His jaw ticks. "Actually...I want to be responsible for you. Want to care for you. Thought you understood that."
But why, I want to scream. But can't. Because there's only one answer acceptable to me and my heart, and I don't think that's how he'll respond.
I chew on my bottom lip and study him. "You're so good, you know that?"
He reaches and sweeps a curl out of my face and behind my ear.
"I care about you, Kate. So much. You need to trust me, okay? I won't hurt you."
And when he looks at me like that, I swear my heart becomes so full of hope that my overactive mind convinces itself that maybe, just maybe, this is real.
Or could be, someday.
It'sthe morning of the second Monday in December, the morning that Damien and I are supposed to go to Tampa to submit our application and take our vows. We took the online class—it ended up spanning two nights because we were laughing so hard at the videos then had to stop and kiss—and we have an appointment at the court clerk.
It's our wedding day. Nervous butterflies have emigrated from my stomach into my veins, making my entire body flutter with excitement.
We've decided to make an overnight trip of it and told our families that we'll be staying in Tampa so we can have dinner and check out a pirate ship downtown. He's even reserved a room at an expensive hotel.
It's mostly true—we do have dinner reservations, and I love campy Florida tourist attractions. Damien's agreed to take some photos of me at the pirate ship. I can't wait to send them to Lauren. Maybe someday, I'll also tell her about Damien and the quickie courthouse wedding.
Only Lauren would understand. Only Lauren could keep a secret. She'd definitely approve of this little pink shift dress and the sexy nude heels I'm wearing for the occasion. I peer out the window. There's a clear azure sky, and the forecast is for eighty-degree temps.
A perfect day for our wedding. Our fake-yet-seemingly-real wedding.
I'm packing an overnight bag when Mom knocks on my bedroom door.
"Dear?"
"C'mon in, Mom."
The door swings open. I look up, and the crease between Mom's eyebrows is deep. Deeper, even, than when she told me she had cancer. My stomach seizes up.
"Is that a new caftan?" I say, pointing at her purple batik, flowy dress. Maybe she's not feeling well. She's two weeks into her chemo treatments, and although she's been vapingmedical marijuana to ease her nausea, I still worry about how she's tolerating the treatment.
She doesn't answer.
I zip my makeup bag and set it on the counter. Oh, this is bad. "You feeling okay? If you're not, I can postpone the trip. Want me to call your doctor? Or is it Beau? Did he cancel on coming over tonight?"
"No, Kate. I'm fine. Beau's coming over after his windsurfing. Damien's here."
"Oh, okay." Weird. She's always so thrilled when Damien shows up. "Thanks. Tell him I'll be right out. Are you sure you're feeling okay? I'm sure he's willing to wait while we call your doctor."
"I'm feeling okay. He's here with his mother."
I scowl. "Mrs. Hastings?"
"Yes. We wanted to talk with the two of you. I'll meet you in the kitchen."
Uh-oh. A chasm of unease opens in my chest as I pad softly out of my bedroom, trying not to make a clomping noise with my heels on our tile floor.
Damien and Mrs. Hastings are sitting at our kitchen table. His expression is uncharacteristically difficult to read. Usually, he looks smolderingly sexy, sensual, or even a bit hard, like the war-weary Marine he is. I expected him to devour me with his eyes and take a long look at my bare legs in these four-inch heels.
Today, he looks a little...lost. He doesn't even glance at my legs. Huh?
I summon a bright smile even though my gut tells me something's off.
