I walk back into the house, grateful for a moment of solitude. I do what I always do when I’m alone at home. I grab my laptop, get comfortable on the couch, and catch up with industry news.
What I should be doing is researching vendors and possible locations in Arlen, but I’m too emotionally wrung out to think about the headache that will be Mom’s wedding.
I love catching up on industry news, except that today, I can’t get into it. My mind keeps wandering to Declan. Is he rethinking our marriage after all the bombs I’ve dropped on him today? He’s probably wondering what he has gotten himself into.
The thought of losing him makes my chest contract. I tell myself it’s because of my baby. I can’t have him renege on our deal before I get pregnant. All this will have been for nothing.
We haven’t spoken since I left Santa Monica at four in the afternoon. I have a feeling that Mrs. Carter has a lot of influence on him. What if she turns him against our relationship? Mr. Carter seemed removed from the whole thing as if he was in a theatre watching a play, and we were the cast. My stomach churns as I realize the impact today could have on my plans for the future.
I’ve taken to having the most ridiculous dreams. Dreams that I would die before I told anyone. I dream of living in a house by the beach with my husband and child. At first, the images of the husband and baby were blurry, but now I recognize my husband. It’s Declan.
Madness. I just have to keep reminding myself of my track record for relationships. I’m simply not good at them. I’m a workhorse. My strengths lie at work, not love. If I’m not picking an entirely unsuitable man, I’m falling in love with a cheater like the last boyfriend I had in college. Turns out I was the only one who didn’t know that he had a girlfriend in every residence hall.
I inhale deeply and muse over my current problem with Declan. I could apologize for how he found out about the divorce. But if I do that, I have to say that I planned to tell him, but the truth is that I wasn’t planning to. I’d already concluded that my past did not concern him.
The second and last option is to play it by ear. Wait for him to mention it first, and then we can take it from there.
I reach for my phone to text him:
Hi husband, how are you doing?
I wait, but his response does not come. I’m about to give up when my phone vibrates.
Hi yourself. Don’t you mean husband number two?
And I have my answer right there. He’s upset. I rub my hands against my pants to dry the sweat gathered in my palms. I keep looking at Declan’s message as if it will give me a response. After a few minutes, I finally figure out a reply:
I can explain.
His text comes back moments later:
I’m counting on that. Are you free for lunch tomorrow?
Even if I weren’t, I would clear my itinerary for this.
I am.
I hit send and sit back, feeling as if I have a date in the courtroom the following day. I’m a little excited to show Declan where I work until it hits me that I’ll have to introduce him to everyone.
Panic swells up inside me, threatening to swallow me belly-first. My employees are not just my colleagues. They’re my friends too, especially Maggie, who has been with me from the very first day when we flung the boutique doors open for business.
I owe them an explanation as to how I’ve suddenly sprouted a husband. My head pounds as a headache comes on.
***
I’m out of the office most of the morning, meeting with vendors and confirming meals and flowers and a million other details that go into having a successful wedding. I return to the office at half-past twelve, feeling stressed from the rush to get back.
I have a feeling that Declan won’t take it well if he doesn’t find me. I head straight to the washroom and try to make myself presentable. I retie my ponytail and put on a fresh coat of lipstick. When I feel more composed, I return to my office.
He hasn’t confirmed that he’ll stay at my place for the week, but I’m hoping that he will. For project baby, of course. I’ve installed a new app on my phone that tracks fertility cycles, and it shows that I’m ovulating this week, meaning that the chances of project baby taking off are very high.
If Declan does stay, I won’t be callous about it this time. I’ll work from home for the rest of the afternoon and evening.
The moment that Declan enters my office, I know it. Don’t ask me how but my breathing escalates, and my heart beats faster. I hear voices from the open offices at the front before a knock comes on the door, and Kimberly peers in.
She wears a puzzled look. “A gentleman who claims to be your husband says he has an appointment with you. I think he’s a nut case.”
I shake my head. “He’s right. He is my husband.”
Her eyes almost pop out of her head. She moves to the side, and Declan strolls in.
All air leaves my lungs as I take in his casual but sexy look. Declan has the kind of looks and body that you cannot miss. First of all, he has confidence in spades, but there’s also the way his shoulders fill out his shirts, and when he gives me a dimpled smile, it sets my fantasies ablaze. His presence seems to take up all the free space in my large office.
“Declan.” I stand up and go around my desk.
He takes me into his arms briefly and kisses me. Hope soars in my chest. If he had plans to back out
