Keep This Promise

by Willow Winters

  Of course, she wants to find out everything that’s going on between Wren and me in light of recent fuckups. However, she’s a little too on it, messaging Wren daily, for it to only be a surface-level interest.

  Felicity is invested in this way too much.

  “Are you admitting that you like her?”

  I shake my head. “What is going on with you? She’s gorgeous, and I’m not blind. But I have no desire to start anything with her.” Beyond a marriage, that is.

  “Really, Brody?”

  “Sorry if that’s not what you want to hear, if your dream of being closer to their family is crushed, but you need to get over it.”

  “I’m not seven, Brody. I can see something there. Hell, I can feel it whenever you two are in the same room.”

  “Your feeling is off. We slept together. Maybe what you’re sensing is—”

  “It’s more than that! Figure it out in your own time, by all means.” Turning back as she goes to leave, she adds, “But don’t wait until it’s too late.”

  What does that mean?

  I stare at her back with a frown. What a mindfuck.

  Wren has always been in my life. I care about her, and recently, I’ve been attracted to her. That doesn’t make a relationship. I don’t want a relationship with her or anyone else.

  I’m more than happy to be single for now.

  I’m not one of those guys who rejects something serious to fuck around until his mid-forties. I’ve just always figured that when the right woman comes along, it will be a no-brainer, and being serious will feel natural. The only natural thing with Wren is sex.

  I take the glasses out to Dad, who is waiting for me on Grandad’s bench under the tree.

  “What’re you doing over here?” I ask, sitting down and holding a glass out to him.

  The bench is at the end of the garden, in a quiet area.

  He unscrews the bottle and pours. “Just thinking.”

  “About Grandad?”

  “Yeah, and getting older, I suppose.”

  My dad was very close to his dad, and it hit him so hard when Grandad died five years ago, two weeks before Dad’s fiftieth.

  “You’re in good health, Dad. I wouldn’t worry.”

  He fills my glass up and takes one from my hand. Putting the bottle on the ground beside him, he takes a sip and nods. “I’m not worried necessarily. I’m grateful for another year.”

  “You know this is a party, right?”

  Chuckling, he replies, “I’ll put my hat on in a minute. Have you recovered from Las Vegas yet?”

  Physically, yes. “I’m all good. Back to work on Monday.”

  “I thought you would come home and be hungover for a week.”

  “I can handle my drink.” As I say the words, I realise how ridiculous they are. Tequila got me married.

  “Wait until you get to my age.”

  “James,” Wren says, slowing as she approaches us.

  “Come over, sweetheart,” Dad tells her, shuffling closer to the arm of the bench, making a space between us for her.

  She sits. “Are we creating a sub-party? Because we’re cooler than them.”

  Laughing, Dad replies, “The food is over in that party, though.”

  I look up to see Wren’s dad cooking on the barbecue, and Mum is coming out of the house with a plate of bread rolls.

  “We could order in,” I say, taking a sip of whiskey.

  He’s filled the glass. I’m going to be on my arse if we get through the bottle.

  Wren takes the glass from my hand and smells it. “Gross.”

  Thank fuck Felicity doesn’t see us, or she would take that the wrong way. Wren doesn’t mind sharing alcohol, but my sister would see that as a sign of undying love or some bullshit like that.

  “You are so uncultured,” Dad scolds.

  “Sorry. When I’m an old man, I’m sure I’ll like it,” she teases.

  I narrow my eyes. “Hey, now.”

  “You’re creeping up to your mid-twenties.”

  “You think that’s old?” I choke.

  Her grin tells me no, but she’s obviously not going to admit it.

  “Seems like it to me.”

  “You’re banished to the other party,” I shoot back.

  “All right, you two, stop bickering.” Dad shakes his head with a broad smile on his face.

  Grinning like a dickhead, I lower my gaze and internally kick myself. Across the garden, I see my sister watching.

  I don’t fucking like her like that, Felicity!

  Chapter 26

  Wren

  I’ve had the best night. It’s cool and pitch-black outside, so we moved inside. Giggling, I sway, clink my martini glass against Emma’s, and take a long swig. “This is so good, Louise.”

  “I can tell, darling.”

  Louise makes awesome cocktails. It’s just a shame that she makes it up as she goes, so she can never make the same one twice.

  “Should I cut you off?” Mum asks.

  “No.”

  My parents have always been open about everything. They know I drink, and they don’t mind me drinking in front of them. Over the years, they have tried to instil responsible drinking into all three of us.

  I have only been off my face one time in my life.

  The night I got married.

  Best not repeat that.

  “It’s time to go,” Mum says. “Wren, are you coming now?”

  Ugh, it’s almost one in the morning, and I’m not tired, but I guess the parents all are. James has yawned about three times in the last two minutes, and it is his birthday, so we can’t keep him up.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  I stand up with Emma.

  “I’m coming,” she says. “I need to get up for the gym tomorrow.”

  Emma goes twice a week and does the same set of exercises every time. I love how scheduled she is.

  “Gym on a Sunday,” Mum scoffs.

  “The week is busy and stressful enough. Besides, on a Sunday, I usually avoid all the unemployed, over-pumped idiots who grunt every ten seconds.”

  Brody laughs. “You’re angry about them?”

  Emma narrows her eyes. “If you didn’t have a job, you would be one of them.”

  “Ouch.”

  I wouldn’t mind watching Brody work out. Would not mind at all.

  But he’s not on steroids or built so much that his muscles have eaten his neck. No, he’s the perfect amount of six-pack and pecs. He takes good care of himself, but he doesn’t have boobs.

  I like that.

  “Enjoy your day tomorrow, James,” Dad says.

  Brody stands with the rest of us.

  I pick up my bag and give him a smile. “I’ll see you Monday,” I say as everyone else is preoccupied with saying good-bye ten times.

  “If you still want to come?”

  “I do. It seems right.” I bite my bottom lip. It’s not exactly the norm to attend your husband’s meeting with the divorce lawyer, but nothing about our marriage has been normal. “That okay?”

  “It’s okay with me.” He shrugs. “If nothing else, we’re likely to get a good reaction from the lawyer.”

  Smiling, I nod in agreement. I can’t say anything though because Dad has moved closer.

  After saying our final good-byes of the night, I walk across the road with Mum, Dad, and Emma. I look up at the stars. It’s still relatively warm for the hour. It’s nights like this that I wish I didn’t hate bugs so much so I could sleep outside.

  “What a lovely evening,” Mum says, throwing her arm around my shoulders.

  “It was,” I agree.

  “Did Brody seem quiet to you?”

  In front, I watch Emma’s body tense.

  Dad looks over his shoulder. “He didn’t to me.”

  “I don’t think so,” I say, my voice surprisingly calm, considering that my heart is racing so hard I feel dizzy. “Why do you think that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. He didn’
t seem his usual self.”

  “Perhaps he was tired, love,” Dad says. “I’ve caught Wren napping in the afternoon twice this week. Emma’s gone to bed an hour earlier than usual too.”

  “Yes,” Emma says. “Jet lag is hell. It’s not like we all had the full eight hours out there either; there were plenty of late nights out.”

  Mum side-eyes me.

  “You know I wasn’t as bad as them.” I roll my eyes through the big, fat lie.

  “Hmm,” she mutters.

  Her earlier worry about me going has since been forgotten. I don’t think she would care that I went to a couple of bars and drank because I came home safely.

  There are, of course, other parts of the trip she wouldn’t be thrilled with.

  “What are your plans this week coming?” she asks.

  We have this conversation every weekend.

  “The usual. I’m volunteering—cuddling dogs—and waiting on a reply from two jobs. They both said experience preferred in advertising, too.”

  “That’s great, honey. They would be crazy to not want you.”

  I hate experience. You have to have it to get a job, but you can’t get it until you get a job. I’ve offered to volunteer, and only one place took me up on it. I guess it’s more work to teach someone when you don’t have the time.

  I’m so ready to have a job. It’s been three months since I finished my exams, and I don’t like to admit it, but I feel like a failure for not working.

  Volunteer work is appealing to prospective employers, and honestly, it’s no hardship taking care of dogs.

  Mum and Dad have been amazing, supporting me financially. Not that they’ve had to fork out a lot. I do admin work for Dad, which pretty much covers my small expenses. Still, I don’t feel like an independent woman while I’m living at home and working for my daddy.

  Emma lets us into the house.

  I say good night and head straight to brush my teeth and get into bed. Shuffling down in my bed, I lie down and pull the blanket to my hips. My phone is on my bedside table, charging.

  Felicity’s text will come in the morning. It’s around the same time every day—when she’s finished getting ready for work and walking to the office.

  I don’t know what to keep telling her. We basically have the same conversation every time. She asks how I’m feeling about the divorce, what is happening with the divorce, and whether I’ve spoken to Brody any more about the bloody divorce.

  Sighing, I close my eyes and try to push Brody out of my mind.

  All I can do is wait for each step of the process and try to ignore Felicity’s and Emma’s comments. It’s big news, obviously, and although I want my marriage over, it’s not always that easy to talk about it like it doesn’t matter.

  The first time I got married was supposed to be the last.

  Dad was supposed to walk me down the aisle.

  I was supposed to be madly in love.

  Taking a breath, I squeeze my eyelids shut harder as my eyes prickle. No crying. This is going to be okay.

  Chapter 27

  Brody

  She thinks I’m a fucking idiot. I can tell from the way she keeps raising her black eyebrows as I go over my story one more time. It’s been a long day back at work, and now I have to deal with this.

  My divorce lawyer, Mildred, is silently laughing at me. At us. Because, yeah, I brought my ex-wife-to-be with me.

  I’m really not surprised by her reaction to this whole situation.

  “Okay.” Her eyes flit to Wren, who has been completely silent. “Well, first off, no, you cannot get an annulment here. You were denied in Las Vegas. It’s like, when you get married in Las Vegas, you’re married everywhere.”

  Yeah, I figured, but it was worth asking if we could apply for an annulment here.

  My shoulders slump. “So, we definitely do need to get divorced then.”

  She nods. “Yes, that would be your only option now. Although, you cannot get a divorce until you’ve been married for twelve months.”

  The side of the room Wren is on suddenly gets a lot colder.

  “What do you mean?” she asks. “Why twelve months? That’s a year!”

  “That’s the law, I’m afraid. What we can do is fill in all of the paperwork and get everything together. After twelve months, I can submit the petition for divorce.”

  Wren and I fall dead silent.

  I didn’t realise we had to wait a year.

  “That’s so unfair. People are forced to stay married for a whole year,” she says, finally speaking.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  She looks at me, her wide expression begging for me to do something. Like what? Change the law?

  “It’ll be okay. We’ll do everything we can now, and in a year, we’ll submit it.” I turn to Mildred. “How long does it take after that?”

  “Typically, between six months to a year.”

  Wren’s eyes bulge. “So, we’re looking at potentially two years here?”

  Mildred nods. “Yes. I would expect yours to be on the shorter side, considering it’s straightforward and no one wants to contest. Especially since you said there wouldn’t need to be a division of assets. This has been agreed by both parties?”

  “It has,” I whisper with my heart in my mouth.

  Mildred’s eyes, once again, slide to Wren, who really needs to find her voice.

  “Oh,” Wren says, straightening up and shaking her head. “No, definitely not. I don’t want any of his savings or his apartment. We just want the divorce as soon as possible.”

  “All right. I can draw that up in the papers. I will need to converse with your lawyer, too, Wren.”

  She stares ahead. “I have a meeting with her on Friday.”

  “That’s good,” Mildred says.

  Wren glances at me out of the corner of her eye. She tugs on the sleeve of her top.

  “What else do you need from me right now?” I ask.

  She purses her lips and looks over all of the notes she’s taken. “I think that’s it for now. I’ll send the paperwork when I’ve drawn it up.”

  We agree that she will call when she has paperwork for me to go over.

  I don’t think she quite believes that Wren wants nothing from me, but she will know for sure as soon as Wren’s had her appointment with her lawyer and the two converse.

  Wren blows out a long breath as we step outside the door and onto the street. “Two years.”

  A cart outside Mildred’s office wafts the smell of hot dogs through the air.

  “Maybe eighteen months. Look, there is nothing we can do about that now, is there? Let’s focus on getting the paperwork together, and then we can get back to normal for a while.”

  “Until we have to have a conversation in a year’s time about instructing the lawyers to go ahead with the divorce proceedings.”

  “One step at a time, okay? Paperwork, and then life as normal first.”

  She exhales. “All right.”

  We really don’t have any other choice.

  “Your lawyer hates me.”

  I tilt my head. “She doesn’t hate you. She doesn’t believe you want nothing of mine.”

  “Same thing. Do you think my lawyer will try to convince me to take your money? Not everyone wanting a divorce is a vulture.”

  “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  I’m not sure where we stand legally. It wouldn’t be fair for Wren to have anything of mine, or vice versa, but we might well be entitled to each other’s stuff purely because we scribbled on a piece of paper.

  It’s crazy. Should you not have to prove that you had a life together, that you built something together, before you’re allowed to claim it?

  “Brody, I would never try and take anything of yours.”

  “I know.”

  “Fancy getting a drink?” she asks, her gaze falling on a bar across the street.

  At six thirty, it’s a little early to go drinking, but the bar is open.

&nbs
p; “That’s what got us into this mess, but sure.”

  “Cool. At least I don’t have to feel like a criminal for drinking here.”

  “Technically, you were a criminal out there.”

  We cross the road, and Wren rolls her eyes. I open the door for her, and she walks in first.

  She looks up and grins. “It would be so interesting to see you on a date.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because you don’t ever seem that gentlemanly, yet you open doors for me.”

  “What are you having to drink?”

  She narrows her eyes, no doubt at the change of subject, and says, “Peroni. I’ll get them.”

  “No. There are plenty of tables free; go and find us one.”

  “We’ll talk about that in a minute,” she replies, spinning to go off in the opposite direction to find a seat.

  I’m rather insulted that she assumes I’m a massive dickhead who doesn’t know how to treat a woman or another human.

  I order at the bar. Taking our beers over, I sit across from Wren and wait.

  “Thanks,” she says. Her eyes are full of fucking mischief. “Have you been on many proper dates?”

  “A few. Why?”

  She shrugs. “I’ve never seen you with a woman, not for longer than two minutes at a time. You seem a natural in the boyfriend role.” Laughing, she adds, “Sometimes.”

  “Wren, I would hold a door for my mum, too.”

  “But I’m not your mum.”

  “No, you’re my wife.”

  “So, when the divorce is finalised, you’re going to let the door hit my face?”

  “I’ll let the door hit your face on the way out of here if you don’t stop.”

  She laughs again, shaking her head. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m not used to your softer side, that’s all. We’ve never been close.”

  “You think we’re close now?”

  She purses her lips. “Kind of, yeah. Or at least, more than before. Not that it’s hard since we didn’t really speak a whole lot before.”

  “We spoke.”

  “Fine, but now you speak to me like I’m an adult.”

  “It’s hard not to now that I’ve been inside you.”

  Her cheeks tint pink, but that’s the only evidence that she’s embarrassed.