“Seriously, you look stunning.” He grabs my hand and brings it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on the back of it. His reassurance brings me back to my earlier insecurities.
“Are you sure the eyes don’t look too heavy? I sent a picture to Janey, and she thought I looked like a drag queen.”
He studies me with narrowed eyes. “Is this the same Janey who was supposed to go with you to this?” I had told Austin I had to revoke my invitation and that she was pretty upset about it.
“Yeah . . .” I draw out, not knowing where he’s going with this.
“She’s jealous.” There’s no inflection to his tone or facial expression. He says it very matter-of-factly like it’s the most obvious explanation.
I scoff as I roll my eyes. “She’s not jealous.”
“Why else would she say that to you?” he argues back.
“Because she’s my friend and doesn’t want me to look like an idiot.”
“She’s trying to rain on your parade.” I open my mouth to protest, but he interrupts me. “She’s being a bitch without being obvious about it.” I don’t respond probably because I don’t know what to say. It’s weird defending my friend to my husband. Austin shifts in his seat so that he’s facing me. “This is what you do, Jillian. It’s not only your job, but your passion. I don’t know why you’re listening to someone who doesn’t have a clue. You look perfect. Trust me.”
I grab his hand and squeeze it lightly, my silent thanks for the reassurance. I’m not sure why I’m letting Janey’s comment get to me. Give me clothes and accessories, and I’m good. But for some reason, I struggle with hair and makeup. I wonder if Austin is right, and she is playing up on my insecurities to ruin my night. The thought is quickly dismissed. She’s my best friend. She wouldn’t be spiteful like that.
My eyes travel the interior of the limousine. It’s sleek and roomy with a small bar off to the side. The ride would be nice, if a cameraman wasn’t sitting directly in front of me with the lens in my face. That’s when it dawns on me this little exchange could very well end up on television, which means Janey will see it.
Awesome.
Just one more thing for me to worry about.
The evening runs smoothly. I introduce Austin to my colleagues as well as some of the designers and vendors I work closely with. His ability to adapt to any scenario he’s thrown into is amazing. He knows a little about everything, making it easy to find common ground with each person and start conversation. He comes off at ease, making the other person feel comfortable in his presence. Often times, I find myself fading into the background as I watch him interact with everyone. He’s captivating and charming.
We’re walking to the bar when I spot my boss. Taking a deep breath, I pull on Austin’s arm lightly to guide him in her direction. “That’s my boss, Karen Van der Boor,” I whisper.
“Ah,” he whispers back.
“Lovely event, Mrs. Van der Boor,” I say once we’ve reached her and she’s excused herself from her current conversation.
“Thank you, Jillian. I trust you’re enjoying yourself then.” Karen is dressed in a crimson gown with a simple top and a structured, ruffled bottom. She’s paired it with large, jeweled accessories and exudes confidence, superiority, and power.
“I am, thank you. Mrs. Van der Boor, I’m sure you remember Austin.” I loop my right arm through his left.
“How could I forget? It’s not every day someone marries a complete stranger.” Her tone is one of condescension and pessimism. As if she already knows this won’t work. I mean, it’s not going to given the circumstances, but she doesn’t know that. While my cheeks heat in embarrassment, Austin chuckles loudly beside me.
“Well, you have me there,” he says with another deep laugh. “Of course, crazier things have worked out. After all, it’s not every day a girl from small town Alabama grows up to run one of the world’s most up and coming fashion magazines.”
Karen studies Austin over the bridge of her nose for a minute, looking him up and down. After several tense moments, she cracks a smile. “I suppose you’re right.” With a nod, she says, “Enjoy the rest of your evening Mr. and Mrs. James.” As she passes by me, she pauses and lowers her voice to where only I can hear. “I like him.” Then she walks off.
I’m stunned. That’s probably the first time I’ve ever heard her say she actually likes somebody. My hand goes to my hip. “Aren’t you the charmer?”
He shrugs. “I may have done my homework.”
I want to touch him. I want to pull him close and show him how he makes me feel. He knew this was important to me, and the fact he took the extra step means everything.
“You’re perfect.” My lips press together to keep any other confessions from leaking out.
He takes a step closer to me and runs the back of his hand down my cheek. “I don’t know about that, but maybe I’m perfect for you.”
We stare into each other’s eyes, searching for what, I’m not sure. We’re a breath away from each other, making the space between hot and filled with pent up energy. At any second, one of us is going to crack and cross the line, and I’m afraid it’ll turn into a repeat of earlier. My tongue darts out instinctively to moisturize my lips when his eyes trail down to them. He leans in ever so slowly, not rushing his progression. I’m on pins and needles, wanting his lips on mine, but knowing it’s the last thing I need.
“Austin, I thought that was you,” a female’s voice interrupts us. Reluctantly, I turn to see who it is and am met with none other than Chloe Rogers. My stomach drops.
Austin clears his throat. “Chloe, what a pleasant surprise. What are you doing here?” He leans in and gives her a kiss on the cheek. My jaw clenches as I witness the exchange. He pulls back, giving me a full view of her. She’s wearing a fitted bright, blue gown that looks like it was painted on her. Honestly, I don’t know how she got into the damn thing. The neckline plunges indecently low, exposing the inside of her breasts. Her auburn hair is slicked back and so shiny it looks greasy. She looks cheap—easy.
“Oh, you know, just rubbing elbows with current and potential clients. You clean up real nice.” Her blue eyes trail up and down the length of his body in a salacious way, putting me on edge. “It’s a shame we never got to go anywhere together like this.” She moves closer, sashaying her hips the way she did when she showed us our apartment. When she’s a few inches from him, she raises her hand and dusts some imaginary lint off of his shoulder. Her hand slides down his arm, touching him unnecessarily. My blood is boiling at Chloe’s blatant disregard for me. I’m standing right next to him. It’s clear I’m his date—his wife—and she has the nerve to come over and flirt with him so openly.
He politely removes her hand from his forearm and secures his arm around my waist. Smiling down at me, he says, “Yes, well, I’m a firm believer in everything happening for a reason.” His focus never leaves mine, and it’s like we’re back in our own bubble again. The depths of his warm brown eyes radiate adoration. My initial instinct is to panic, but a calm settles over me in his hold as I realize my eyes must mirror his. Because for everything I’ve told myself, the feelings I have for him are mounting, and fast. They’re building like a tsunami, and I’m the shore, powerless to stop the inevitable. “Would you like to dance?” he asks me barely above a whisper. I nod in response. Without breaking eye contact from me, he says, “Excuse us, Chloe. I’d like to dance with my wife.”
The warmth in my chest isn’t unnoticed by me, and neither is the huff coming from Chloe. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a small sense of satisfaction at his dismissal of her advances.
Once out on the dance floor, Austin pulls me close and never lets go. Looking up at him, one thing is for certain.
I’m falling for my husband.
Austin
TODAY I’M MEETING with our sociologist, Dr. Terry. Unlike the interviews we’re forced to do with the producers, this doesn’t bother me. There are four doctors who all specialize in a spec
ific area, be it spirituality, sexuality, sociology, or psychology. Each doctor is here to give us the tools to succeed in our relationship, no matter how unconventional it is. Once I’m inside his office, I have a seat in the chair across from him. I like his office in that it feels more like a living room. It makes me feel comfortable and relaxed.
After a little small talk, he asks, “How’s your relationship with Jillian progressing?” A smile appears on my face. I can’t help it. Just the mention of her makes me happy. “By your expression I’d assume it’s going well?”
“Yeah, we’re good. I think we’re still feeling each other out, but I’m happy with where we’re at.”
“That’s good.” Dr. Terry looks down at his notepad before continuing. “I wanted to talk a little more about your childhood. One of the reasons we paired you guys together is because you’ve both suffered tragedy at a young age. Your backstories are similar and you can build a strong bond and understanding from that. Have you guys discussed this?”
“Not really. We don’t talk about our families much, but whenever it comes up, I can tell it’s sorta off limits.” I’ve wanted to ask her questions about what happened, but I don’t want to upset her. If she doesn’t discuss it, there’s probably a reason.
“Why do you think that is?”
I shrug. “I’m not the one with the psych degree, doc,” I joke. He smiles and waits for me to answer. A long sigh leaves my lips. “Maybe it’s too hard for her to talk about. I don’t know the details surrounding their death, so she might have seen something that’s hard for her to relive.”
“Does it upset you that she won’t confide in you?”
My eyes look up at the ceiling, contemplating his question. “Not really. At least not yet. We’ve only known each other for going on four weeks, so I don’t expect her to divulge all her secrets right away. I want Jillian to trust me with things she’s never told anyone, things that are hard for her to talk about. That’s why I don’t pressure her to tell me. She’ll open up when she’s ready, and I’ll be here for her when she does.”
He nods several times, seemingly digesting my answer. “How do you think your parents’ passing has shaped you as an adult?”
My hand runs through my hair. “It changed me a lot. I think the most profound way is that I don’t take people for granted. I make sure they know exactly how I feel about them. It’s actually one of my biggest regrets with regard to my parents’ death.”
“What do you mean?”
This is always the hard part to admit. Other than making sure they survived, it’s the one thing I wish I could change. “The day they . . .” I pause and swallow the lump in my throat. “The day they were killed, I had gotten into a big fight with them. God, I was such a spoiled brat.” A humorless laugh escapes me. “Do you know I don’t even remember why I was mad at them? But at the time, it seemed so important. It’s funny how life puts things in perspective for you. Anyway, I had my uncle come pick me up so I could get out of the house. But before I left, I told my mom I hated her and she was ruining my life.” My voice cracks and my nose burns as I try to hold back my emotions. What I wouldn’t give to rewind time and take those words back.
“How did you cope with your guilt?”
“I was an ungrateful little shit, and the last words my mom and dad ever heard come out of my mouth was how much I hated them.” A stabbing pain hits me in the chest. Even after all these years, it still hurts. The guilt and remorse sits on me like a goddamn elephant, suffocating me, making it hard to breathe. “I rebelled, did things to try to block it out. Drank, got into fights, ditched school, but none of it worked.” I take a slow, measured breath in through my nose, then blow it out to calm myself.
He looks down at his file again. “I see here you said earlier the people responsible were caught and convicted, is that right?” I nod in response, my emotions too raw to speak right now. “Did that help with the healing process? Did you feel a sense of closure?”
Taking in one more lungful of air, I respond, “At the time, no. I was young and the only thing that would make it better would be to have my family back. As an adult, yes, it helps. Justice has been served and those animals are paying for their crime.”
“I want to bring this back around to your relationship with Jillian. You say you make sure to express how you feel. How are you feeling about her?”
“I really like her. She’s easy to be around, a little funny, smart, and hot as hell. Do I love her? No, not yet, but I see myself falling for her in the near future.”
“That’s good. As long as you feel that connection there, then you’re on the right path. As far as a physical connection goes, have you two consummated your marriage yet?”
I scowl at him—hell, I might have even growled too. “I don’t know why that’s any of your business.”
He puts his hands up. “I don’t need the details. A simple yes or no will suffice. It’s important I know what level you’ve taken things to. If you’re building a more physical bond versus an emotional one.”
My glare only intensifies. Yeah, right, and I’m sure his need to know has nothing to do with the cameras behind us. “No, we haven’t.”
“Does that upset you? Are you frustrated with the pace?”
“No. This isn’t just some random hookup for me. I want us to do this right and not rush into things. Plus, I know she’s not ready.”
“What makes you think that?”
“It’s just a feeling I get. She’s not completely comfortable with me. I can tell she still has some walls up, so I need to break those down before we can take it there. I want her complete trust before we have sex.” He doesn’t need to know we attacked each other two nights ago before her work event and the sexual tension is so thick I walk around with blue balls twenty-four/seven.
“Okay, perfect then.” He closes his notepad and looks back up at me. “I have some homework for you. I want you to do something with her she’s never done before. Take her out of her comfort zone, and see how the two of you deal with that, okay?”
“Okay.” I stand and extend my hand out to him, shaking it before I leave.
I’m a little worn out from the session. I hadn’t expected to talk about my parents again, and it’s dug up old feelings. I’ve dealt with their death and come to terms with it. It doesn’t make it any easier. Despite my fucked up mood, I’m headed toward the one thing I know will make me smile.
My wife.
Jillian
MONDAY MORNINGS ARE the worst, and I’m not even sure why. It’s not like I have to wake up any earlier today than I do any other work day. Maybe it’s because the routine gets interrupted by the weekend, throwing all motivation to go to work out the window. With coffee mug in hand, I fumble with the doorknob to my office and drag myself inside. Flipping the light on, I stop in my tracks by what I see.
A gorgeous red bouquet waits for me. I walk around to the front of my desk and pick up the card that’s attached, knowing who they’re from before I even read it.
Jillian,
Thank you for a great weekend. These amaryllises are supposed to represent beauty. They pale in comparison to you, but I wanted you to remember how stunning you are each time you look at them.
XO,
Austin
Next to the vase is a square box. I untie the ribbon around it and remove the lid to find a small card lying on top, handwritten by Austin.
One month down. Here’s to a thousand more.
Austin
I study the strokes of each word. The lines are heavy and straight, showing his firmness and directness in what he says. He seems so sure about everything, even us. Sadness creeps up, knowing he would be perfect for me. No, we’d be perfect for each other.
Setting the card to the side, I peel back the paper covering the contents of the box to reveal an assortment of chocolates. He’s so thoughtful, which is something I’ve always longed for. Growing up, my parents never thought about me. All they were concerned with was w
here their next hit was coming from. It became their sole motivation for living, leaving me to fend for myself. I missed a lot of school, a lot of meals, and spent most of my time alone. Even as an adult, I never got that sense of emotional stability and security from the men I dated. I’ve never been someone’s priority. Austin makes me feel important and second best to nothing. It’s foreign to me. On the one hand, I love it. On the other hand, I know I can’t get used to it.
I pop a piece of chocolate in my mouth and savor the taste. It’s rich and creamy on my tongue, and if I’m not careful, I’ll eat the whole box in one sitting. Its yummy goodness brings me a sense of joy, even if only for a moment, while his notes run through my head.
It’s been one month already? Damn, we’re halfway through this. The thought should bring me relief, but instead puts a weight on my chest. Air gets pulled in through my nose as I inhale deeply, trying to stem the panic that lies beneath the surface. I’ll have to say goodbye to him in four weeks, and I don’t know how.
Desperate to put the thought out of my mind, I pick up my phone and shoot Austin a text.
Me: Should I expect flowers to be on my desk every Monday?
As usual, his response comes quickly.
Austin: Would that make you happy?
Me: Maybe . . .
Austin: Then maybe . . . I’ll keep doing it.
A smile spreads across my face despite my efforts to stay stoic, but I eventually allow the emotion to engulf me. He can’t see me through the phone, so I’m safe. Safe to display how his words make me feel without leading him on any more than I have to. My phone beeps again, regaining my focus.
Hopeless Vows Page 9
