Mr. Wrong

by Rebecca Royce

  “What do you want to do tonight?” He cleared his throat, then tried to discreetly adjust his pants. “I have a couple comedies I rented from the store or we could go see a band I heard was playing for free.”

  Someday there would be dinners out that didn’t come from a drive-thru.

  “I thought maybe we’d stay in.”

  “Oh. Are you tired, baby?” He stood. Had he put clean sheets on the bed? He always tried to remember whenever she slept over. All they did was sleep, and he loved their moments, wrapped around her, feeling her heart beat against his. She smelled of cinnamon, and everything in the room would scent of her for days after.

  “Wow. Either I am making a very big mess or you are really thickheaded.”

  “Probably the latter. Everything you do is perfect.”

  She rolled her eyes. “No, it’s not.”

  It totally was. “So, what were you trying to do that I missed?”

  “I’m trying to seduce you into bed.” She rocked on her heels. “Unless you don’t want to.”

  His mouth fell open. He must have looked a complete jackass sitting there, staring at her without saying a word. She had literally taken the words right out of his mouth.

  “Cristian.” She pursed her lips. “Please say something.”

  “I thought you wanted to wait.” He needed to verify her change of heart before he leapt in the air and promised her anything she wanted. “Until you got married. Because of what happened with your sister. The not wanting to risk a baby thing.”

  She smiled at him, a genuine grin, which made his heart pound harder. She was so beautiful. “I know, and I did feel that way. I don’t anymore. We’ve been dating three years. I know you, Cristian. I trust you. I believe you would never abandon a baby if we got pregnant, never leave me to cope on my own, another Douglass girl sent home from college.”

  He took her hand. “I would never leave you. I’ll always take care of you.”

  “I know.” She nodded. “I want you. I have for three years. I wake up in a sweat from dreaming about you.” Her face turned red. He loved how he could always tell how she felt. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you the last bit.”

  “Oh no. You totally should have.” His body turned to flames.

  “So a month ago, I went to the doctor. And I got on the pill.”

  “You didn’t tell me.” He stood and pulled her against him, holding her close. She fit him, she always had. “Do you feel okay? I hear people talking. Gives some women headaches.”

  “I’m fine.” She closed her eyes and breathed against his chest. He loved when she cuddled. “Thanks for caring.”

  “I love you.” He never got tired of telling her.

  She raised her head to look at him. “I love you, too. I want to have sex with you. I want to let things go where they are heading.”

  “Should have flowers and candlelight. Diamonds.”

  She placed her finger over his lips. “I only want you, stupid.”

  He grinned. “I have condoms. They give them out every year at orientation.”

  “Well, then I guess we are good.”

  She stood on her tiptoes and he met her lips with his own. Dahlia gave him the sweetest kiss. He took her by the hand and walked her to the bed.

  “I don’t know what to do here any better than you.” If he’d known sex was coming, maybe he could have read more. Watched some videos…

  She lay, her strawberry-blonde hair spreading out over his pillow. “I think we’ll work the details out.”

  In his hotel room, Cristian rolled over, his hard cock made sleep impossible. They’d not been perfect together the first night. Later? His girl had been a dream in bed. The most expressive lover he could have ever imagined.

  Cristian groaned, taking his cock in his own hand and picturing her as he did so. There was nothing hotter than Dahlia turned-on, riding him from above, her head thrown back, crying out his name. His own hand wasn’t good enough, had never been after he’d had Dahlia in his bed. As he had no other choice, his own ministrations would have to do. The women after had meant nothing. Compared to her they were faceless and nameless. He needed his girl. Always had, always would.

  “Dahlia.” He called out her name as if she were there. Saying it helped.

  “Yes, Cristian,” she would cry, and had so many times before he’d known their love would come to an end. She’d been his soulmate. He’d never again have what they’d shared. And he’d fucked their love all up.

  He came into his hand, hard, his cock pulsing as his length wept. He groaned. Coming had been fast and intense and totally unsatisfying.

  At some point, Cristian slept, wishing Dahlia was curled next to him, where she belonged. He should never have let her go.

  The next morning he was late. His leg ached, and the simplest things took longer than they should have. By the time he got to the coffee shop, he was ten minutes behind. Dahlia had beaten him there. He stopped outside the door to watch her. If the place was the last time he ever got to see her, he wanted to drink her in.

  She was on the phone, and judging by the frown, she didn’t enjoy whatever she was hearing. Unless she was really pissed off that she had to meet him. Considering how the Aaron thing had been completely ill conceived, the latter might very well be possible. He limped inside.

  Dahlia noticed him and waved him over. His nerves were frayed, and although caffeine was probably the last thing he should do, he got in line. The time waiting to order would at least give him a minute to hide the ache forming in his chest. If she didn’t want him, he had to live with her response. But he didn’t want to say goodbye. He never had, down to refusing to be present to sign the divorce papers. He’d insisted they sign them separately. If he didn’t see her do it, he didn’t have to live with the memory. She’d always be his in heart.

  Coffee in hand, he made his way over to the table and sat as she ended the conversation.

  She leaned relaxed in her seat. Dahlia was always gorgeous—and in her yellow blouse and white skirt she was also adorable—despite the dark circles under her eyes. Was her stress his fault?

  “You okay?” He had to ask, although she might tell him to mind his own business.

  “Cristian.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “I have so much going on, the douche move you played last night—totally beneath you, by the way—turned out to be small potatoes.”

  He held the laugh threatening to appear. She’d learned some new phrases. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah? For what? For not reaching out like a regular human being? For bringing a man you knew I’d want to impress there on purpose when we didn’t have time to be ready? For me figuring you out and not liking your moves?” She sat straighter.

  “All of the above a choice?”

  She sighed loudly. “Why did you?”

  “It may come as no surprise to you when I settle my mind on doing something I can become a little—”

  Dahlia interrupted him. “Obsessed. Not a surprise.”

  “Right, well. Since waking from the car accident, I’ve been very centered on figuring out how to convince you that you want me again. I concocted a plan, an offense, as I do at work. Planning wasn’t the right move. I see my mistake. And for any pain I caused you, ba…” He stopped himself from saying the word, from finishing the nickname. “I truly am sorry. I think my need for you got me focused on something other than what happened.”

  She took a sip of her coffee. “And since you’ve had a night to think you’ve made some kind of clarification and you no longer miss me, no longer want me?”

  More than anything in the world. “I want you to be happy.” For the first time since the divorce he really felt the words he spoke. He’d wanted her happy when they were married and he’d failed. Cristian wouldn’t again.

  ****

  Dahlia could barely keep to her seat. All night she’d thought about him, had hardly slept a wink. He’d managed to diffuse her anger with what seemed a sincere apology and t
old her he wanted her to be happy all in less than two minutes of talking.

  Did he seriously not want her anymore? Why wasn’t she happy he was saying goodbye? She’d come to the coffee house for the same reason. Closure. Yet, sitting across from her, he was so…Cristian.

  Her breasts ached. Every hormone in her body seemed to have come alive. Years of not having any interest in sex fled in a hurry and her libido flared to life. How was she supposed to deal?

  She had to say something. “Whatever else happened, you were always the most honest person I’ve ever known. I’m not going to let this taint that.”

  “I’ve spent a lot of time winning all the time. I knew when I woke up in the hospital, things had changed. I’m trying to set them right. I…I did so wrong.”

  His hand was on the table. She had to restrain herself from reaching out taking his hand. She would have in the past. As natural as breathing.

  “What happened with the accident?” She almost couldn’t ask. The very idea he had been so completely hurt and she’d had no idea showed her how far from each other they had become. She used to know when he was getting sick before he did.

  “I was driving. There was a truck. I don’t remember much.” He shrugged.

  The shrug bothered her. He couldn’t possibly be feeling so completely nonchalant about his trauma. Cristian walked with a cane. “Was your life at risk?”

  “I may have had to have been revived on the table.” He shrugged, and she tried not to cry out as his words penetrated her brain. He’d died? She could hardly breathe. “I try not to dwell. Going there in my head’s not helpful. I’m still here. I can do things better.”

  Cristian never self-reflected. She’d always had to tell him when he was not thinking straight. No wonder he stumbled through the whole thing.

  “It’s better when you’re just being you, when you’re not plotting. Are you okay? With the accident, I mean? Are you going to be okay? Do you need anything?” Because she didn’t know what she’d do if he wasn’t. He was Cristian…he had to be fine. They weren’t in each other’s worlds, but she needed to know he was living a good life, solid, okay…still Cristian.

  “I am. Thanks. And if it’s all the same, I’d really rather not talk about the accident. It’s not a topic I like to dwell on. Better to put it away.” He sipped his coffee. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure. We’re here to talk. Let’s talk.” Please keep talking to me, Cristian. Let me hear your voice. The way you slightly flub your Rs and have no idea. It’s so damn sexy.

  Cristian’s hand fisted tighter on the cup. His knuckles turned white. “Was our problem the baby we lost? Is the miscarriage when you stopped loving me? When you were done with us? When I failed?”

  His words struck her silent. Oh damn. Her throat closed up. She stopped loving him? “Not the miscarriage.” And I never stopped loving you. If only he could read minds since she couldn’t bring herself to say the words aloud. “We didn’t see the loss of the baby the same way. The time certainly drove a wedge between us. The loss wasn’t what shattered us.”

  “How did the loss drive a wedge? My leaving on the business trip two weeks later?” His gaze met hers and the sadness in his eyes spurred her to take his hand. Why hadn’t they ever spoken about their shared experience before?

  “We were in bad shape before I lost the baby. You didn’t seem to listen anymore. It felt like you were completely uninterested in my dreams, and I started becoming defensive. Our relationship all went to hell.”

  Cristian looked down for a second. “I see.”

  From the way his hand tensed beneath hers, she didn’t think he did. “You don’t agree?”

  “At what point did I stop supporting your dreams?”

  Goosebumps rippled over her. “Well,” she let go of their linked fingers, “when I wanted to discuss designing restaurants, what I do now, for example, and you totally dismissed me. Didn’t listen at all about my vision of designing the insides of restaurants, of running them.”

  He took a long pull of his coffee. “I remember that talk quite differently.”

  Her temper rising made her jaw clench. “How so?”

  “I remember you brought the idea to my attention. The restaurant bit. I was somewhat shocked. You’d never expressed a single inkling of interest in designing a restaurant, let alone running a place. You wanted to design houses. You were doing well, starting to advance in your field. I think, what I remember, is I listened and then I told you my thoughts on the subject.”

  She pointed at him and made herself keep her voice low. “You were the most dismissive asshole and don’t pretend you weren’t.”

  His response plowed into her head, the memory, the tone, the total dismissal.

  Are you bored with work or something? Restaurants? Baby, you don’t even like to go out to eat. Maybe when the baby comes it’ll help. But seriously, if you want to do something so completely insane—do you know the percentages of restaurants that fail?—I’ll pay for you to go get a business degree. You can’t possibly do it without one.

  “I think what I said and what you heard might have been two different things.” He rubbed at his forehead. “If I had known you wanted the life you’re living, the restaurant life, how much you really did, I would have moved heaven and earth to give you your dream. Dahlia, after all our years together, you didn’t know I would? And, yes, you were pregnant. I didn’t think starting something so huge was the right time for the whole thing. You had told me you wanted to stay home when the baby came.”

  God, he made her so mad. No, she hadn’t known he would do what she needed. Cristian never listened to her. Or at least he hadn’t in their last years together. It was his career, his path. Over and over and over….

  “Damn, I was so relieved when I lost the baby.” The words were out before she realized she’d spoken them. In all their times, all their arguments, she had managed to keep her horrible truth to herself. And silencing her secret had eaten her alive.

  Cristian’s whole body jerked as if she had struck him. “Relieved?”

  “I didn’t mean to say it like that. It just flew out. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry. I know you did want the baby. The ten weeks I was pregnant were the worst. I wasn’t ready. Not even a little bit. Those days felt as though my whole world was closing in around me. I was—no, wait—we were twenty-five years old. We got married at twenty, and our life got close to perfect. I wanted to be pregnant for all the wrong reasons and then, hell, I was. I was terrified. I kept thinking I’d adjust. I didn’t. And then the baby was gone.”

  She’d never been able to explain how she felt to him. And why were they revisiting those dark days, anyway? The whole thing had been over years ago. Why were they causing each other pain again?

  Because they’d never had a single honest conversation about the baby—about them.

  “So let me see if I’ve got what you’re saying, shall I?” He must have finished his coffee because when he scrunched his coffee cup as though the holder was paper instead of heavy duty cardboard, he did so with only two fingers. “I didn’t support your dreams. I was an asshole. And I wanted the baby you suggested we try having and then didn’t want so you were then okay with the miscarriage, which made me feel as though I wanted to kill something because I wrongly assumed you were as devastated as I was? And then you left me.”

  Well, when he summed up their relationship the way he did, she’d really been a bitch. The worst version of herself, really. The image she hid from everyone, except from him. Had she really gone so dark she hadn’t been willing to tell Cristian how unhappy she was?

  “I stood at the door and asked you if we could be saved and you told me to go by saying nothing at all. I wasn’t alone in not communicating, in not really being present in our marriage.”

  He sat back in his chair. “I did. And I’m sorry. I should have told you I would have stepped in front of traffic for you. Only I had no idea what was happening, and you seemed a stranger w
hen you stood there. Because my Dahlia would never have left me.” He lowered his voice. “We didn’t know each other at all, did we?”

  “Cristian…”

  She had no idea what she would have said. None, whatsoever. Her phone dinged and the interruption gave her a reprieve from Cristian’s glaring eyes.

  Duke texted her and her stomach dropped. She wanted to throw up.

  There’s been another fire. The new one’s at Violet. No need to run over. I’ve got the situation. All the right people have been called.

  “What’s wrong?” Cristian’s eyes were clear, the emotion of their previous moments passed by. “Something other than battering at me.”

  “Someone is setting my restaurants on fire.” A headache formed between her eyes. “Small ones. Over and over. The ovens. We’ve had everything checked, upgraded security and it was tight before. And I can’t seem to make the whole thing stop. I don’t know what’s happening or why.”

  “Dahlia.” Cristian’s calm eased some of her anxiety. “Explain what’s happening to me again. Someone is setting fire to your restaurants. To the ovens. Go from there.”

  So she did. “It started out as a small fire in one kitchen. Weird. Unexpected. But these things happen. Each restaurant since has had an episode—a fire. It does little damage to anything but the one stove. Still, it keeps happening. We’re going to have an arson investigation. And things are getting out of hand. Something could go really wrong.” Tears sprung from her eyes and she used a tiny brown napkin to wipe them away.

  Finally, she finished. “I don’t know who would be so vicious. We don’t have enemies. We’ve never fired anyone. A single employee left to go to culinary school. A waitress got pregnant. No one I can think of hates us.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “A rival restaurant? Someone unhappy with your success.”

  “I suppose it’s possible. I can’t think of who. We’re niche places. Duke’s cooking is really eclectic. Some places are French, others American. We don’t open on the same street as restaurants of the same type. We’re thoughtful, careful, neighborhood places. Who would do such hateful things?”