by Roxy Reid
I turn back to Nora, trying to force a bland, pleasant smile onto my face. “Oh? What did you want to talk about?”
For the first time since I’ve known her, Grace’s shameless publicist looks guilty.
“I think I know why she’s not calling you back,” Nora says.
25
Grace
I’m going on a digital detox to finish writing my damn book. This doesn’t affect you since you never call me anyway. But I’m going to finish it, and it’s going to be LIFE-CHANGING.
—Grace Blackwood, in a text to Sean Bronson, two years into their friendship
I sing along to Dixie Chicks as I scoot fried rice around in the frying pan. I take another sip of wine.
The last week has been oddly peaceful, partly because I’ve turned off my cell phone. I’m also refusing to answer any emails that aren’t related to my therapy practice. At first, that was just because I was tired of Nora yelling into my voicemail, but after a while, it became freeing.
I feel like I have space to breathe and mourn. Space to begin to move on from Sean.
I add more soy sauce to the rice and scoot it around the frying pan some more. I read an article that said you shouldn’t poke fried rice. You should let it sit in one place and get crispy. As far as I’m concerned, though, the pleasure of scooting it around the pan is the whole point of making fried rice.
It changes to the next song. The Chicks are singing a soft lilting lullaby. There’s something about it that makes me think of a song Sean’s mom played when we were in Ireland.
I hit next on the playlist, fighting back the sting of tears.
That’s the thing about grief. It keeps popping up in places I don’t expect it. The other day, the new guy moved into Sean’s old house—some stockbroker millionaire who got rich in part because he was one of the first finance people to adopt Sean’s app. He came over with baked goods to introduce himself. It was all very polite and sophisticated.
Not at all like when Sean moved in, didn’t bother to introduce himself to anyone, and made his presence known by throwing a raging party that woke up half the neighborhood on a weeknight.
The new guy is cute and earnest, but he’s no Sean.
I groan.
“I need to stop thinking about him,” I tell Bradley. “I’m moving on. I’m making stir fry. I’m drinking wine and watching action movies, dammit.”
Bradley doesn’t say anything. He’s just sitting in the side window, staring at where Sean used to be and waiting for his nemesis to return.
I’m two glasses of wine into the newest Joshua King action movie—on which I can’t focus for the life of me—when my laptop pings with an email. I reach for it, grateful for the distraction until I see who it’s from. Nora. Again.
I’m about to shut the laptop, but my eyes snag on the subject line.
I’m still mad at you, but you should see this.
I open the email, but all it contains is a link to a news site. When I click it, a video of Lisa’s daytime news show pops up. At first, I think Nora sent me a copy of my interview to have for my records, and then I realize who Lisa’s interviewing.
It’s Sean.
What the fuck? Sean avoids the press unless he’s promoting something for one of his companies. In Seattle, I practically had to beg him to sit on a couch next to me while I promoted my book.
Maybe this is an old interview.
I check the date on the screen. It’s from this morning.
What. The. Fuck.
The interview starts, and Lisa starts asking Sean about his new company. He’s barely even told me about his company. Why is he talking to the press about it now? It will be at least a year, probably longer, before his new company officially launches it.
I try not to, but my eyes can’t help drinking him in as I watch. I haven’t seen him in a suit since Vegas. He looks impossibly good, powerful, and commanding with a wry, wicked smile. To say the suit fits him perfectly is an understatement.
“Why couldn’t you have had a beer gut?” I complain to the TV. “Or bad taste in shoes? Why did you have to be so … so … .”
You, I think. So perfectly you.
I’m trying to figure out why Nora sent me the interview when the conversation turns to me. My stomach tightens. Suddenly, I understand what’s happening. The last time I was on TV, I told the world I loved Sean. This is his way of setting the record straight. He probably wants to clarify that we’re not in a relationship anymore.
My declaration probably fucked up his new California dating life, I think viciously.
Then he cracks his knuckles, and I notice his hands. Or rather, what’s on his hands. Sean Bronson is still wearing his wedding ring.
My heart starts pounding so hard, it’s like I can feel it slamming into my ribs.
“What are you doing, Sean?” I mutter.
He looks directly into the camera. He’s not supposed to do that. They tell you when you’re on TV that you’re not supposed to do that. Sean’s never been one to follow the rules, and the way he’s looking straight at the camera, with no pretense of coyness, it feels like he’s looking at me.
“Our wedding might have been an accident,” Sean says, “but that doesn’t mean our marriage is fake. Our relationship can be saved. And I love her.”
I clap a hand to my mouth. I can’t believe he just said that. I can’t believe he still feels that. It can’t be true. But of course it’s true. Sean wouldn’t lie about something like this. If it’s true, though, why didn’t he talk to me? My interview was a week ago, he could have reached out …
Sean’s still talking.
“Grace Blackwood,” he says. “If you’re listening, I love you. I want to be with you. And I’m sorry about California.”
Tears sting my eyes. It’s a familiar feeling after all these weeks, but for the first time in a long while, they’re happy tears. Sean loves me. He’s sorry. He wants me back.
I want him back, too.
“Well, that was thorough,” Lisa says, wryly. “Anything else you’d like to say before we wrap up this interview?”
“Yes,” Sean says. “I’d like to tell Grace to answer her damn phone.”
I glance toward my phone, dumbfounded. He’s not … He hasn’t been …
I dig my phone out of my purse. I turn it on. Seventy-nine missed calls from Sean.
My heart seizes in panic. He must have thought I was ignoring him. Oh, hell, if he thought I didn’t want him … if he thought I didn’t want him, he’d go on national TV and make his case. He’d make it impossible to ignore him.
I wrap my arms around myself, giddy. What a wonderful, dramatic, impossible man. He’ll do anything to get my attention. All because I said I loved him, and he loves me back.
I look down at my phone with a jolt. What am I doing just standing here and thinking? I need to call him back.
I’m scrolling for his number when I hear a knock at the front door.
I ignore it. This is more important.
I call Sean, my heart in my throat as I listen to the ringing.
The pounding on the door grows louder.
I swear, if it’s the new next-door neighbor again, I’ll lose my mind. When I saw him checking me out earlier, I made sure to play the whole my-husband’s-in-California card. Can’t he take a hint?
Christ, he’s still knocking.
“Go away! I’m busy!” I yell.
Sean’s phone goes to voicemail, so I hang up and try again.
Finally, the knocking stops.
I hear the sound of the key sliding into my front door.
What the hell?
I toss the phone aside and reach for the wine bottle, prepared to brain the intruder on the head. The door opens, and it’s Sean.
“Oh,” I say, dropping the bottle. Wine spills across the floor.
Bradley races to Sean and twines around his feet. Sean scratches Bradley behind the ears, then rights the wine bottle. He’s still in his suit from earlier t
oday. He must have driven straight here from New York.
“I had my phone off,” I say. “I wasn’t avoiding you. I was avoiding Nora.”
“I know,” Sean says.
It’s the first time I’ve heard his voice in weeks. It hits me right in the gut and sends shivers down my spine.
“I saw the interview. Your interview,” I say. My tongue feels thick in my mouth. “Nora sent it to me.”
“I know,” Sean says.
There’s heat in his eyes, but it’s more than heat. He’s looking at me like I’m precious, and wonderful, and amazing. It makes me think of how he looked at me in our wedding video. For some reason, a hoard of butterflies swarms my stomach.
Saying I love Sean to millions of strangers is one thing. Telling him that I love him to his face is somehow entirely different.
He advances with a look of such intense focus my stomach flips. I take a step back.
“I got our wedding video. From the chapel in Vegas,” I say.
That stops him in his tracks. “That I did not know.”
I think about telling him that’s where he got his idea to build a program that can help medical researchers, but it doesn’t seem important right now.
“Are we still married?” He asks.
“Yes,” I say.
“Good.”
Then I’m in his arms, and he’s pressing me back against a wall. I could almost cry from the relief of having his touch, his scent, his heat. He lowers his mouth toward mine, and everything in me cants toward him in response. I feel like I died from missing him, and now he’s bringing me back to life.
I put my finger on his lips. I need to get this out first.
He looks down at my left hand, and for the first time, there’s pain in his eyes.
“You’re not wearing your wedding ring,” Sean says.
“I just found out you loved me a few minutes ago,” I say.
He takes my fingertips and kisses them. The gesture is so unexpectedly courtly, I swallow back against the tightness in my throat.
“Sean, I need to say …"
“No. Me first this time.” He strides away from me, but it’s only to shut the front door firmly. “You’re not running away this time, either,” he says.
“No,” I say, a tentative smile blooming on my face. I can’t believe this is really happening. “No, I’m not.”
Sean sinks to his knees in front of me and takes my hands in his. “Grace, I love you. I loved you before I knew I loved you.”
“I know,” I murmur, thinking about the wedding video.
“I’m so sorry I left. I thought you didn’t want me. I never would have left if I thought you wanted me. You’re it for me, love. I swear it.”
“I know,” I breathe. I do. I feel that knowledge settling over me like a benediction. Sean loves me, and as long as I’m brave enough to keep letting him know I want him, he’ll never leave again.
“I want a real wedding,” he says, and I laugh from the joy of it.
“That I didn’t know,” I say.
“I want to remember you walking down the aisle to me. I want to know what that first kiss tasted like. I want Peter to say ancient words over us while my mum cries her eyes out.” He squeezes my hands. His heart is in his eyes as he looks up at me, and I get a little dizzy.
“I love how we started,” Sean says. “Every second of it. But I want more. So tell me, Grace. Will you marry me again?”
“Oh, Sean, I love you so much.” I reach out to caress his face. He closes his eyes like he’s savoring my touch. His breath is ragged. “Forever and ever, no holds barred, even when I think I shouldn’t. I love you when I’m drunk, and I love you when I’m sober. I loved you when I thought you’d left forever. I just have one question.”
He nods up at me, earnest. Earnest is a surprisingly adorable look on Sean.
“You know, in Las Vegas, we walked down the aisle together,” I say. “I’d kind of like to do that again. Can we?”
Sean grins, fast and bright as lightning, as he realizes I’ve just said yes.
“Anything you want, love.” He rises, takes me in his arms, and kisses me until I’m thoroughly weak from wanting him and impossibly strong from loving him.
When he pulls back, I blink up at him, confused.
“Where’s your wedding ring?” he asks.
“In my bedside stand,” I say, absently, toying with his tie.
Wait a second …
“Sean, I distinctly remember you saying you don’t wear ties.”
“Yes.”
“That there was nothing in the world you wanted badly enough to wear a tie.”
“Yes.”
I look up at him. His eyes are dancing with mischief.
“Sean,” I point out. “You’re wearing a tie.”
“I wanted to get you,” he says.
I just sort of get all fluttery inside.
He takes me by the hand and leads me upstairs to my bedroom. He undresses me reverently, and I return the favor. We’ve had sex almost every way it is possible for a man and a woman to have sex, but this is the first time it feels like a wedding night.
He takes my ring from the drawer in my bedside stand. I hid it there because I couldn’t stand to have it far away, but it hurt too much to look at. It doesn’t hurt to look at now. It feels like a snapshot of our past and a promise of our future, all rolled into one.
“I’m getting you a better ring,” Sean says.
“Don’t you dare,” I warn.
He laughs, but it’s a gentle laugh. Musical.
He slides the ring on my finger. “Grace Blackwood, I take you as my wife. For richer or poorer, in sickness and health. The whole damn thing. You’re mine, and I won’t give you up again.”
I run my thumb over his ring. “You’re mine, too.”
“Say it back to me,” he commands.
Is it bad to get turned on while saying my wedding vows?
I think about teasing him, but when I look in his eyes, I know he needs this. He needs to hear the words as badly as I need to say them. I’m done hiding my heart behind teasing and sex.
“Sean Bronson, I take you as my husband. For richer or poorer, in sickness and health. Until death do us part, forever and forever, amen. You’re mine, and I won’t let you give me up again.” I lift his left hand. I kiss it where his ring marks him as mine.
Then he’s kissing me, pressing me back into the bed. He’s so incredibly gentle until I touch him back. When I do, he jerks, his fingers biting into my hips with the force of his want.
The last of the summer sun drifts through the window. When he slides into me, it’s everything I ever wanted. It’s every moment of easy friendship and passionate, frustrating love, all condensed into this moment in time. The way he rocks into me, his arms shaking with the effort to hold himself back as he watches my face with his half-lidded eyes, nearly drives me to madness.
He reaches down between us and strokes me until I shudder. He pushes me, and he pushes me. I want to hold on. I want to wait to come with him like we’re in some sort of romance novel, but it’s all too much. He’s devoting himself to my pleasure, and I can’t resist.
“I love you, Grace,” he says in my ear. “I love you so much.”
I try to hold back. I try to wait for him. I can’t.
“I love you, too,” I gasp, and then I’m coming.
I don’t know if it’s the words I say or the fact that I’m seizing around him, but Sean plummets over the edge, too, his body tensing as he comes in my arms.
Sean starts to roll off of me, but I stop him with a hand on his back. I want him in me a little longer. So instead, he rolls on his back so that I’m lying on top of him.
The evening summer breeze blows across my skin. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so emotionally and physically sated. Sean trails a hand up and down my back. It feels so good I could almost purr.
“You know, I really did just come back to return your keys,” he says. “But
then you kissed me, and I didn’t want to be rude …"
I punch him in the shoulder, and his laugh is rich and rolling.
“We do need a place to live, though,” he says thoughtfully.
That was one thing we always had trouble with—his place or mine. Now, his house next door has been sold. Presumably, he has bought a house in California, and though I know he did that in part to get away when he thought I didn’t love him, he also did it because that was a good place for him to be while he worked on his next business venture. Would he need to stay in California?
I ask, “Do you have to go back to California?”
“Do you want to live in California?” he asks.
“Not particularly,” I say.
“Then I don’t have to go back to California. I can telecommute with the developers that I’ll be working with.”
“Oh, good,” I say, softening against him. I would have followed him to California if I absolutely had to, but I’m really, really glad I don’t have to.
He’s right, though. He sold his house. He is going to need a place to live. I look at him shyly, which is a little ridiculous considering we’re both naked and he’s buried inside me. Nevertheless, I feel shy asking.
“Do you want to live with Bradley and me? I know you didn’t like it the last time you spent the night, but we could get rid of some of this old furniture to make room for your stuff,” I offer.
He gives a bark of laughter. “The only reason I didn’t want to live here before was that the whole place reminded me of you. I was so turned on and trying to resist you. Then Bradley caught me jacking off to you.”
“What?”
His hand grips the back of my neck. “Focus. I didn’t want to live here because I was trying to resist you. I’m not resisting you now.”
“No?” I tease.
