Paul clears his throat, then his lips twitch at the corners. “Because I don’t think I’m going to be able to stop if I start. Shouldn’t have come at all. It’s only a few more days.”
Those last words he says.Only a few more days. They should incite some excitement inside me, but they don’t. They fill me with dread instead. Like a warning.Only a few more days. It shouldn’t fill me with anxiety, with fear, or with shame, but it does. That’s exactly what I’m consumed with.
But I don’t tell Paul that. Instead, my lips stay curved up into a smile. A fake plastered-on smile that I hope he can’t read, though I doubt he can, because this is the only smile I’ve ever worn for him in the short time I’ve been around him, and it will probably be the only smile he’ll ever see from me.
I can’t imagine that I’ll be able to give him a true one. I don’t know that I’ll ever find absolute happiness with him. I’m not sure I could find it with anyone who isn’t Gunnar. Paul thankfully doesn’t realize I’m being fake as hell. He dips his chin, touches his lips to the spot just behind my ear, and then he walks away.
Turning my head, I watch him over my shoulder as he walks toward my door. He stops. Then spins around to face me. Only then do I slowly do the same. His brows snap together at the same time his lips press into a thin line.
“That Neanderthal who has been watching over you…”
“Yes?” I ask.
My heart slams against my chest again, harder this time. I can feel my skin grow warm, and I resist lifting my fingers to my cheeks in an effort to cool them off. I wonder if he can tell I’m thinking about Gunnar, that I’m scared to death he’s going to figure me out.
Paul shakes his head once, then he finally speaks. “He’s not coming to the wedding, is he?”
“Why?” I ask before I answer him.
“Because I don’t think it’s a good idea for a man who loves you to be there, or maybe it is. Maybe it’s a really good idea so that shit can sink all the way fucking in that you are not his.”
Shit.
Complete fucking shit.
I’m not sure how to answer this, so I stay silent. He chuckles, though I don’t think he really finds it all that funny. I’m prettysure he knows something is going on, that there is jealousy there under his laugh.
“He might be there. He’s one of my brother’s best friends. I’m not in charge of anything, though, Paul. Except my dress, which I have ready to go.”
He nods once, his gaze never leaving mine. “Okay then.”
That doesn’t sound good at all. I hope he lets it go because I don’t know what’s going to happen if he pushes it. I don’t know what I would blurt out, and I certainly don’t know how Gunnar will react.
“I’ll see you in a few days. I’ll be the asshole in the suit at the end of the aisle,” he quips, then winks before he tugs the door open and walks away.
Paul closes the door behind him, and I stay where I am, standing in the middle of my living room, staring at the closed door and wondering what the hell I’m going to do. Pinching my eyes closed, I try to gather myself. I have a few more days, and I can’t be getting all worked up.
I need to get it together.
Just when my breathing calms down, I hear the familiar sound of a bike’s roar. My spine straightens, and I rush over to the window. Using my index finger, I flip the blind slightly so I can see outside, and that’s when I spy him.
It’s Gunnar.
He’s parking across the street, his eyes focused on the house. I don’t know if he can actually see me, but it feels like he can. He doesn’t make a move to come inside, though. He doesn’t even make a move to climb off his bike.
All he does is stare.
And all I do is stare right back at him.
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t lift his hand to wave. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t do anything but sit there and look pissed off.My attention is dragged away from Gunnar when my phone starts to buzz in my pocket.
Slipping it out, I turn around and walk away from the window. Flicking my gaze down at my screen, I grunt at the sight of the name flashing as it rings. I’m not sure I want to talk to her right now, but at the same time, if I don’t answer, she’s going to come over.
It’s Millie.
I glide my thumb across the screen, but can’t even sayhello.
“Where are you?” she demands.