Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“I’ll never get tired of hearing that,” he murmured. His hands at my waist slid under the fabric of my sweater and brushed over the skin beneath.
No.
I shot up, knocking our teeth together as I pulled away. I was breathing so hard my vision blurred. “Can we slow down?”
“Yeah, we can slow down.” He sat back on his heels, one hand resting on my knee. I’d just agreed to marry him, but a large part of me wanted to push his hand away.
The voice in my head was commanding. He’s been so patient. So understanding.
“Tell me about the wedding,” I asked on a shaky voice.
“What?”
“What did we plan? A big, traditional thing?”
“No. You wanted that, but your ex . . .” He sighed. “You decided we should do it on a beach, just us, and whoever was going to marry us.”
That was why there was a wedding dress in my closet. We’d planned to marry here in Croatia.
He peered at me like he wanted to see every thought in my mind. “Why do you ask?”
My head was full of static. “Why haven’t we done it already?”
“You want to get married?” He looked dubious and a little excited. “Now?”
No, I didn’t, but once again, the words clogged in my throat. There was pressure at the base of my skull. “Not right now,” I stalled, “but if I relapse, you’ll be back at square one.”
A slow, deliberate smile crept on his face. “We could get married as soon as the weekend, if you want.”
The invisible hand of my subconscious hurled me forward and told me we were made for each other. That we shouldn’t waste any more time because it was limited. This was what he wanted—and that was more important than anything else.
Even though the idea scared the hell out of me.
“Are you telling me you want to get married, Laurel?” he asked. “That you want to make me the happiest man on Earth?”
I wasn’t allowed to say no, and I trembled so hard, it made my voice quaver. “Uh . . . if I don’t relapse before then.”
His lips were on mine again, softer this time, as if rewarding me.
In between kisses, he laid out the plans, how it would take four days to get it pulled together. It would be sooner, he explained, except he had to travel for business, and he couldn’t put it off any longer.
Four days.
That was how long I had until I put on a white dress and walked across the sand to become his wife. The thought filled me with panic rivaled only by the time I’d spent on the wrong side of the balcony railing.
What the fuck was happening to me?
41
LAUREL
Ryan produced a medium-sized box with a white ribbon and set it on the table where we’d just finished breakfast, although I’d hardly eaten. “Happy birthday.”
“What?”
“It’s your birthday today. Open it.”
I untied the ribbon and lifted the lid to expose the tissue paper inside. Beneath that, there were ballet slippers. Used ballet slippers. I pulled one out, confused.
“You dance professionally, but the doctor didn’t want you to go back to it too soon. Last time I gave these to you, you pushed it and made yourself sick.”
“I’m a ballet dancer?”
He nodded. “An amazing one. But you have to promise me you’ll take it easy.”
I put the shoe back in the box as I tried to find a way to be grateful, even though I hadn’t the faintest clue how to put it on. I gave him a polite smile. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Thanks.”
“There’s a room I didn’t show you on yesterday’s tour. Bring the box.”
It was a dance studio where one wall was all mirrors. It had hardwood floors, a ballet barre, and an upright piano in the corner. The room was beautiful, but the same feeling of nothingness possessed me as I set the box on the piano top.
“You don’t want to try them on?”
“Sure.” Because it was clear he wanted me to. I lifted the box’s lid, but he strode forward and grabbed my hands to stop me.
“You don’t have to.” He drew away hesitantly. “I don’t mean to push.”
“It’s fine.” Relief coasted through me. “I’ll try them on later. Thank you.”
“How about a kiss?”
My relief evaporated when he leaned in, and I held absolutely still as his lips grazed mine.
This was what I had written about in my journal last night. I didn’t dare put down on paper what I had been doing on the balcony, but it lingered in my thoughts, plaguing me. I wanted desperately to understand why I was so conflicted about this man.
Why I was filled with regret about the wedding I’d inadvertently suggested.
But when his lips were on mine and his hands on my body, I felt powerless. I let my arms fall to my sides when he pressed me against the mirrored wall, his mouth on mine, then hot on my neck.