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“You really are full of yourself,” I muttered.
“I’d rather be full of you,” he replied, his voice low and teasing.
“Don’t you have something to do?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
“No. I’ve answered all my emails, and I’m waiting on you so we can leave,” he said, settling into a chair.
“Watch the news,” I suggested.
Trouble came bounding in from his bed by the terrace doors. Oliver scooped him up, placing him on his lap. He wasn’t fooling me; I knew he loved the little dog as much as I did.
“You should get him in his carrier,” I reminded him.
“In a few minutes,” he said, cooing and petting Trouble.
I watched Oliver in the mirror as I put on my makeup. Since we got Trouble, we’d been dropping him off at Good Doggy, a dog playground where he could spend the day playing with other dogs.
“Matthew said he would take Trouble while we’re away,” I mentioned.
“I thought your parents were taking him?” Oliver asked, slightly confused.
“Trouble loves Blackie, and they get along so well. Matthew’s dog walker can take them both out,” I explained.
“I guess,” he said, still feeling a bit uneasy.
“Are you worried?” I asked, sensing my hesitation.
“Blackie is bigger than Trouble. Suppose they get into a fight?” he said, voicing his concern.
“They don’t fight. Have you ever seen them?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No. But…” he trailed off, still unsure.
“Stop worrying. He’ll be fine,” I reassured him.
As time drew closer to Oliver's departure for the airport, my mood grew darker and more irritable. The thought of sleeping in bed without him gnawed at me, a constant, unwelcome reminder of his absence. I regretted not deciding to go with him.
Just thirty minutes before he had to leave, Oliver sauntered into my office. His movements were smooth and deliberate, like a panther on the prowl.
“Sweetheart?” he called out, his voice a soft rumble that sent a shiver down my spine.
I glanced up from my laptop, trying to keep my irritation in check. “What’s up?”
“I’m leaving soon. Did you eat lunch?” he asked.
“No. I completely forgot,” I admitted, my stomach twisting as I realized how the day had slipped away.
“You should eat,” he said, stepping closer. “Everything alright?”
“No, it’s not. I noticed you added more to the guest list. Please stop doing that.”
He sighed, a look of mild exasperation crossing his face. “I’m sorry. Peyton Branford and his wife will be visiting New York the week of our wedding.”
“Who the hell is Peyton Branford?” I demanded, frustration bubbling over.
“The man I’m meeting with tomorrow,” he explained patiently. “He’s a business associate and has been for many years. I attended his wedding.”
“At this rate, we’ll be at full capacity,” I muttered, feeling the weight of the guest list pressing down on me.
