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I move my food around my plate, wishing we would’ve postponed this dinner.
“Can I ask you a question?”
I put down my fork, wipe my mouth with my napkin, and give her my full attention. Finally, she’s going to tell me what’s really wrong.
“Where are we going?”
I tilt my head and study her. “What do you mean?”
She looks around for anyone paying us extra attention. Leaning over the table, she lowers her voice. “We’re technically fake married.”
Her statement is like a quick slice of a knife to the heart. Sure, we decided to get married before we started dating, but it doesn’t make what we have any less real. We’re just getting started. “I like being married to you.”
She smiles and accepts my outstretched hand. “I like being married to you, but our future? What do you think it looks like?”
I feel as if it’s a loaded question, as if she’s looking for a specific answer, the way her eyes are lasered on me across the candlelit table.
“I like us now. We’ll take it as it comes,” I say.
I squeeze her hand. She gives me a wan smile and slides her hand away, picking up her fork. We finish our meal, not talking much, and head back home. The anxious tension in my body increases with every minute that ticks by.
We’re no sooner in the house than she’s heading to the stairs. I assume she’s going to change out of her dress, but she turns to me at the bottom of the stairs.
“I’m going to head to bed. I’m tired.”
“Are you feeling okay?” I ask, feeling as though I’ve been on repeat all night.
“Yeah.” She breaks the distance, giving me a kiss. “Thanks for the date night. The pasta was great.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll be up in a bit.”
Her hand runs down my chest. “Take your time. Good night.”
Turning around, I watch her walk up the stairs, my heart aching because even though I just got her, I think I’m losing her.
I’ve given Sadie all weekend to tell me what’s bothering her, and I’ve got nothing. She didn’t want to start a new crime show on Saturday night. She was out of bed before me on Sunday, and I found her on the porch, sipping her tea and staring at the lake. She stayed at her mom’s most of the day Sunday, helping her mom clear out some of her dad’s things.
My only saving grace is that she cuddles up to me at night. But I laid awake most of last night, my mind reeling, thinking she’s torn between staying with me here and taking some job in Los Angeles like Melody suggested. That stupid fear that I might be holding her back keeps popping up in my head like a flashing red warning sign.
I walk into the house at the end of the day Sunday, and she’s in the kitchen making dinner.
“I could’ve cooked,” I say, since I was always the one who did it before she moved in. Sometimes we cooked together, but I like preparing her meals. Especially her favorite.
She shrugs. “I’m home.”
I wash my hands and wind them around her. She leans back into me, which is another good sign. She doesn’t ever pull away from my affection.
“Let me finish.” I rest my chin on top of her head.
“I’ve got it. I know you want to shower.”
I kiss the top of her head. “I’ll be right back.”
In the shower, I have a hard time letting this go. What is she so upset about? I finish washing and open the shower door and startle when I find Sadie sitting on the counter.
“We have to talk.”
Fucking finally. I was ready to go down there and demand she talk.
