Page 138 of The Temporary Bride

For the fifth time, I redo my tie, adjusting it carefully in the mirror. It’s still not perfect, but I can’t seem to get it just right.

My stomach churns, and my palms are damp as I glance at my reflection. The suit is bespoke, the tie is close to perfect, but my nerves are frayed. I keep thinking about Chloe, about how she looked when I saw her at Ivy’s, the strain and sadness in her face, and the hint of longing that I saw there too.

I’ve missed her like crazy, and if she’s missed me even a fraction of that amount, maybe I can still fix things.

This date is my chance to make things right, to show her how much she means to me.

As I adjust the tie, my wedding ring catches in the mirror, a constant reminder of the vows we made. I know Chloe wasn’t ready to put hers on again when I gave it to her at the hospital, but I can’t bring myself to take mine off. This ring stands for everything I’m fighting for.

Our past. Our future. The promise I made to her.

I run my thumb over the smooth metal, drawing strength from it. Then I take a deep breath, straighten my suit one last time, and head out the door, my heart thudding against my ribs. After so long without seeing Chloe, it feels a bit like breathing again after weeks of being underwater.

After so much time apart, I just want to be close to her, to feel that connection we once had. The thought of seeing her smile, hearing her laugh, maybe even holding her hand, is enough to make my pulse jump. Tonight has to be perfect. Not because I need to impress her, but because she deserves nothing less.

The air is cool, and the evening sky is beginning to darken, a few stars already out overhead. My driver is waiting by the car, and as I approach, he opens the door for me. I wanted to pick Chloe up myself, but she insisted on meeting me at the restaurant.

As the car pulls away, I stare out the window, trying to settle the storm in my chest. The city lights blur as we drive through the streets, and I find myself wondering where Chloe is and what she’s thinking right now.

Is she as nervous as I am? Is she looking forward to this, or just going through the motions? The uncertainty makes my chest tight, but I push it aside.

The car glides to a stop in front of the Regency, its sleek exterior reflecting the evening lights. The restaurant has a grand entrance, mahogany double doors flanked by trimmed hedges and an illuminated menu by the door set into a gilded frame. There’s a line of people snaking out through the front door, but I brush past them without pausing.

As I enter, the smell of freshly baked bread and savory food fills the air. The hostess greets me with a polite smile, and after a brief exchange, she leads me through the tables, each set with crisp white linens and small floral centerpieces.

We reach the table I reserved, a secluded spot near a window with a view of the city lights against the darkening sky. It’s perfect, offering just the right amount of privacy without feeling too isolated.

I don’t want Chloe to feel cornered on our date, but I do want both of us to be fully present, focused on only each other.

“Does everything look alright, Mr. Thorne?” the hostess asks.

I nod. “Yes, thank you.”

“Would you like something to drink before your date arrives?”

I’m about to decline, but then the thought of having something to ease my nerves makes me reconsider. I reach for the wine list, flipping through its pages with a practiced hand. As I scan the options, I settle on a choice that seems both fitting and indulgent. “Actually, if you could bring a bottle of the Chateau Margaux, that would be great.”

She flashes a smile. It’s a ludicrously expensive bottle, so of course she’s pleased. “Excellent choice, Mr. Thorne. I’ll have it brought over right away.”

As she leaves, I lean back in my chair, trying to settle my nerves. The Chateau Margaux isn’t just any wine. It’s the kind of bottle you uncork only for the most special of occasions. Tonight is special. Chloe is special.

Most importantly, though, it’s a merlot. Chloe’s favorite.

The moments stretch out as I wait, the anticipation building. My fingers drum lightly against the table, the soft hum of the restaurant around me a contrast to the tension in my chest. I glance at the empty seat across from me, picturing Chloe sitting there, her face lit by the candlelight.

The waiter returns with the bottle, presenting it with an air of ceremony. He uncorks it with a practiced twist and pours a small amount into my glass. I take a sip, although I barely register the taste, and nod in approval. He fills my glass, leaves the bottle on the table, and steps away with a nod.

I take a longer sip now. It’s a superb choice, decadent and sophisticated and perfectly in tune with the occasion.

Now all that’s left is for Chloe to walk through that door.

A few minutes later, I see her step through the entrance, and for a moment, everything else goes quiet. Chloe. She’s so beautiful it takes my breath away.

She’s wearing a black dress with small gold detailing that drapes her figure with effortless elegance, hugging her in all the right places. Her hair falls in soft waves, framing her face. Her gray eyes, lined with a subtle winged eyeliner, hold mine.

I stand up quickly as she approaches, smoothing my suit. My pulse is racing, but I keep my expression calm.

“Chloe,” I say when she reaches the table, my voice low.