He holds out the box. "This is for you." When I take the box, he holds out a clipboard. "If you could just sign here." He points to a line, and I scribble my signature and close the door.
I carry it into the living room and sink onto the red couch I talked Tate into letting me buy for our house. The ribbon on the box slips off easily, and when I open the box, I find two dozen long stemmed red roses, my missing red shoe and a card.
My hand is trembling as I tear through the thick parchment envelope. When I open it, a gold ring falls out. My wedding ring. The note is written in neat cursive.
My darling Kacie,
I know our relationship started unexpectedly and proceeded with too little caution, but I can't get you out of my mind. Like Cinderella, you lost your shoe, and I endeavor to make mine the only woman who should be wearing it. Watch for another package tomorrow, and please keep tomorrow evening free. I'll pick you up at seven o'clock, and we can discuss our future, for there will undoubtedly be one if I have anything to say about it.
Yours truly and always,
Sebastian
Tate, the busybody that he is, snatches the note from me and reads it aloud. "That's so sweet," he says, his voice too syrupy. "You should definitely see him again. And fuck him again. He sounds perfect. If I were gay—and he were gay, obviously—I'd totally go for it."
I grab the note back from him. "If you were gay, you'd bang him one night and never call him again. I don’t think being gay would change your genetic makeup of love 'em and leave 'em."
He grins like an idiot. "But what a night it would be."
"Go away now, please. I will go, but only to discuss the annulment. Nothing more."
He wags his eyebrows. "That's what they all say. Until it's cock-o-clock."
"Gross. You didn't seriously just say that did you? That better not become a thing. I don’t ever want to hear that spoken aloud again."
I take my package up to my room and think about the note.
I should be irritated that Sebastian would be so presumptuous about my evening plans and entire future, but my stomach dances with those butterflies. I want to see him again. Need to see him again.
My pigheaded stubbornness does its best to present all the reasons why getting involved with this guy is a very bad idea. We met in a drunken haze of sex and need, and that's no way to start a healthy relationship. I barely know him. I don't want anything serious right now. I like to keep my life simple, orderly, focused.
The list is endless, but underneath all of that, my heart is adamant that I must see him again. Must kiss him and feel his lips against mine. Must taste him.
Must have him.
With this in mind, I slip the ring through my silver necklace and tuck it beneath my shirt, just so I can give it back to him without losing it. I'm grateful he sent back my shoe, and I place it with its twin, then put the roses in a vase and center it on my dresser. No point in wasting beautiful flowers.
As for the note, I stick it in my red Coach bag and try to forget about it for now.
I reach for my MacBook and fire it up, doing a search for annulments in Las Vegas. Turns out, it's not that hard, especially if both parties agree. Assuming the judge rules that I was in fact incapable of making informed consent given my state that night.
I print out the forms we need, sign and fill out what I can, and stick them in my purse next to his note. Even if we end up fucking again—the thought of him inside me makes me wet—once we get these signed and notarized, we'll be set. It shouldn't take more than a few weeks for the annulment to be final and our lives to go back to normal.
Now I feel better. Mostly better. Definitely better. Maybe in a few years when our business is booming, and we can move into bigger events and party planning, when I can hire a bigger staff and step away from the day-to-day operations a little more, maybe then the timing will be better for me to think about something serious.
I go downstairs to rejoin my brother and figure out a way to get Joey off his “tank” kick.
"Hey, sis." Tate says, feet resting on the coffee table as he works on his laptop. "Come to any major life decisions up there all alone in your room?"
"Everything is sorted out. I'll be seeing him tomorrow to finalize things." My heart does a little skip at that, but I ignore the traitorous beast.
Tate doesn't look convinced. He raises an eyebrow, his blue eyes reading too much into my face, I'm sure. Damn him for knowing me so well.
I sigh with more drama than the situation requires and flop onto the couch next to him. "Stop looking at me like that. Yes, he was the most amazing sex I've ever had. And yes, he's an amazing catch in a sea of slimy serpents, but he's not for me. We're from two different worlds. It would never work. What could a girl with a business degree who plans bachelor parties possibly have in common with a fucking pediatric heart surgeon?"
He throws his arm over my shoulder. "I don't know. But there's no harm in finding out, right?"