“Oh God. I have a marriage history.”
My stomach churned. Someday, I’d meet the man of my dreams. And when he asked me to marry him, when we exchanged vows, it wouldn’t be for the first time. My heart twisted, my chin beginning to quiver.
I was married.
I was about to have an ex-husband. I would be an ex-wife. Shame spread across my skin like a rash.
There was no erasing what had happened in Las Vegas. My only option at this point was to fix it.
So I squashed the urge to cry, to scream, and collected my clothes from the floor, bundling them against my chest. I carried them down the hallway to my bedroom, where they were dropped in my hamper, then I rushed through a shower, erasing Jasper’s cologne and the scent of sex from my body.
With my damp hair twisted in a knot, I dressed in a pair of sweats and grabbed my laptop from my tiny office. I spent the next three hours researching Montana divorce lawyers.
My top choice was a woman in Missoula. She was far enough away from Quincy that hopefully no one local would ever find out. But she was also close enough I could drive there to meet if needed. I put her at the top of my list, noting my second and third choices to call in the morning. Then I steeled my spine and made a call.
To my husband.
“Yeah,” Jasper answered.
“I’m sorry. About earlier. About running from you and pretending like I didn’t know you. I panicked.”
He blew out a long breath. “It’s all right. This is . . .”
“Fucked up?”
He barked a dry laugh. “Yeah.”
“I’m going to call a lawyer in the morning.”
“’Kay. I left a message with mine.”
“We’ll let them get this sorted. And I’ll tell my family.” Somehow.
He hummed his agreement.
The silence stretched for a few heartbeats. This was when I should hang up, but I just sat and listened to the nothing. Jasper’s scent might not be on my skin anymore, but I was sitting on the couch and his spicy, woodsy scent still clung to the air in the living room.
If they made that smell into a candle, I’d burn it twenty-four seven.
“We should probably stop having sex.” I hated the words the moment they came off my tongue. But it was time to start fixing those mistakes.
“Probably a smart idea,” he said.
It was the smart idea. So why did that make my spirits sink?
“Night, Jasper.”
“Bye, Eloise.”
He ended the call.
As I stared at the screen, something twisted in my stomach.
Like that goodbye wasn’t only for tonight.
CHAPTER SIX
JASPER
You are cordially invited . . .
The wedding invitation in my hand might as well have been a knife. The sheet of textured ecru paper sliced straight through my heart.
“Fuck.” I tossed it on the kitchen counter beside the stack of mail that had been delivered today.
Ironic that the first day I received mail at the A-frame as its official owner was the same day that invitation arrived.
My mail had been forwarded from my place in Vegas to Montana for weeks. Whether I’d bought this cabin or not, that card still would have found its way into my mailbox. Still, it felt like a bad omen.
Why would they send me an invitation? Why couldn’t everyone just leave me alone?
I left the kitchen, walking through the house—my house—to the slider that opened to the deck. The babble of the nearby creek played quietly in the background. The breeze rustled the pine and fir trees, making their trunks sway. The air nipped at my arms, cool despite the sun streaming through the sky. Last night’s dew had mostly disappeared but there were still a few damp, shady spots that gave the air an earthy, rich aroma.
In the past month, the snow had melted in the mountain valleys, replaced with shoots of green sprouting from the forest floor. Spring was coming, and though I’d been warned that we’d likely have at least one more snowstorm, I could feel the energy of a new season.
Winter had been vicious. But this? This I could live with for a while. For however long it took for Eloise and me to get this annulment.
The wheels of the legal process were grinding at a glacial pace. At this rate, I’d be here through summer.
It had been a month since I’d spoken to Eloise. One month since I’d fucked her against the couch in her living room. One month since that woman had twisted me into a goddamn knot.
One month since I’d seen my wife.
Turns out, she didn’t need to pretend not to know me. I’d avoided her spectacularly.
Her attorney had contacted mine, and as I remembered from the first round of this bullshit, legally ending a marriage was more time consuming than it should have been. We’d gotten married in less than an hour. Yet a month later, Eloise was still legally my wife.
Had she told her family, like she’d promised? No.
If she had, Foster would have confronted me about it. But as far as I could tell, beyond Eloise and me, not a soul in Quincy had a clue.
Still, I’d kept my mouth shut, just like Eloise had asked. I hadn’t told Foster even though it was getting harder and harder to face him with every passing day. The putrid, crawling guilt churned my insides.
This secret was eating me alive.
Maybe if it had been any other woman, a stranger, keeping this quiet wouldn’t have burned so fiercely. But Foster and Talia were engaged now. Eloise was his soon-to-be sister-in-law. This betrayal extended to his family.
And fuck, he was going to be pissed.
Another irony. Of all the people in this world, having Foster as my brother was a dream. Except when this came out, it would likely ruin our friendship.
Maybe I’d get lucky and he’d understand.
Unlikely, but a man could hope.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. It could have been a hundred different people. But that uneasy feeling came back with a vengeance. The bad omen. And sure enough, when I dug out my phone, a familiar name was on the screen.
Sam must have known I would have received the card by now.
My heart began racing. With it came that familiar disquiet I couldn’t seem to overcome no matter how many years passed. “Hello.”
“Hi.” Once upon a time, I’d lived for that hi. “Did you get my wedding invitation?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “And what?”
“Are you coming?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s fucked up.” Of all the people in the world, I was the last one who should go to that wedding.
“It is fucked up. But isn’t that who we are? Isn’t that who we’ve been since we were kids?”
I wanted to argue. “Maybe.”
“Good. Then you’ll come.”
“I’m not coming.”
“Why not? Did you develop a dislike for Italy? Or are you afraid to see me again?”
Yes. “No,” I lied.
“Prove it.”