Her Fantasy Husband (Things to do Before You Die… #2)

He had? She stamped on the little flicker of hope that woke deep inside her. “I’m fine.”


Jean came out and hustled her into the kitchen. “Come and sit for a minute. We’ve hardly seen you the last week.”

Tom and Sarah sat at the table, both with worried frowns on their faces. Luckily there was no sign of Harry, and his Porsche wasn’t in the drive. She didn’t think she was up to any pretense right now.

“Honestly, guys, I’m fine.”

Jean pulled out a chair for her and pressed her gently on the shoulder until she sank down. Tom got up, grabbed a bottle of red wine, uncorked it, and poured her a huge glass, pushing it across the table toward her. “Drink.”

She drank.

“We want you to know we’re here for you,” Sarah said. “You took us all in, helped us when we needed it.”

“You’re our family,” Tom said.

Aw.

She really wished they weren’t being so nice because tears were pricking at her eyes and heat was rolling over her, and she really didn’t want to break down in public.

“You’re strong,” Jean said.

“I am?” She didn’t feel strong. She felt all wishy-washy and about to fall apart.

Jean nodded. “You help everyone else, but you don’t think you need help. But everyone does, honey, at some point.”

Lexi took a gulp of her wine, then another. Tom reached across and refilled her glass. She chewed on her lip. Drank some more. Took a deep breath. “I’m in love with Josh.”

There, she’d said it.

She waited for the cries of disbelief. Peered around the table. Tom looked…sad. Sarah was nodding as if she’d said the most sensible thing ever. Jean pursed her lips then sank down in the chair next to Lexi and took her hand.

“Love’s a bitch,” she said. “And he is one good-looking guy.”

“And he is your husband,” Sarah added.

“My pretend husband.” Lexi almost smiled. “And he doesn’t believe in love, or he’s scared of love or…” She shrugged. “Whatever. He doesn’t love me anyway. Told me he’d never love me.” She sniffed, blinked, and a tear rolled down her cheek. She emptied her wineglass in one go and held it out for more. Tom hesitated, and she glared. The wine was creating a nice buzz in her brain. “And it hurts because he’s sooo perfect.”

“No man is perfect, honey.”

She rested her elbow on the table, her chin in her hand and sighed. “I don’t mean he’s actually perfect.” Though waking up with him deep inside her came as close to perfection as she could imagine. “But I never knew it could be like that, and now he doesn’t want me anymore.”

“I’m guessing he wants you. He’s just told himself he can’t have you.”

“He’s damaged goods. He told me he’s broken.” She took another gulp. “He said I go around fixing people.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Except he doesn’t want to be fixed.” She sniffed again, and someone passed her a tissue. “I’ve got to let him go, and I don’t want to. He’s right. I want to fix him so bad that it hurts.”

“Aw, sweetheart, you’ll get over it.”

Maybe. Maybe not.

“He’ll still be around, because we need to stay married for another six months, but how am I supposed to be around him and not…”

Touch him. Hold him. Love him.

“Keep busy,” Tom said.

She sighed, wiped away her tears, cried some more, and let Jean pull her into a huge hug. She wasn’t much used to hugging—her family really hadn’t done much of that—and the warmth and the scent of Chanel—her mother had worn the same perfume—tipped her over the edge, and she was bawling.

Someone cleared their throat from the doorway.

Great. More people to witness my breakdown.

She peered over Jean’s shoulder. “Uncle Jamie.”

“I knocked on the door, but no one came.”

She pulled free and hurled herself out of her chair and into his arms. They tightened around her for a moment, and then he held her away from him, studying her, no doubt taking in her red eyes and tear-blotched cheeks.

“Hey, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing really. Just a tough day.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Your grandmother still in town?”

She nodded and took a deep breath. “So what are you doing here?”

They made a point of seeing each other at least twice a year, but usually by arrangement. She wasn’t sure exactly what Jamie did, but it took him out of the county for long stretches of time.

“Can’t I just want to see my favorite honorary niece?”

“Yes, but I bet that’s not the case.”

“A bit of both actually. There is something I wanted to talk to you about.”

She looked around at the people listening avidly. “Let’s go through into the sitting room, and we can talk.”

She led the way out into the hall and then into the small sitting room at the back of the house. It was all chintz and ornaments and hadn’t been touched since she moved in. She waited until Jamie sat down and then perched on the sofa opposite.

“Are you really okay?” he asked. “I’ve never known you to cry before.”