“I didn’t notice the wheelchair.”
“Aw, you were blinded by her beauty. Sigh. You can stop talking now, Ash. You’re too good to be true. No, wait! Laney, tell me something totally gross about him so I can sleep tonight.”
I laughed at her serious expression.
“Um, I don’t think . . . well, it’s not gross but it is annoying . . . he calls my boyf—my best friend Collin a prick,” I finished lamely.
“Is he a prick?” Sarah asked, stuffing an enormous forkful of pasta in her mouth.
“Yes,” said Ash as I said, “No.”
Sarah laughed, and pieces of pasta sprayed over the table, causing the other women to jerk back and throw disgusted looks.
“He probably doesn’t like competition,” Sarah said knowingly, giving Ash a sharp look. “Even from pricks. But yeah, that’s not gross.”
“The way you eat pasta is,” one of the women muttered.
Sarah ignored her, and the server arrived, smiling brightly at Ash.
“Does she want a menu?” she asked, not even glancing at me.
“Why don’t you ask her?” he said coldly.
The waitress looked flustered, so I quietly asked for a menu while she hurried away.
Everyone stared. They always did.
Ash’s new colleagues were friendly, talking excitedly about rehearsals. But I can’t pretend it wasn’t painful to be surrounded by women who were all tens. And able-bodied.
Ash
What a seriously weird day.
I was so certain I was going to get arrested and kicked out of the country that I nearly puked. Added to the fact I was getting fucking married.
To a woman who liked me but didn’t love me, so I could stay in a country that had sent me to Hell and back, to dance in a show that I was beginning to have serious doubts about. And now, my secret wife wasn’t a secret to the other dancers in the show.
That was enough to make anyone’s head spin. I had another drink, feeling the warm fingers of alcohol trickle through my bloodstream.
Laney’s face was flushed from the heat in the crowded restaurant and from the glass of champagne that she’d drunk.
She was laughing at something Sarah had said. Her head was thrown back and her eyes sparkling. She looked happy. Then she caught my eye and her smile softened as she leaned toward me.
“It’ll be okay,” she whispered.
I wanted to kiss her again. Well, I wanted to do a lot more than kiss her, but I couldn’t. She wouldn’t want that. I’d taken a risk during the ceremony, but it had felt like the right thing to do. And then, when she’d responded, I wanted her. Badly.
She was my friend. The best friend I’d ever had.
Maybe I was reading it wrong, but it felt like there was something more between us.
It was confusing.
But then the memories slammed back, reminding me that she was too good for a man who would never feel clean again.
Laney
I’d nearly had a heart attack when Sarah saw my wedding ring. But it hadn’t turned out as badly as I’d expected.
Ash’s co-workers were really friendly and accepting. They admitted openly that they thought he was gorgeous, but none of them gave me a vibe that they wanted more than friendship.
Ash seemed to enjoy himself, but then his expression had darkened and I wondered what he was thinking. He’d made an effort to be light hearted again, but I could tell the difference between his real smile and the one he put on for a performance.
We stayed long enough to enjoy gorging on pannacotta, then Ash told the others we were leaving.
He’d wheeled me home, made some chamomile tea for me, and brought my meds.
And then he’d taken me into my room and left me there.
My wedding night was spent alone in my bed, wondering if Ash would open the door and walk inside, hoping he would.
I knew one thing for certain—I had to break things off with Collin. I wasn’t being fair to either of us.
Unfortunately, Collin had left for a two week business trip. I wasn’t going to end a ten year relationship over the phone. But it was frustrating.
So for the next two weeks, we continued on as roommates, our marriage certificate hidden in my bedroom drawer while various photocopies were sent off to facilitate Ash’s green card, my wedding ring unworn.
Ash didn’t try to kiss me again, but I saw him watching me sometimes. I knew that I wanted him to, but he had to want it as well, and right now, his expression was quizzical, uncertain. When our eyes met, he’d smile quickly and look away.
I heard him at night, almost every night. It would start with short, muttered sentences, always in Slovenian, the couch creaking as he moved restlessly. The whispers would get louder and suddenly he’d shout out. That woke him, and then I’d hear him padding into the kitchen to get a drink. Sometimes that would follow by music playing softly and I knew that he was dancing.