Taming Her Bad Boy

“Okay. I’m sorry,” I say with a nod. “Go ahead. I'm listening. Seriously.”

“Cohen,” she says again. This time, there's no denying the strain in her voice. “I...I don't think that we should be doing this.”

“And what exactly would you be referring to when you say this?” My heartbeat is already quickening. “Having coffee? Apologizing? Talking about the mind-blowing sex-capade you spearheaded last night?” I know I shouldn't be joking, but I can't help myself. I can tell by the drawing down of her brows and the tightness of her facial features that Vienna is about to say something that's going to be hard to hear.

Something that's going to affect us from this moment forward.

And, somehow, my immediate defense mechanism is to make light of the situation and also remind her of just how good we were together last night before everything went straight to hell.

Vienna shakes her head, looking away from me again. “No, none of that,” she says in a low voice. “I'm just thinking...I mean, I'm talking about getting married. I'm not sure we should be doing this. The way things are, I mean.”

It would have hurt less to have her punch me squarely in the gut. But hearing the words fall from Vienna's lips is almost more than I can take, and the strain in my own voice reflects that. “You're saying that you don't want to marry me now?”

“I'm not saying that I don't want to be your wife, Cohen. I just don't want to have to go through all the drama that comes with getting to that point.” She sounds exasperated, like she's given up. “I just don't feel like this is our wedding coming up anymore. It's everyone else's wedding. The one they planned for the Cohen and Vienna that we used to be. The Cohen and Vienna that we've outgrown.”

Her eyes flit towards mine as she continues. “We’re not the same people we were ten years ago, Cohen. We're not children, and we're not in need of anyone to hold our hands except for each other.”

“Vienna, I know that, babe. I never meant for my mother to get so involved. If you want, I can try to talk to her. I can try to—”

“Cohen! You're not hearing what I'm saying.” She pushes the coffee mug away and tears her hands through her hair in an attempt to compose herself. “I'm saying I don't want to do this like this.”

“You don't want to get married,” I repeat, probably just as much for my own benefit as hers. I'm trying hard to make sense of how fast and horribly everything is spiraling downward, but I can't seem to keep up. “You don't want to get married.”

“Not like this,” she admits with a sigh. Her shoulders slump downward and I can tell she is ashamed to have to confess such a thing.

At that point, unfortunately I'm not really giving a damn how ashamed she feels. Mostly because it hurts so goddamn much to know there are conditions that decide whether or not Vienna Anderson, the love of my life since I was a teenager, would or would not become my wife. “If not like this,” I continue, making quotation marks in the air with my fingers, “Then how exactly would you like to marry me?”

“I think if we waited—”

“Waited?” I chuckle sarcastically, shaking my head. “Wait for what, exactly? It's not like I'm going to be someone different, or that my mother is going to just miraculously disappear. And I sure as hell can't undo the fact that I used to be married to Liz and she just happens to live in the next town over, Vienna. So, you're going to have to explain to me what exactly we would be waiting for because I don't seem to see any scenario that's going to change so dramatically that suddenly this will all be fixed.”

She's staring at me with wide eyes, and though she hasn’t done it yet, I can tell at any minute her bottom lip is going to be sucked in between her teeth, holding back the trembling that will come next.

I'm being an asshole, but she's not exactly giving me a choice here, either. Getting married involves other people, and there doesn't seem to be another way around it, especially when those other people are so hell-bent on being a part of every aspect of the event.

“If you just listen to me,” she states shakily, “Then I could explain—”

“Explain what, Vienna? That the plans we have aren't good enough? That you'd rather not do this at all instead of putting up with one godforsaken day of the entire Garrison population being involved in our wedding?”

Vienna stands up, and the stool slides backward loudly, echoing in the silence that looms between us. “You're really bound and determined not to listen to me, aren't you?”

“I think I’ve heard enough of what you wanted to say during your little scene with Liz yesterday,” I snap. “Isn't that what this is really all about?”

I can visibly see the shadow cross her face, and Vienna's eyes darken as her eyelids narrow. My choice of words has very easily and very quickly taken her from upset to undeniably pissed off.

“That's what you think this is about?” She glares at me, unmoving.

“I'm not saying you didn't have a reason to be pissed off, Vi, but I think the fact that you obviously got jealous and somehow assumed she was just there trying to stake claim or mark her territory—” I stop, getting ahead of myself. “I just wish that you would admit you overreacted.”

“You think I'm angry because that woman showed up and still wants you?”

“Vienna, Liz doesn't still want me.” Jesus, and she says I’m not listening? “It's been years since our relationship ended.”

“Marriage.”

“What?”

“Since your marriage ended, Cohen.”