Poles Apart

I was lost in my own thoughts. I wanted to be angry at him for the situation we were in, I wanted to refuse to accept it because it was too expensive, and I wanted to shout at him for trapping me all the time and not considering my feelings or wants. But, in that moment, all that seemed to matter to me was that Carson Matthews had just pushed an engagement ring onto my finger. Everything else now faded into insignificance.

Before I could recover, he bent his head and pressed his lips to the corner of my mouth. I whimpered at the feel of it. The soft, intimate moment swirled around me; seconds seemed to drag on. Without my conscious permission, my hand gripped the side of his shirt.

As he pulled away, his eyes met mine, and I could see the desire there. Carson had always made me feel desired and wanted. His eyes were my downfall. I didn’t let go of his shirt as the tip of his nose touched mine. His lips brushed mine ever so gently as he spoke. “Please take the ring. I saw it and knew it was the right one,” he whispered, moving his hand to cup my neck as his thumb stroked the line of my jaw. My mouth watered as his breath blew across my lips. “Please?” he whispered again.

I gulped, swallowing the desire I was seemingly drowning in. “Okay.” Embarrassingly, my voice cracked as I answered, but he didn’t seem to notice.

A smile twitched at the corner of his lips as he stepped impossibly closer to me, pressing his body against mine. “See? A little compromise, that’s all that was needed.”

Compromise? “We didn’t compromise. I conceded,” I muttered, coming back to reality a little.

He grinned then and the intimate moment was over. “Different word, same conclusion,” he observed as he stepped back and let his hand drop to his side. “Thank you for accepting it.”

I looked down at the beautiful thing, which now resided on my finger. “Thank you for buying it for me,” I replied breathlessly.

He chuckled and shrugged as if it were nothing. At that exact moment, Sasha came wandering into the kitchen, rubbing at her eyes. Her hair was sticking up everywhere, her eyes still half-closed as she yawned around her dummy. I smiled at the sight, a little grateful I would have a distraction and someone else in the room so Carson and I weren’t alone anymore. I wasn’t doing very well at holding my own against him at all.

EVERYONE WAS TALKING AT ONCE. There were too many voices, saying too many different things around me and my neck ached from turning back and forth so I could try to keep up with them. Magazines, colour swatches, sample napkins, fabric samples, lists of venues and flower brochures littered the table in front of me. The group pawed through them, gushing over them, all excited as they planned my wedding.

No one asked me what I thought.

I sat there, surrounded by people and noise, chatter, and champagne, yet I’d never felt more lonely in my life.

Margo, the haughty, snooty-looking wedding planner Carson had invited around, sat there gushing over one venue – some castle in Scotland – and tried to convince Carson it was the best place to host a wedding. She raved over a wedding she’d planned there just last year, saying it was the most spectacular thing she’d ever seen; though, of course, ours would be even better, according to her.

Margo had two assistants with her. The younger-looking girl, who certainly had her eyes on Carson, was more of a lackey. Every time Margo would say something, the younger girl would quickly dig through the pile of stuff they’d brought with them and hold up samples or photos, which matched the topic of conversation. The other assistant was busy scribbling notes down in a pad, firing off questions that Margo answered without consulting anyone else.

Carson seemed a little overwhelmed and was drinking his champagne too fast as he nodded along with stuff and spent goodness knows how much money – I wasn’t even sure if he knew what he’d spent because I never once heard a price mentioned. It didn’t really seem to matter; money was something of unimportance to Carson, it seemed.

Carson’s sisters, Kimberly and Alice, were looking with wide eyes through the exquisite wedding cake design book, giggling to themselves and cooing over them.

The only one who didn’t look very enthusiastic about it was Jillian, Carson’s mother. She’d come around to sit in on the plans because Carson thought ‘being a part of it all’ would help me and her bond. It wasn’t working. She was sipping champagne slowly; her face was a blank page and her eyes gave nothing away.

Thankfully, Sasha was in bed already. She was exhausted from her play in the park after we got unceremoniously kicked out of the nursery and the numerous games of hide and seek she and Carson played all afternoon. Rory, the lucky kid, also got to escape all this and was in his bedroom doing his homework. I envied him. Today had been one long, never-ending day, and all I wanted was to sit with my feet up and a cup of tea, watching EastEnders – not sipping champagne and planning a wedding I didn’t even want to attend.

“So, if you’d just decide on a colour scheme we can move on to tablecloths and napkins,” Margo suggested, holding out a colour wheel to Carson.

He cleared his throat, nodding in my direction. “Emma?”

Biting back my scoff and angry remark, I shrugged noncommittally. “I don’t care. Whatever you want.” Even to my own ears, my voice sounded depressed.

Carson’s forehead creased with a frown as his lips pressed into a thin line. “You don’t want to choose the colour that will run through the whole day?” he asked sarcastically.

Black. Black was dark, dank and depressing – that would suit my mood. But I didn’t say that because I was supposed to be behaving in front of other people and pretending like this wedding was the best thing that ever happened to me.