Southern Player (Charleston Heat 2)

Trusting myself paid off in that area of my life. I don’t know why I never really applied that same logic to my romantic life, though. Maybe because it’s really hard to figure out what you want—what you genuinely want—when, as a thirty-something single woman, you’re constantly being bombarded by messages of what you should want. What your life should look like.

It’s hard not to feel like you’re falling short when weddings and honeymoons and Christmas card-worthy pictures of happy dogs and smiling, scrumptious babies populate your Instagram feed.

Yes yes to all of that, I would think. I’ve always felt such pressure to get there. To arrive at my final, beautifully photogenic destination according to a carefully prescribed timetable.

Now that I think about it, maybe that’s why I wanted things to work out so badly with Nick. In my mind, he was the perfect, Instagram-worthy guy who’d propose in an Instagram-worthy way with an Instagram-worthy ring. He dressed well, looked good, and liked nice things. I could just imagine our beautiful wedding and all the beautiful babies we’d make together.

Nick had always seemed like a pretty damn great destination.

But now that I’ve had a taste of something different—now that I’ve tried on real—I’m not so sure that’s where I want to end up anymore. It actually sounds kind of shallow.

I was shallow for framing my future happiness in those terms.

There’s nothing wrong with getting married and starting a family. I definitely still want those things. But now I’m realizing that maybe what I’m after is a different version of that happily ever after. One that’s about authenticity and genuine fulfillment.

Intensity and truth. Taking my time to explore who I am and what I want rather than rushing to meet those arbitrary deadlines Luke talked about.

Jesus, I want to be ready for that kind of future. That version of forever.

I want to be able to consider it with Luke.

I just don’t know how. How do I learn to trust myself again? Trust him?

I don’t know.

I do know that my gut is telling me that staying still—not moving forward—is the wrong move. Curling up into a ball and refusing to put myself out there is the wrong fucking move.

I put myself out there last night. It was a gamble, but it totally paid off.

It hits me that by writing my sexual bucket list down—by owning my fantasies—maybe I’m trading one list for another. Replacing the list of things I thought I should be accomplishing for a list of things I actually want to do.

Trading who I always thought I would be for who I really am.

I’m still scared.

Still uncertain.

But I am listening. To my gut. To my friends. To Luke.

All three are telling me he’s a good guy.

A good bet.

But is that bet worth making if I risk losing myself again along the way? I’ve just started this little experiment, but I already like who I’m becoming. I like how I feel inside my own skin. I don’t want to lose that.

I don’t want to take one step forward only to take two steps back.

Do I really believe I don’t have to change who I am to be wanted? To be loved, even?Chapter FourteenGracieLady Jane looked around the crowded ballroom, a spark of panic igniting in her chest. Was that His Royal Highness the Duke of York? And—dear God—Wellington and his wife, that was them, wasn’t it?

Their clothing was beautifully ornate. Perfectly fitted and crusted with jewels. Behind painted fans, no doubt these scions of British society were plotting marriages and wars and the course of history for the next hundred years.

Jane looked down at her pale muslin gown. It was her best dress, the one she thought flattered her curves and complexion. But now, standing in the middle of this glittering room, the sight of it gutted her.

It was plain. Unremarkable.

Just like her.

Still, people stared shamelessly as she slowly made her way through the crush. No doubt wondering what an ugly duckling was doing in the company of so many swans.

Sweat broke out along her scalp and under her arms. She did not belong here.

What the devil was she thinking, accepting Max’s invitation to his family’s ball? Yes, she and he were neighbors. And yes, they happened to share a bed upon occasion. Shared opinions about books and education and the empowerment of all people, regardless of their sex or social station.

But that did not mean she belonged in his world.

She caught sight of him then. Her heart took a tumble at how handsome Max looked in his velvet coat and satin breeches. An easy smile on his lips. Hair combed rakishly forward. Pale eyes glittering. A circle had gathered around him, men and women alike hanging on his every word.

He was every inch the duke. A man with a bright future, full of power and Parliament and perfectly patrician women.