Don't Kiss the Bride

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Okay,” I mumble, blinking. “It’s over?”

She nods. “It sure is. You did great. I’ll go get your husband. You can rest here for a few minutes, and then you can go home.”

My husband.

It sounds so weird hearing someone refer to him that way.

I can’t say I dislike it, because it makes my insides feel warm and fluttery.

Or maybe that’s the anesthesia. I stare at a painting of flowers on the wall. One looks like it’s smiling.

Smiling back, I let my heavy eyelids fall closed.

The next time I open my eyes, Jude is sitting in a chair in the corner of the recovery room with his leather jacket on his lap.

“Wakey wakey,” he teases.

I blink at him and try to move my mouth. My entire head and face feel numb and oddly disconnected from the rest of me.

“You ready to go home, Sparkles?” he asks.

Nodding, I try to sit up, clutching the arms of the exam chair. Jude bolts over and helps me stand, keeping his arm around me as he walks me out of the office and to his truck. I’m too woozy to protest when he lifts me up into the passenger seat.

“I already got your prescriptions filled,” he says when he gets behind the wheel. “This way we can go straight home.”

I nod and mumble a thank-you.

“You’re gonna feel messed up for a few days. Just take your meds and sleep it off.”

I want to tell him that Lisa Rottworth saw us together, and thanks to the receptionist’s big mouth, she knows we’re married and has probably organized a group meeting to orchestrate the best way to circulate this scandalous development to the entire town and beyond.

But my mouth hurts, my head is floating like a balloon, and talking just seems impossible.

“We’re married…” I whisper, leaning back against the headrest. “Lisa’s a big bitch… You broke the rule…”

More unintelligible, nonsensical words spurt from my mouth, along with a bloody cotton ball that plops into my lap.

Yelping with horror, I pick it up and toss it out the window.

“Oh my God…” I moan, fighting to clear my vision. “Why am I dying?”

“You’re not dying. You’re just high as a kite. Don’t try to talk. We can take the gauze out when we get home. Just bite down on it for now.”

All this cotton in my mouth has me petrified. What’s stopping me from swallowing it and choking on it? Especially when I can’t even think straight?

How can this possibly be safe?

I am never, ever, ever having surgery again.

My cell phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it. I’m sure it’s just Megan checking in on me, but I feel too out of it to chat.

Chapter 28

Skylar

I’m a liar.

I’ve told myself, and anyone else who will listen, that I don’t believe in love. Or marriage. Or soulmates. Or partners. Or happily ever afters.

But the truth is, I do believe in all of it. I just don’t believe I’ll ever have it.

Maybe I was wrong about everything.

Because Jude, who also seems to be lying to himself about all the same things, is turning all my beliefs upside down.

Earlier, he helped me up to my bedroom and gently removed the bloody gauze from my mouth without the slightest hesitation. He didn’t act grossed out or annoyed at all.

As disgusting and embarrassing as it was, I was grateful because I don’t think I could’ve done it myself without hurling.

It was then that I noticed he must’ve come back to the house while I was still in surgery, because he had my bedroom all ready for me. The comforter and sheets were turned down. The shades were drawn. A bottle of water, a new paperback book, an ice pack, and the TV remote were waiting on the nightstand. A white, greeting-card sized envelope with my name written across the front was leaning against my alarm clock.

Drowsy, I crawled into bed and must’ve fallen asleep immediately.

When I wake, my mouth throbs as I sit up in bed, but the pain isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I mostly feel sore and tired.

As I pad out to the hall, my eye catches the greeting card envelope again. I decide to open it later. My heart clenches when I get to the bathroom, and I see he’s left a shaker of salt on the vanity so I can rinse with warm salt water as the dentist directed.

He thought of everything.

My breath hitches with a surge of emotion I can’t even describe.

What is all this?

Up until now, I’ve always been on my own when I’ve been sick—alone in my room at my mom’s, struggling to take care of myself during fevers, food poisoning, colds, and flus.

This care from him is foreign and overwhelming, and I’m not sure what to make of it. Is he just a nice guy doing me a favor? Did he take our fake vows to heart and is now embracing them?