Dear Future Ex-wife

“You’re going to be my wife, Harley. You’re naïve if you think we’re not going to consummate the marriage.”

I give him a nasty look. “We’re never having sex. You’re not kissing me or touching me.”

“You’ll have to kiss me on our wedding day. People have to believe we’re in love. It won’t kill you to show some affection toward me. You can’t squirm or cringe when I touch you. Whether you like it or not, you have to fake it. But I can guarantee you one thing…”

“What’s that?”

“The second I touch you, you will want the real thing.”

“Oh, the hell with you. I don’t want to kiss or touch you. And I won’t want the real thing. I can promise you that with absolute certainty.”

“What about on our wedding night?”

“The only thing you’re touching on our wedding night is yourself.”

“Oh, yeah? Thirty days, Harley. Let’s see how long you last. Because I can guarantee you will be in my bed by our wedding night.” He leans forward, a sly smirk playing on his lips. “And you will beg for it.”

Chapter Nine

Nate

Harley McQueen is driving me insane. Ever since our fight this afternoon in her office, she has stonewalled me. I had her things delivered to my apartment and she’s since barricaded herself in her new bedroom, refusing to speak to me. Every time I try to talk to her, she blows me off and says she needs time and space. I don’t know what to think after everything I said to her earlier. I basically poured my heart out, or at least as close as I’ll ever come to confessing my feelings for her.

I admitted I miss her, still want to be friends with her, and in some ways, I’m getting a little bit of pleasure from it. Because by her agreeing to marry me, I still get what I want. I’ve always wanted Harley back. She’s the one person that I could never shake. No woman compares to Harley. She’s it for me. Every girl I’ve ever dated is blonde—because of Harley.

I knock on Harley’s bedroom door.

“Go away, Nate. I’m busy.”

“I ordered food. It will be here any minute. You can at least come out and eat with me.”

After a few minutes of standing in the hallway pleading with her, the door swings open. She’s dressed in tight shorts that ride up her toned thighs and a low-cut tank top. I get a semi just looking at her. Harley hides her curves at the office, stuffing her magnificent body into boring work attire. But now that she’s relaxed, her hair piled on top of her head and dressed like she’s going to the gym, she looks like my Harley. Like the girl I fell in love with years ago.

She wipes the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and looks up at me. “What’s so important that you can’t let me finish unpacking in peace?”

“I ordered food. You need to eat.”

She scrunches her nose. “I said I wasn’t hungry.”

“No, you have to be hungry. You haven’t eaten all day.”

Harley throws her hands onto her narrow hips with a wicked look in her eyes. “Probably because I’m sick to my stomach.”

I extend my hand for her to take. “C’mon. Keep me company while I wait for the delivery man.”

Staring at my hand, she sighs. “What did you order?”

“Chicken cacciatore, your favorite.”

“Yum.” She licks her lips. “Fine, I’ll eat with you. But then I have to get back to work. I have a lot of stuff to do.”

“I bought your favorite Pino.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say you were trying to bribe me.”

Harley blows past me, and I follow her into the kitchen. She pours two glasses of wine and slides one of them along the counter in front of me. We drink in silence, and she stares at me as she taps her long nails on the countertop.

“So, thirty days until we get married.”

Harley seems sad, as if she wants to cry but it’s taking every ounce of her self-control to hold it in. She wanted to prove herself without a fake wedding, without my help. My future ex-wife is an alpha female, not the type of woman who wants a job handed to her.

It’s a shame that Harley has to go through this. If it were up to me, I would give her the position she wants without a fight. She has natural talent, she’s a true artist. I still remember the first time I watched her draw. It was as easy as breathing for her. I both envied and admired Harley for her skill. There are so few artists with talent like Harley’s, and her dad could never see it. He never acknowledged her for her art. He didn’t want her in our world, even though she was made for it.