“And?” Lea’s eyebrows shoot upward. I’ve kept her filled in on my progress with the annulment so far—or rather, the lack thereof until today. But I haven’t told her everything.
I haven’t kept her posted on what’s been happening between John and me, exactly.
“I can annul it, but I’d need to do it within the next two weeks in order to do it the easy way.”
“Okay. Easy way sounds good.” She picks up another croquette and bites in with enthusiasm. “Why do you look so upset, then?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering how much to tell her. But she’s my best friend. And besides, I don’t think John would be upset if I said something about us. Far from it—he wants to declare I’m his to the entire world, as he keeps saying. It’s taken all my powers of persuasion to keep him from revealing this marriage publicly just yet.
So in the end, I cave. “John and I have been hooking up,” I tell her. Then I shake my head. “No, not hooking up; not even fucking. Well… sometimes fucking.” She laughs, and my face heats up. “I just… I think maybe it could be something real. I actually like him.”
“Mara.” She fixes me with a narrowed glare. “You know I love a good wild fling as much as the next girl. And I fully approved of you letting loose for once in Vegas. But you cannot marry a guy you barely know. Not yet, anyway! If this becomes a relationship, cool, but date him and think about it for a while, y’know?”
“No, you’re right. I know. I just… He’s really into this. He wants me to be his wife.”
Her eyebrows shoot upward. “Okay, first of all, congrats on snagging the world’s most eligible bachelor so quickly. But secondly, this is still pretty worrying, don’t you think?” She tilts her head. “I mean, what’s his motivation? He never seemed like the type to be all traditional about marriage and commitment before… Although, he did have that failed engagement,” she muses.
I frown. “He had a what?”
Lea rolls her eyes. “Girl, did you not even google the mega-famous guy you’re wedded to?” She reaches for her phone, and a few taps later, I’m staring at an article about John Walloway’s “disastrous almost-marriage.” It’s dated months before we met, but still, it makes something clench in my gut, uncertainty settling in.
Am I just a rebound for him?
I stare at the girl in the grainy photo who’s throwing a suitcase full of clothes into the trunk of her car, a trail of clothing behind her leading back into the front of an expensive-looking apartment complex. I bite my lower lip. He never mentioned anything about her.
Then again, neither of us really mentioned anything about our pasts. We were too focused on the present—and in my case on the looming future ahead of us. A future we need to annul before it becomes permanent, and far too real.
“You’re right,” I murmur. “I’ll get the annulment.” But deep down, part of me wonders if I actually want it. After all, why does my chest hurt so much just saying those words? And why does it make my head throb, to think about leaving him?
I push the questions away, along with the remaining salad on my lunch plate. My appetite is long gone. “What about you, how are you doing?” I ask Lea, mostly for the distraction. But my head is pounding so much it’s hard to even pay attention to her answers.
What am I doing? I just keep asking myself, over and over again.
* * *
Back in the office, Daniel catches me staring into space beside the drill machine, my gaze focused on the wall and not on the stack of wood I should be cutting, dremmeling and preparing for assembly. “Penny for your thoughts?” he asks, with a smirk that makes me wonder how much he’s guessed about my moodiness lately.
But that’s just my paranoia talking. Nobody knows anything. Not about John and me, anyway. Maybe Daniel thinks I’m pining over my mystery husband—a husband I had to lie about because I couldn’t get that damn ring off my finger. Now, it’s loosened a little, but I still haven’t removed it.
I have to wonder what that says about my current mental state.
I tell myself it’s just because people at work would start asking too many questions if I suddenly removed the ring now. But deep down, I’m not sure. Deep down, I wonder if there’s a subconscious reason I keep this on. Or if maybe it’s just for the flash of desire I spot in John’s eyes every time he sees me, checks for the ring, and finds it still on my finger.
Part of me doesn’t want to let him go this easily, despite this mess.