The Imperfections

“For real?” she demands, lifting her eyebrows severely like she’ll kick me in the shin if I’m lying.

Her ire draws a little smile out of me. “Yes, for real.”

As if she doesn’t believe me, she plants a hand on her hip and narrows her eyes. “What do you love about her?”

“I love everything about her,” I say easily. “She’s a weirdo, but I like it. She’s funny and sweet and loyal as hell. For some reason, she loves me no matter what I’ve done, and I guess I love her the same way.” Shrugging, feeling a bit bashful about saying all this, I tell her, “I don’t know. She makes me happy… happier than I’ve ever been. I just like having her around.”

Some of the weight seems to come off Bri’s shoulders and she relaxes a little. “Okay. Well, you need to go talk to her. I don’t know what you’ve done, but she thinks you don’t want to marry her anymore. You better set her straight, or there’s not a shot in hell she’s walking down this aisle.”

My mood whips around real fast, a scowl transforming my face. “What?”

Pointing at the house, she says, “She’s in your room. Go.”

“Goddammit,” I mutter, looking up at the house for a split second before I take off in that direction.

“Don’t make her cry,” Bri calls after me. “She’ll ruin her makeup!”

The whole way up to the house, my mind races with indignation. How can that crazy little shit think I don’t want to marry her? I’m risking the most important relationship in my life to be with her—that’s not something I’d do half-cocked.

Of course, I know why she thinks that. By the time I get to the front door, all I can see in my mind’s eye is how disheveled she looked in the barn that day when I caught her locked inside with Theo. I can see the helpless guilt on her face, the flush in her cheeks, the regret she already felt, and the moment had only just ended.

I do believe she loves me. I even believe she wants to be faithful to me. I just don’t know if she’s strong enough.

I hate thinking that. It makes me feel like a real bastard. Theo got his hooks into her before I did, though, and if she couldn’t stand up for herself, there’s little sense in expecting she’d suddenly have the strength to stand up for us.

Goddamn Theo. I want to put him through a fucking wall, I swear to God.

As I’m stalking up the stairs, frustrated as hell that Alyssa’s doubting me, I recognize the unfairness of it. I’ve been punishing her every single day since I pulled in the driveway and saw Theo’s car parked here. I should probably be more surprised it took her this long to have those doubts.

She’s been asking me for reassurance, too. Not with words, but she’s been begging all the same, and I’ve withheld it. Too many memories of the girl who played games with my heart floating around to be merciful toward the one who doesn’t.

By the time I make it to our closed bedroom door, I’m not angry anymore.

I ease it open without knocking. Alyssa is sitting on her side of the bed with her back to me—damn, her back looks sexy in that dress. I get distracted momentarily, but then she turns her head to see who’s coming in and her eyes widen in horror when she sees it’s me.

“What are you doing?” she demands, jumping up off the bed. In an absurd and poorly thought-out attempt to hide herself from view, she grabs her veil and tries to hide her dress behind it.

Her sheer veil.

I crack a smile. I want to grab her and kiss her right now, but I settle for closing the bedroom door and moving closer. Once I get in front of her and she’s backed up against the wall, I reach out and take the veil from her.

Huffing at me, she complains, “You’re not supposed to see me in my dress before the wedding.”

I put her veil down on our bed. “According to my sister, you’re leaning toward there not being a wedding at all.”

Alyssa sighs, not meeting my gaze. She doesn’t say anything right away either, just moves the long train behind her so she can sit down on the window seat. Finally, she says softly, “I don’t think we should get married.”

“Why?” I ask with an impressive measure of patience considering how much I hate hearing her say that.

She doesn’t say a word, just sits there looking beautiful and refusing to answer me.

After a moment, I push her a little more. “You don’t love me anymore?”

That gets her attention. She looks up at me like my question offends her. “Of course I still love you.”