The asshole is going to be late for our engagement party. I'm already sick and tired of these pretentious toasts and tight black heels threatening to strangle my feet.

That isn't saying anything about being back here, in the Armitage lighthouse, the same place a man asked me to marry him for the first time ages ago.

Of course, I never told Reg about that. I think I've only mentioned the name Ryan Caspian once in the eighteen months we've been together.

He knows what happened, and so do I. We don't need to dwell on it. Everybody says we're a beautiful couple. Two families in town struck by the same tragedy, about to come together as one.

Don't get me wrong. I wouldn't be at this engagement party at all if Reg didn't sweep me off my feet.

It's been a whirlwind romance, a rollercoaster of highs and lows. I can't believe it was less than two years ago when he started to frequent my new cafe, Grounded. My little bakery and coffeehouse was deserted then, too new and too fresh to have any regulars, except for one.

Reginald Drayton. The man who didn't care that I chewed him out the first time we met over his answer to chalk board trivia for a ten cent discount. He just kept coming back for more of my stuff, smiling across the counter with his lean, civilized looks and wisp of a brown beard.

He's handsome, in his own way. He'll never be built like Ryan – but I'm over that.

He's wealthy. He's intelligent. He's logical, and it only makes him an asshat once in awhile, which means he's easy to fall for.

“Kara! Where's Reggie? We're about to fire up the speakers in less than an hour.” I whirl around to face the voice, and see Patricia in her usual tall grey heels, a fresh perm, and a dress that must cost five figures.

“I've been trying to get in touch with him,” I say, reaching for my phone. “He's probably taking the scenic route here. It's a beautiful evening out there.”

She smiles, nods, and looks past me at the bright red sunset splashed across the horizon. I've known my future mother-in-law for more than a year, but I'm still outclassed. I'm standing here in an ivory evening dress he bought me a month ago, the one our wedding planner recommended. It looks like I'm wearing a potato sack against her jungle green flourishes with the gold trim and spacious neckline to show off her 24-karat necklace.

“He'd better not embarrass us again.” She clucks her tongue, her smile disappearing, facing me seriously.

I put my hands up, remembering how she blew up a month ago, when Reg picked me up late and we rushed to her charity art gala in Marquette. Naturally, we missed her opening act, where she aggressively reminded everyone they were there to raise as much as they could, buying paintings and statues worth more than most luxury cars.

“He won't, Patricia. It's our engagement, after all. He'll be here.” An uneasy smile tugs at my lips. “Reg is very excited. He's been talking about it all week. I could try him again if you'd like?”

“No, forget it. There's no need to bother him unless Mr. Williams is doing the intro.” She turns, like she's about to walk away, but then she stops mid-step and gives me one more hawk-eyed glance. “I'm not angry with you, Kara. I hope you know that. Creating more stress when you're trying to right the ship with my son is the last thing I'd ever want.”

I don't say anything as she stomps away, heading toward a gaggle of attendants still shuffling a few last chairs into place for our guests, ready to micro-manage them to perfection.

My stomach sinks into itself. I hate that she knows the truth.

We've tried to hide our recent issues from everybody. Told ourselves we'll play the happy couple everybody expects, and we'll keep doing therapy until we get it right.

We love each other, and we aren't giving up before we've even begun.

It's way too early for that. Still, it's times like this I'm amazed how I can feel so distant from the man I fell in love with last year.

We were so good in the beginning. Almost like me and Ryan. Reg was the ultimate gentlemen, taking me out for long drives and evenings at the best restaurants. He never flinched when I snapped – and there was a lot of that. Just smiled his warm, smart grin with an uncanny ability to make me feel more comfortable than anyone had since I lost the other two men in my life.

Wait, two? What the hell is wrong with me?

Daddy's the one who really mattered. I catch myself thinking about the asshole who's ancient history by now, and I hate it.

Ryan should be the last thing on my mind. I know it's because things have been troubled between my fiance and me lately. Being in this lighthouse doesn't help. That's the real reason he keeps haunting me.

Except, it isn't really true. Because even when things were good, when I started thinking about what it'd be like to become Mrs. Reginald Drayton, Ryan still clung to the small, dark spots in my brain.

I sneak a glass of wine from one of the servers and take a seat near the back, hoping the alcohol will numb what's coming. With a drink in hand, I let myself wonder just where the hell Reg is, anyway.

Last night, before he slipped into bed and gave me the cool peck on the cheek that's replaced our old fiery kisses since the troubles began, he told me he was going into town.

Something about meeting with his financial advisor to manage new distributions from the trust left by his great uncle. He tells me there's probably going to be a big surplus this quarter, and maybe we can get away from it all for a couple weeks, go down to Chicago like we have twice before for a getaway dripping in luxuries.

I never did anything except nod my head, not wanting to risk another argument. I'll have to save it for our counselor, the fact that I'm so low on his priorities he's already forgotten I can't just leave the bakery for two weeks at a time.

I promised I wouldn't get into it before this party. Reg comes from a different world than I do, and he doesn't understand how life works. When you're born into a massive trust ready to spit cash every month like a magic ATM, it's easy to forget other money can only be earned by hard work and active management.

“I'm sorry, honey. He couldn't make it tonight, but he wants to have lunch tomorrow.” My heartbeat spikes when I turn around, worried somebody means Reg.

No, it's just mom, her happy eyes shining down softly. She's talking about Matt, who's on his way home right now for several weeks of leave. He said he'd make my engagement party tonight if he got in early, but clearly that isn't happening.

I shrug. I'm not that disappointed – I've mended fences with my big brother since daddy's funeral.

Our relationship is cool and peaceful. I'm not about to rip into old wounds by laying into him over missing the most important moment of my post-Ryan life – especially when he's gone through his own personal hell since daddy died.

“What is it this time? An early night out with the guys?” I gently poke my mother, my gaze going down to the smiling little boy in her arms. “Not more crap with Maggie? She wouldn't normally let you have Holden on a week night.”

Mom's expression deflates, and she passes my three year old nephew into my waiting arms. “I told her it was your engagement party. I didn't want Matthew to worry about picking her up when he lands on the red eye tonight, so it's perfect timing for everyone.”

“Funny. Since when has the bitch started caring about what's going on in our lives?” I'm careful to keep my voice low, so none of high class Drayton associates chattering around us will need to clutch their pearls over hearing me swear. “Does she have another date or something? I know the latest didn't last long...what was he, number three after Matt?”

“Kara...” Mom looks down and stops just short of wagging a finger. “What she does with her life is none of my business, as long as she's playing by the rules. She's not part of this family anymore.”

There's a sour taste in my mouth. It fades when I bounce little Holden on my lap, listening to him babble something that sounds like Auntie Kara a few times.

My brother's marriage to the unfortunate woman who's Holden's mom only lasted six months. He came home from a tour in Afghanistan and found her in bed with the neighbor. He's a hundred times more qualified to raise his son than the cheating slut, and so are we to help him, but the courts are never kind to military fathers looking for custody.

It's incredible how fast everything transforms. I hug my nephew closer, holding him as he yawns. I want someone to swoop down and tell me I'm not walking into the same terrible mistake my big brother made with his marriage.

Mom keeps me company. I pass Holden back to her and casually sip my wine, shifting my knees under the table while I wait for some word from Reg.

Patricia isn't kidding about the embarrassment if he comes in an hour late. Anger courses through my blood.

I don't know what's going on with him lately, and the uncertainty hurts.

Half an hour later, there must be dozens waiting. Every table is packed with men in suits and women who have never done a day's worth of thrift store shopping in their life. Their dresses are new, their purses are imports, and they're talking about trips to warm islands I've never heard of. Soft classical music pipes from the custom speakers installed just for us overhead, echoing through the lighthouse, but it's easily drowned out by the voices.

Patricia stands near the podium, giving me a nervous glance every few seconds. When she stares a little too long, I shake my head, telling her I haven't heard a damned thing from my other half. Reg's father, Harold, stands next to her. He reaches up and clears his throat, an anxious tic I've seen several times at their stuffy fundraisers and corporate parties. Can't blame him for being as worried as the rest of us about how this is going to go if Reg blows it.

This lighthouse used to be so beautiful. Why does it feel like a fucking prison now?

I'm practically kicking myself underneath the table for not speaking up when he pushed for our engagement party here.

This place is cursed, and I should've known it.

My mind wanders while the wine warms my veins, a pleasant distraction from the rising panic over Reg's mysterious absence. A few minutes later, Patricia pulls her keynote speaker into the corner. I don't need to read lips to know she's gone nuclear.

“Kara-bell. Sorry I'm late.” Reg grabs my shoulder. By the time I look up, half the room around us is staring at us, cheering and applauding.

The Prince has returned. I try not to glare.

“Where the hell were you?” I whisper, remembering at the last second to smile and wave to the happy crowd.

God. I don't know how celebrities and politicians do this public persona crap.

Stuffing my real feelings down my throat, and keeping them there in front of hundreds of strangers, threatens to make me sick.

Is this how that California girl in the tabloids felt when she shacked up with Prince Silas overseas? I read about her fairy tale romance a few months ago, how she married him to save her father, and then fell in love for real. Some people get all the happy endings.

Reg doesn't say anything, just plops down into the seat next to me. He grabs my hand, pulls it into his firm grip, and lifts the back to his lips like we're prudish aristocrats who haven't ever locked lips.

Way to feed the ridiculous lie we're presenting here.

I go along with it, keeping my grin as wide as humanly possible. Several cameras flash, exploding around us, lighting up the fancy silver and gold balloons swaying against the walls. My fingers ache when they brush his lips because I want to slap him for leaving me hanging in front of everyone.

At least Patricia and Harold look relieved. His parents are walking smiles with the keynote now, Mr. Williams, who's about to step up to the podium and heap praise on the youngest, brightest, most upstanding young man he's ever had the pleasure of mentoring at Drayton Financial.

My predictions are dead on. Reg holds my hand through the entire flowery speech. His near constant smile turns a little more tense when he catches me scowling. His big grey eyes would outdo a whimpering puppy's.

“What's wrong?” he whispers, during a big round of applause near the end of the speech.

“You couldn't have even sent a text?” I'm pouting, and I don't care. “Seriously, Reg, how hard is it to tell the woman you're going to marry why you're late to our first big outing as a couple?”

“Correction, I wasn't late. I had two minutes to spare.” His smile weakens. I wonder if he actually remembers how much I hate it when he says correction. “Kara, I'm sorry. When my dad's guys heard about the engagement today, they all insisted on buying me a drink. We had a few rounds in the office, and I had to sober up before the drive. I let it get to me. Here I am, babe. You know I wouldn't miss this for the world.”

He squeezes my hand. I stare into his eyes, wanting to believe him.

They're a pretty shade of grey, but they're also dense as the heavy storm clouds drifting over Superior. They're not blue, at least. After Ryan, I don't think I'll ever trust another man with his sky blue eyes again.

“Let's not ruin the night. Remember what Dr. Evans said last week? Forgiveness is divine.”

My fingers tighten in his, and I let out a sigh. Thankfully, we're alone in the moment. Everybody around us is distracted, laughing at some charmingly subtle joke Williams just made.

Yeah, divine, like the counselor said. I'd love some divine intervention right now to put a stronger drink in my hand.

As much as I don't like to admit it, the jerk I'm going to marry might be right. The fact that he's thinking about our therapy at all tells me he's trying. I'm obligated to follow his lead.

“I'll hold my fire until we get home,” I whisper.

Reg puts an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into him. “That's my girl. If you still want to fire away after tonight, I'll get down on my knees and let you put one right between my eyes.”

He reaches up, taps himself on the forehead, and makes a jerking motion. He gets a point for making me want to laugh – for real – mostly because I remember the time we went to the gun range last year.

He dragged me with him as part of this country club get together with his firm's clients. I wound up being a natural the second I picked up my first gun and took aim at the targets.

Reg, on the other hand...my poor darling fell over when he felt the kick from the rifle. He never hit a single bullseye We've laughed about it ever since. It's funny because it reminds me how different he is from Ryan.

Unlike the ass who left me behind, Reg is honest. This imperfect, but sincere man who's about to step up and promise me his heart doesn't hide who he is. There are no grand secrets or masculine games with him. He doesn't need to get dirty in a garage, or waste a weekend cleaning his guns to go off hunting.

Sure, it's less exciting sometimes, but that awful night I lost my first love five years ago gave me a lifetime's worth of surprises. I'm done with all that.

I need stability.

I need devotion.

I need to be loved.

Reg offers everything, even when he screws up. My fingers lace tighter with his, and we share a look. It's happy, energetic, and just like old times.

A smile warms my lips, and then curls his, too. I see the spark we're going through therapy to reignite before we say our vows.

It's not so hard to recapture after all, is it? Maybe it never actually went away, I don't know.

Every couple has disagreements, tensions. That's what we're working through, and we're going to beat it.

Williams is wrapping up, about to give up his speaking slot to Patricia, who's going to introduce us. I won't let Reg totally off the hook once we're done here tonight. But for the next few hours, I'm grateful everything is okay.

I'm going to get up on the stage for a little while soon and act like I'm happy he's about to put a ring worth more than most homes in our town on my finger. If we can just grab onto our old spark a little longer, breathe new life into it, then I won't even have to play pretend.

Our love will be good. It's going to be authentic. Everything I've always wanted, and more.

* * *

“I met her at the coffee shop,” Reg begins, speaking to the crowd when it's his turn at the mic. “You all know it – the only place in town where you can get that fancy feather drawn into your steaming cup of Joe. I told her the answer to the trivia question for the daily discount was all wrong. She told me I had all the answers. Lucky for her, I still do.”

Reg smiles, throws an arm around me, and pulls me close. I'm smiling at the memory.

Just a year and a half ago, I hated him. I thought he was pompous, arrogant, too buttoned down whenever he came into my cafe, ordering boxes of coffee and pastries for his associates.

Some days, after I first opened, he was my only customer for hours.

“Look at her up here, playing coy.” My fiance pauses while everybody laughs. “If you've had the honor of meeting the real Kara Lilydale like I have, you know spitfire doesn't begin to describe her. She's defiant, sassy, and special because she throws down the only criticism I'll ever listen to, smiling like a fool. Today, I'm honored to tell this town I'm going to make it permanent. I'm making her my wife. I'm ready, able, and waiting to hear her wit for the rest of our lives. It takes a sharp tongue to make a man better, and Kara –” He pauses, turns, and looks me dead in the eyes. “You'd better believe I'm going to be my very best for you, babe.”

Reg shifts his eyes to me while waiting for the laughter to die down again. It's a perfect speech, the kind he's had a lot of practice with since college debate. His jokes are in just the right places, wedged in his measured delivery and oscillating tone.

Whatever's been going wrong with this boy lately, it's gestures like this that remind me we're right. My lover, joker, and adoring husband-to-be in one neat package.

I want to believe it's true. Still, there's a faint sour taste on my tongue when I lean in for a kiss.

He didn't appreciate my 'sharp tongue' so much last week, when I told him he'd better start taking our sessions with Dr. Evans seriously, or this wasn't going to work.

He stormed out. Didn't come home all night, and didn't offer much explanation. I didn't ask.

Even his kiss is cooler and softer than it should be when our lips touch.

I try to lose myself in the moment, focus on the happy throngs of people clapping around us. My face heats a little, but only because I know there's probably half a billion dollars staring at us right now. Everyone who's worth something in the whole U.P. is watching us.

To be fair, his kisses rarely curl my hair. Reg doesn't live life on gross, drunken passion. That's why he's stable and ridiculously successful, everything I need to live a happy life, to make up for the losses and failures darkening my earlier years.

I kiss him back, forcing myself into it, wondering if I can turn our little spark into a crackling flame. My face melds into his for one brief moment. When I push my tongue into his mouth, touching the tip to his, Reg pulls back with a startled look.

Predictable. He smiles, waves to the crowd, and soaks in his family's rich friends hooting and hollering like they've seen something truly wild.

Disappointing? Maybe, but I can't get mad at him for being who he is. He'll never make my panties puddle at my feet, and I'm okay with that. I love him because he's good for me, damn it. He's the complete opposite of –

No. Don't you dare think his name.

“Babe, would you like to say a few words?” Reg whispers, once the applause begins dying down. The firm hand on my back says the answer better be yes.

I give him a shallow nod, shuffling up to the microphone. I clear my throat once, and everybody quiets down.

“I just want to say thank you all for coming out here tonight. It means so much to Reg and me that so many of you fine folks are here to support our love.” Turning, I look over my shoulder at his face, hoping it'll inspire the words I need to make an impression. “I'm not going to lie. When we met, I wasn't having an easy time. I'd just lost the man I loved most – my father – and I was trying to change direction after college. I was in a bad spot.”

Several people pop big sympathetic smiles. They don't know I flunked out, and probably think I'm talking about starting a new million dollar charity, or something.

“Reg helped pull me out. He taught me to love again, proved I can have a future better than anything I ever imagined. He taught me to appreciate a good man – even when he's being the world's biggest know-it-all.”

I pause, looking back at my fiance. It doesn't take much to make this crowd rumble with laughter. Reg smiles softly, knowingly, approval glowing on his face.

Time to bring it home. “Tonight, I'm touched. Honored. Really, I am. I worried this town would never make us feel welcome again after the tragedy that unfolded with Nelson at my father's auto shop several years ago. I'm thrilled to say I was wrong. This town's better than its past, and I'm smiling when I dream about our future. If our wedding is even half as lovely as this engagement party tonight, I know we'll be happy together until the end of time.”

People clap unevenly. When I turn, Reg is staring at his feet. He doesn't look up, just grabs me by the wrist, leading me away from the podium.

“Isn't she incredible?” Patricia screams into the microphone behind me, the instant I'm gone. “Another round of applause for happy couple!”

“Okay, stop!” I dig my feet into the floor when we're halfway out the back door, tearing my hand from his grip. “Mind telling me what I did this time to piss you off?”

“This was supposed to be our night, Kara,” Reg growls, his eyebrows furrowed. “Did you really need to go and remind everybody Uncle Nelson died at your family's stupid fucking chop shop?”

“I wasn't planning on it. Guess it just came out.” I'm angry, but I'm honest. “Sorry my speeches aren't as polished as yours, Reg. I didn't have the luxury of a private debate tutor when I was too busy working at that 'chop shop' you're happy to take potshots at.”

His lips curl in a fresh smile, a nasty one. “Oh, so it's okay to bitch about jabs at family, and then you take one at mine? Don't be a hypocrite, Kara-bell.”

Better a hypocrite than an asshole. He starts walking ahead, down by the trees near the parking lot, reaching into his pocket.

I won't follow him yet. I know by the time I get down there, I'm going to see Mr. Perfect with a slim cigar stuffed between his vicious lips. It's his lone vice, one he's told me a million times he wants to quit.

The wind chooses to pick up just then, billowing in from Superior, sending foamy waves hard against the rocks. Awesome.

I stare out into the night, watching the flickering shadows through the lighthouse's windows. Up near the beacon, it's pitch dark. Reg couldn't convince the historical society who manages the place to light it up for us tonight.

I don't know why it makes me think about Ryan. For all his faults, he never would've left me standing here after our engagement, wondering more than ever if I'm about to make a gargantuan mistake.

I'm trying to warm myself in the cool night when I smell the asshole's smoke. “Let's go home,” he says.

“Already? We're not staying for dinner after the speeches are done?” I jerk away from his hands again. I've lost count how many times that's happened tonight.

“We've made our appearance, Kara. That's all we're expected to do. The rest of the evening belongs to the guests.”

“It's supposed to be our night,” I say, repeating his words from earlier. “Did you really mean that, or were you just hoping I'd play along?”

He snorts. “It's really for the guests, babe, and I think you know that. We'll have our fun at the wedding in a few months. Don't worry.”

He starts heading for his big black Escalade. We're leaving in separate cars. I'm sure we'll spend the entire night sleeping as far away from each other as we can get, too.

I don't start crying until I'm pulling away from the lighthouse, watching it fade in the rear view mirror. Part of me wants to take the ramp to the highway and forget about pulling into the heated parking lot of our million dollar condo.

All the material comfort he's given me can't take away the doubts bleeding into every corner of my brain. They're making me dizzy, and the old fear that I'm about to fuck up my life yet again comes swooping in behind them.

There aren't many lights in this town on a sleepy autumn night. The big new construction off Angus street, just before you hit the residential areas, is the only exception.

It's some kind of new office, or a factory. Maybe both. It's glassy, glamorous, so huge in its splendor it's like a miniature skyscraper. Totally out of place in Split Harbor – especially with those lights.

God, those hot white lights. I have to shield my teary eyes when I go past to stay on the road. The thing looks like it's prepped for its grand opening, an event I'm sure Reg and every other rich asshole with a political background will be there to attend.

Nobody heard of Punch Corp until they were building on our doorstep. Now, it seems like the chatter never ends. There's a million stories about how it's going to bring so many jobs, higher revenues, plus a lot of long lost prestige. No thanks to the whiz who manages it, Tanner Brooks, some kind of twenty-something start up freak from the West Coast with a genius IQ.

He's a billionaire already, they say. I hear the girls around my own age chattering away at Grounded, spilling their anxious dreams in the open. Ones where they bump into Tanner, and he becomes their Prince Charming, whenever he decides to grace our little town with his otherworldly celebrity.

It's good people can still get excited over more than failing relationships.

Me, I'm too busy wondering if this marriage is done before it's started. I don't care about Tanner fantasies, or Punch Corp, or any of that.

My foot taps the accelerator hard, and my car roars on into the night. I'm desperate to get home so I can have a hot bath and close out this miserable day. Maybe I can get the usual fight with Reg over with early. It'll exhaust all my energy so I won't sit up by the fireplace, staring across town out our big bay window.

Then I won't have to think about the last time a man ripped my heart out. I won't have to think about the high turnover with the high school kids at Grounded, or the brake job my car needs that I refuse to let him pay for, or even the last thing daddy said to me before he slipped away into his medicated coma and never woke up.

You're a beautiful, intelligent woman, peanut. You've got your whole life ahead.

I hate the way that memory, the last one I have, seems to dominate all the others. Remembering his words makes the tears come hotter, more frequent, scalding rivulets running down my cheeks.

I love you, daddy. I gripped his hand so fucking hard that night. It was just him and I. I'm glad he was pumped up on constant painkillers, or my death grip probably would've hurt. He'd gotten so much smaller, so frail, just a shell of the brawny soldier and mechanic he used to be.

Kara. He strained to say my name, opening his eyes one last time. Come closer. There's something I need to tell you...something about that night...something with him...

My heart swung down like a pendulum, and I was almost afraid to ask. But I had to.

Daddy, who?

His jaw clenched one more time, as if it took all his energy just to open his lips. Ryan...

Ryan was the last word he ever said. He closed his eyes, his body releasing, and died several hours later.

I still wonder if I heard him right, even though my ears imprinted that word into my head like a permanent echo.

I hear it to this day, a curse from another time, haunting and mysterious. I ponder, obsess over it, especially when life decides to twist my nipples in a vise.

Why in God's name was Ryan the last thing on his mind? Was it the drugs, the trauma, or something more?

And why did I have to hear it so clearly, leaving no doubt? Every possibility feeds a thousand more, each one pounding in my head so viciously it makes me sick.

The rest of the short ride home is a long, painful blur.

When I step inside, there's a flickering glow in the living room. Reg beat me there. He has a fire going under the mantle, a glass of red wine in one hand.

“There's another glass for you on the counter,” he says, giving me a slow look. “Sit down, babe. I want to talk. I'm sorry for what happened earlier.”

Sorry. There's a lot of words I despise these days, but it's near the top of the list.

I have no choice but to humor him. I put away my coat, pad over to the counter, and grab my glass. If I drink it down fast enough, maybe it'll take the edge off. Luckily, if it doesn't, there's plenty more in the bottle.

It takes me several seconds to bite my tongue hard enough to walk across the room, and sit down on the leather chair across from him. He tries to smile at me again, but I don't return it. I'm not in a giving mood. Not after what he did earlier tonight.

“I don't want it to be this way,” he says. Could that be more obvious? “Listen, if there's anything I can do to make this right, just let me –“

“Start by telling me why you got there so late.” Pinching the stem of my wine glass harder, I glare at him, conjuring my inner bitch.

She won't be easy to satisfy tonight. I don't care how many times Dr. Evans extols forgiveness. It feels like a burden more than something divine. I'm not interested in flowery mumbo-jumbo tonight, unless he's willing to come clean about everything, and apologize.

“I told you already. Too much drinking with dad's associates.” He sighs, briefly closing his eyes, trying to be patient. “I let it get away from me. I messed up. I told you, I'm sorry. I've apologized before, but I'll do it again, because I mean it, Kara-bell. I should have called.”

“Yeah, should. Just like you're about to tell me you should have kept your cool, instead of dragging me out of our own engagement party like a spoiled brat, right?”

“Kara...” He pauses, takes a big pull from his wine, and I inwardly smile, knowing that's exactly what he was about to say.

His glass goes down, clinking on the little table between us. He folds his fingers, staring into me with his cool grey eyes, until I look back.

“I'm not going to apologize for that. I know you're tired, sick of the excuses. Let me give you the truth instead. Truth is, I'm stressed out. I'm human. I'm having a hard time getting things back on track, managing my role in the family business, trying to deflect mom when she calls up every day with another hundred things to do before the wedding happens.”

Oh, okay. You're stressed? My first reaction I hold in, because the second is amazement that Mr. Perfect just fessed up to being fallible.

“Go on,” I say, slowly draining what's left in my glass.

“You deserve better than this, babe. You need me to do better, and I will. I'm going to make mistakes along the way, I'm going to piss you off, but for fuck's sake, I'm trying. I'm going to call Dr. Evans in the morning, and ask him for advice about how to handle this, because I don't know how I should. If you want to put it on hold until then, go straight to bed, I won't blame you. I'll sleep in the guest room tonight, if you need some space.”

His eyes are huge, almost watery. I've never seen tears clouding his eyes. Honestly, it scares me.

He lets out a long sigh. I can see he's about to walk away, if I don't first. “Wait. Don't sleep in the guest room, Reg.”

I reach for his hand, give it a squeeze, and manage a ghostly smile. “I appreciate you for trying. I'll agree this hasn't been easy on either of us. That has to change.”

“It will. I can't give up, Kara. I'm serious, more than I've ever been about anything in my entire life.”

The anger I had before melts into sad resignation.

I can't stop staring into his eyes, wondering why it's so hard to love, and just be. He stands up, moves around the table to me, and crouches on his knees. He throws an arm around me, runs his smooth hand across my face, slowing when he senses the fire in my cheek.

“Jesus. You were crying on the way home, weren't you?”

“Not just about tonight,” I say. There's no point denying it. “It isn't all you, or this wedding. You're stressed out, and so am I. There's a lot to get done. I'm overwhelmed. I'll need to see my accountant next week about the quarterly taxes again.”

“Kara-bell, use my guy. For the hundredth time, he'll do it right, do it fast, and save you a ton of money.”

I open my eyes. Reg stops there, and gives me a sheepish smile. At least he realizes the last thing we need tonight is another fight over why I'm adamant on doing things my way, instead of taking the easy route with his family's resources.

“Do you want me to run you a bath?” he asks, something he hasn't done in months.

Nodding, I lay my fingers on his neck, just enough to feel his pulse. “That sounds really nice. I'll be in bed shortly. I just need a little time to myself to digest all this.”

“I love you, babe. Don't ever doubt it.”

Before he slips away, I dig my nails into his neck, and bring my lips to his. We kiss, soft and sweet, for just one second.

It isn't much, true. But after everything that's happened, it's enough to stave off disaster.

Later, after I've had a couple more glasses of wine and soaked my skin to pruning, I slip into our silky sheets. He's fast asleep, snoring gently on the far side of the bed.

Baby steps. There's no need to hold him tonight, much as part of me might want to, much less do anything that doesn't involve our clothes.

It's been months since we had sex. Probably twice as many since it was normal. That part of our relationship has never been perfect, but there was always enough good outside to make up for it.

Reg has...unusual tastes. When times were better, I did everything I could to indulge him, even though it didn't do much for me.

No, it wasn't a total waste.

I let him spend big on his habit. I still have weeks worth of pedicures to cash in, and rows of heels to show for it. They're useful outside the bedroom, at least.

Just worthless for making me wet. It's the same when he asks me to let him rub my feet, or run his tongue across my shiny new Louboutins.

If you can't imagine getting sick of foot rubs, try being with a fetishist. I wish I could trade them away most nights.

I need to be fucked in our bed, and hard.

Our sex life has barely come up in therapy, and I cringe when I think about it. Tonight, I'm too exhausted to dwell on it. We need to fix the emotional gap between us before we can talk about the physical one.

I'm content that our drag out fight has been diffused. Thankful for small victories, I drift off staring at my fiance's face. It reminds me that I really do love him, and we're going to get through this.

I'd rather work through these issues now than revisit them when we're forty with three kids. As long as we're upfront, motivated, and honest with each other, we'll survive.

Jesus, we have to.

Losing another engagement when I'm leaving my early twenties isn't an option. I can't stand another heartbreak.

It's get through this, marry Reg, imperfections and all...or else I'll wind up asking myself why I'm doing this. Why I need him, or any man, to fill the craters blown open in my life.

There's no way I'm going into that dark place. It's taken five years, but I've learned my lesson, over and over and over again.

Cope. Never look back. Don't ask too many questions with painful answers.

There's nothing more dangerous than why.