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My eyes are gritty like sandpaper when I open them. The sunlight is barely beginning to peek through the partially drawn curtains of the bedroom window, and there's no sound coming from the rest of the house.

I roll over, letting my hand slide across the mattress. The sheets are cool to the touch, and my fingertips can find no warm body to touch.

Vienna never came back to bed.

I groan inwardly, pushing my palms against my eyes in attempt to wake myself enough to figure out what the hell happened last night.

One minute, my beautiful, sexy wife-to-be is crawling over me, tying my wrists together with my own tie, and sucking me and fucking me to her heart's content.

The next, she's angry because I happened to believe that she could have kept herself in check a bit more and let me resolve the situation at our party with a little less cattiness and a whole lot more class.

I know where she's coming from and why she's so frustrated—trust me, I never expected my ex-wife to show up at all, let alone out of pure spite, and I would have gladly reined my mother's party planning in long ago if I thought that were possible.

But, I'm not a miracle worker, and I'm certainly not a fortune teller, so there's no way I could have known that Liz would take it upon herself to make a spectacle of herself, and there's no way I could have known that my mother's tendencies to interject herself into every aspect of this upcoming wedding would antagonize Vienna so utterly and completely.

Okay, maybe I should have seen that one coming, but there's only so much one man can take.

I was raised by the woman, and Vienna has practically been like a daughter to her already since we were in high school, so it's a little difficult to tell her to back off when she cried happy tears the moment she found out that Vi and I were back together again, and she’s practically waited for over a decade to have the opportunity to help plan such a special occasion.

Hell, my mother went through a time when she never believed this day would come between Vienna and I, and I remember all too vividly what it's like to have believed that myself.

Which makes it that much harder to lay here and remember the sensual touch of Vienna's fingers, and the erotic pressure of her lips against the most sensitive areas of my body.

The truth of the matter is, I didn't expect Vienna to be so vicious when it came to Liz's appearance. Not that Vienna didn't have a reason to be angry, and not that she was overtly mean to the woman, but for her to call out Liz the way she did, and so fast, without hesitation—it’s just something I didn't expect from the meek and mild Vienna that I have known for so long.

But that's on me, not on her.

Vienna's been the center of my world for longer than I can recall, and knowing that she is somewhere within this house, angry with me and frustrated enough that she couldn't even sleep in the same bed or wake up to me this morning...

It hurts.

My stomach is constricting violently at the thought that she's that upset, and the fact that it makes me physically ill to even think about her feeling like that is motivation enough to get me to pull the covers back and slowly slip on a pair of jogging pants before patting my way barefoot down the hallway and staircase, each step slow and tentative as I listen for any sign that she is moving about on the main floor.

I hear nothing, but the familiar, welcoming scent of coffee floats toward me from the kitchen, and I follow the aroma, only to find Vienna perched on one of the stools at the breakfast nook that overlooks the back window into the backyard. There's an oversized white coffee mug in her hands, steam billowing just above it in front of her.

Her gaze is fixated somewhere out the window, and her eyes are rimmed with puffiness.

Vienna hasn't slept well, either. That realization only brings on another wave of nausea, especially knowing her insomnia was induced by something I could have helped alleviate by not blaming her for her initial reaction and not giving her a hard time for handling it as she sought fit.

Damn it, why can I admit that to myself now, but it was so damn difficult to admit it to her last night when the sentiment would have counted?

I go silently to the cupboard and pull a matching mug from it, which pulls Vienna from her thoughts. She turns to face me, and even out of the corner of my eye I can tell that she's exhausted.

I turn to her after pouring myself a cup of coffee and shoving the pot back onto the base. She's staring at me like she's waiting for me to say something first, which only seems to lock up my ability to say the right thing, or anything at all, for that matter.

After a long moment, Vienna turns her attention back to whatever's out the window, but she's the brave one, and she speaks first. “I didn't hear you come downstairs.”

“I just got up,” I say feebly. “Wasn't sure if you were awake or not, but the coffee aroma kind of gave you away.”

“I wasn't trying to hide it,” she replies flatly. “I made enough for you, too.”

There's no vehemence in her tone, she just sounds defeated.

My insides constrict again. “Vienna, I think we need to talk about last night.”

“Me too,” she says, turning her gaze back to me. “But I think you should listen to me first before you say anything.”

The way she says it, I take notice. The coffee mug is pressed between my palms, but I don't dare lift it from the countertop, afraid that what she'll say next will make me drop it. “Sure,” I reply quietly. “I'm listening, Vi, I am.”

Vienna turns on her stool to fully face me. She doesn't lift her mug from the counter, either. “I'm sorry about last night,” she says, her eyes averted toward the floor. “I shouldn't have brought up my frustrations after we just...well, did what we did.”

In spite of the seriousness of her tone, a slow upward curve of my lips creeps across my face. “Okay, so at least I know you're not apologizing for the things you did to me. Because I certainly wouldn't want you to feel like you have to. Mostly because I’m standing here hoping it'll be on your docket for future sexual endeavors, and also because, baby, that was sexy as hell.”

I'm quickly growing more alarmed by the second when Vienna doesn't even give me the slightest wolfish grin in response. Instead, she looks away again and pulls her coffee mug up to her lips, stalling to give herself a moment.

When she sets it down this time, she sighs before fixing her gaze steadily on me. “Cohen, I’m serious. And if I deviate even the slightest and start talking and thinking about my antics last night, then I'll never get the words out that I feel like I need to say.”

“Okay. I’m sorry,” I say with a nod. “Go ahead. I'm listening. Seriously.”

“Cohen,” she says again. This time, there's no denying the strain in her voice. “I...I don't think that we should be doing this.”

“And what exactly would you be referring to when you say this?” My heartbeat is already quickening. “Having coffee? Apologizing? Talking about the mind-blowing sex-capade you spearheaded last night?” I know I shouldn't be joking, but I can't help myself. I can tell by the drawing down of her brows and the tightness of her facial features that Vienna is about to say something that's going to be hard to hear.

Something that's going to affect us from this moment forward.

And, somehow, my immediate defense mechanism is to make light of the situation and also remind her of just how good we were together last night before everything went straight to hell.

Vienna shakes her head, looking away from me again. “No, none of that,” she says in a low voice. “I'm just thinking...I mean, I'm talking about getting married. I'm not sure we should be doing this. The way things are, I mean.”

It would have hurt less to have her punch me squarely in the gut. But hearing the words fall from Vienna's lips is almost more than I can take, and the strain in my own voice reflects that. “You're saying that you don't want to marry me now?”

“I'm not saying that I don't want to be your wife, Cohen. I just don't want to have to go through all the drama that comes with getting to that point.” She sounds exasperated, like she's given up. “I just don't feel like this is our wedding coming up anymore. It's everyone else's wedding. The one they planned for the Cohen and Vienna that we used to be. The Cohen and Vienna that we've outgrown.”

Her eyes flit towards mine as she continues. “We’re not the same people we were ten years ago, Cohen. We're not children, and we're not in need of anyone to hold our hands except for each other.”

“Vienna, I know that, babe. I never meant for my mother to get so involved. If you want, I can try to talk to her. I can try to—”

“Cohen! You're not hearing what I'm saying.” She pushes the coffee mug away and tears her hands through her hair in an attempt to compose herself. “I'm saying I don't want to do this like this.”

“You don't want to get married,” I repeat, probably just as much for my own benefit as hers. I'm trying hard to make sense of how fast and horribly everything is spiraling downward, but I can't seem to keep up. “You don't want to get married.”

“Not like this,” she admits with a sigh. Her shoulders slump downward and I can tell she is ashamed to have to confess such a thing.

At that point, unfortunately I'm not really giving a damn how ashamed she feels. Mostly because it hurts so goddamn much to know there are conditions that decide whether or not Vienna Anderson, the love of my life since I was a teenager, would or would not become my wife. “If not like this,” I continue, making quotation marks in the air with my fingers, “Then how exactly would you like to marry me?”

“I think if we waited—”

“Waited?” I chuckle sarcastically, shaking my head. “Wait for what, exactly? It's not like I'm going to be someone different, or that my mother is going to just miraculously disappear. And I sure as hell can't undo the fact that I used to be married to Liz and she just happens to live in the next town over, Vienna. So, you're going to have to explain to me what exactly we would be waiting for because I don't seem to see any scenario that's going to change so dramatically that suddenly this will all be fixed.”

She's staring at me with wide eyes, and though she hasn’t done it yet, I can tell at any minute her bottom lip is going to be sucked in between her teeth, holding back the trembling that will come next.

I'm being an asshole, but she's not exactly giving me a choice here, either. Getting married involves other people, and there doesn't seem to be another way around it, especially when those other people are so hell-bent on being a part of every aspect of the event.

“If you just listen to me,” she states shakily, “Then I could explain—”

“Explain what, Vienna? That the plans we have aren't good enough? That you'd rather not do this at all instead of putting up with one godforsaken day of the entire Garrison population being involved in our wedding?”

Vienna stands up, and the stool slides backward loudly, echoing in the silence that looms between us. “You're really bound and determined not to listen to me, aren't you?”

“I think I’ve heard enough of what you wanted to say during your little scene with Liz yesterday,” I snap. “Isn't that what this is really all about?”

I can visibly see the shadow cross her face, and Vienna's eyes darken as her eyelids narrow. My choice of words has very easily and very quickly taken her from upset to undeniably pissed off.

“That's what you think this is about?” She glares at me, unmoving.

“I'm not saying you didn't have a reason to be pissed off, Vi, but I think the fact that you obviously got jealous and somehow assumed she was just there trying to stake claim or mark her territory—” I stop, getting ahead of myself. “I just wish that you would admit you overreacted.”

“You think I'm angry because that woman showed up and still wants you?”

“Vienna, Liz doesn't still want me.” Jesus, and she says I’m not listening? “It's been years since our relationship ended.”

“Marriage.”

“What?”

“Since your marriage ended, Cohen.”

“Fine,” I state venomously, an evident edge in my voice. “Since my marriage ended. I didn't realize that we were mincing words. But, at least now I know I'm right—that Liz is exactly what this is all about.”

“You think I'm standing here telling you that I don't want to get married like this...with the entire population of Garrison in attendance...with your mother's hand in every part of the wedding that I've spent my entire life dreaming about...and you honestly believe that I want to postpone it because your ex-wife showed up at our engagement party just to prove that she could?”

She holds up a hand, preventing me from interrupting her. “Trust me, Cohen, Liz was on my radar only long enough to piss me off and make me snap at her. It was tacky and completely unnecessary for her to show up there.  If you’re upset with anyone for making a scene at the party last night, it's her you should be upset with. Not me. Because anybody there with half a brain would realize your ex-wife had no business showing her face at that party. And if you’d calm down and get past the fact that you're just angry at me for not keeping up the pretenses and making sure that everybody thinks that I’m just this perfect little version of Vienna Anderson that I've always been, with the perfect grades and the perfect boyfriend and the perfect life that never stresses me out, and that I don’t get frustrated or angry and my emotions never get the best of me, then maybe you would realize that it’s really not me you're probably angry with. It's yourself as much as anyone.”

She pauses, and if I knew what to say, I'd jump in. But she's rendered me speechless and all I can do is stand there at the counter, staring at the woman I thought I knew—who I thought was happy—and wonder where the hell I've gone wrong.

“Cohen, we've got to stop doing everything for everyone else. You, yourself, know very well that you’re not content with the way these wedding plans have gone. Between your family and mine, not to mention the rest of Garrison, it's managed to become a monster that neither of us know how to gain control of. Whatever happened to simple and lowkey, like we discussed in the beginning?” She’s pleading with me to understand.

“It's gotten out of hand, I'll admit that.” I run my hands through my hair, letting out a slow breath as I try to compose myself. “But, Vienna, we can't just cancel everything because it's not going how we wanted.”

“Sure we can!” she exclaims. “We can do whatever we want, Cohen. That's the beauty of it. It's our wedding.”

“So, you want to wait to get married, until what? Everyone else just hopefully forgets that we were going to do it the way things have been planned?”

“Cohen, we're going to need to tell people, but—”

“Yeah, and just think of the uproar that will create.”

“Let them be frustrated! Let them not get their way!” Her hands jut out in exasperation. “If they don't like the wedding we've planned for ourselves, then that's really not on us, now is it? Most of the people in question are already married, Cohen. They had their own wedding already. And if their own wedding didn't turn out the way they wanted to and they're living vicariously through us, too damn bad.”

“You're really serious about this, aren't you?”

“I really am,” she replies easily. “It’s not the end of the world, Cohen.”

Unfortunately, I don't believe her.