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He just won't listen.

Cohen is so frustrated and so—I don't know, scared?—that he can't even bring himself to stop defending what's been going on long enough to hear what I'm trying to suggest to him.

I don't like arguing with him, and I sure as hell don't like seeing him tied up in knots over something that should have been a good, celebratory thing. That's exactly what last night's engagement party should have been for both of us—fun.

Instead, here we are, squaring off against each other in the middle of his kitchen, wondering how the hell it all went so wrong.

“Cohen,” I try again. “I'm trying to fix this.”

“Funny,” he retorts. “Fixing this seems to be the furthest thing from what your little speech seems to be doing to this situation.”

“You know what?” I toss my hands up and turn away, slipping my fingers through my coffee mug’s handle and plucking it up into my hands. “If you're that upset with me for defending myself against your ex-wife, defending our engagement party and all that it was supposed to be against a woman who should have never been there in the first place, and if you’re frustrated enough that you would rather just let our wedding turn into everyone else's wedding, then I guess there's no more to say in this conversation.”

“So what, then?” Cohen's eyebrows shoot up and he shrugs at me. “That's it? We’re just going to forget about this and pretend you didn't just say you’d rather not marry me than have to deal with my overbearing mother and the baggage that I happen to come with?”

“Be careful, Cohen,” I warn him, narrowing my eyes. “I can deal with the fact that you have an ex-wife, and I can deal with your mother. Neither of those people are news to me. I never said I couldn’t deal. What I am saying is, I won't put up with said ex-wife showing up and staking claim. I won't stand by and let your mother turn our wedding into whatever the heck she wants it to be.” My eyes are steely as I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Now, we're going to take a break from this conversation because we’re going in circles and not getting anywhere. And the very fragile, very thin line of communication between us seems to be very, very broken.”

I walk toward him, but don't bother to go to him. Instead, I pass by. “I'm going to have a shower,” I add. “If you're at all interested when I come back out, then maybe we can try this again. But you're going to have to listen, Cohen, instead of just getting defensive and thinking I'm trying to end the best thing that's in my life.” I turn, making sure my eyes are locked on his. “And, in case you didn't realize, I'm meaning you, and the relationship we have with each other. Just in case that part wasn't clear, either.”

I don't hesitate to disappear back up the stairs without looking back at him. There's too much fire smoldering between us right now for anything good to come of continuing to try to talk. And as I grab a change of clothes from my dresser and head back downstairs to the bathroom where I keep my makeup and personal belongings, I wonder if we will get anywhere by even trying again.

The truth of what is happening between us hangs in the air like the steam that begins to billow from the faucet as I turn the shower on. Cohen has no desire to listen to anything I might have to say regarding a change in wedding plans or my stance on his ex-wife's motives, and I have no intention of backing down and letting this fiasco continue on the road it's taken.

Even above the sound of the water beating against the tub, I hear the doorbell sound through the house.

That's when I realize the door hadn't latched when I trudged into the bathroom.

I toss my pile of clean clothes onto the vanity and cross the small room, intent on closing the door. With my hand on the handle, however, a voice manages to meet my ears, and it immediately sets me on high alert.

Instead of letting the door click shut, I open it another few inches, tilting my head to press my ear against the open space.

“You shouldn't be here,” I hear Cohen state flatly.

Liz.

Liz is standing at the front door, the morning after crashing our engagement party.

It takes every ounce of determination I have to keep my feet planted in place and not go barreling out into the entryway and clawing that woman's eyes out.

Let him handle it, I think to myself. Give him the chance.

“Co, I really think we need to talk.” Liz's voice is high and thick with sweetness that even I can recognize as fake. She’s also nervous as hell.

“I just told you, Liz. This is no place for you. You need to go.” Cohen, however, doesn't sound strained or unsure. On the contrary, his voice is that of a man who knows exactly what he wants, and he is stating it with more conviction than I've heard from him all morning.

I don't hear Liz's response, and I'm pretty sure I probably don't want to.

Cohen's voice can be heard again. “You had no right coming to Vienna’s and my party last night, Liz. I don't know what you were trying to accomplish, but doing that to Vi was completely uncalled for.  And frankly, I'm a little disgusted you would feel the need to pull a stunt like that in the first place.”

Again, I can’t hear Liz’s response. But I can just imagine her expression.

“Do you have any idea how hard it was not to rip a strip off you the way Vienna did? And, Liz, she was just getting started. I have spent my entire morning defending your actions last night, and defending mine, when the truth is I should have damn well followed Vienna’s lead and kicked you out on your ass when I turned around and saw you standing there.”

“And you know exactly why you didn't,” she replies quickly. “Cohen, I think you're making a big mistake now, just like I think you made a huge mistake years ago when we ended things the way we did.”

My heart drops heavily into my stomach, and I feel sick. I was right, but for the first time I wish that wasn't the case. Here she is, Liz, Cohen's ex-wife, standing on his front step telling him that marrying me is a big mistake and that leaving her was just as much of a mistake, too. I have to bite down hard on my bottom lip to suppress the string of curse words I want to scream.

There's a silence from the kitchen, and I strain to hear what, if anything, is being said over the running shower behind me. When Cohen does reply, his tone has completely transformed.

In a matter of seconds, his voice has become almost a growl, low and intimidating. “You have honestly got to be kidding me.” There's another pause, then, “Jesus Christ, she was right. She was absolutely right about you.”

“I'm not sure exactly what that means,” Liz admits, but the sudden shakiness that I hear tells me that she knows very well she’s on dangerous ground. “Co, I don't think you realize yet that sometimes a dream isn't something that can become reality. Sometimes, the true reality is that the dream we’re chasing isn't at all what we wanted once we've got it.”

There's no hesitation in Cohen's answer this time. “So help me God, Liz, you'd better be talking about the life that you have been living since you left me. Because, I swear to God, if you’re referring to the fact that I am finally with Vienna, and you’re telling me she and I are a dream that can never truly become a reality, I will slam this door right now and you can be damn sure that this will be the last conversation you and I ever have.”

My heart is pounding feverishly as I listen to the conversation between them. I know I should close the door and stop eavesdropping, but it's too late. If I let the door click shut now, they will know that I was listening in. Not to mention, I can't bring myself to walk away. The desire to know what Cohen is really thinking is too strong, and if this is the only way for me to find out his thoughts and get past my insecurities about where this woman stands when it comes to Cohen's heart, then I'm going to stand here and take my answers as they come.

“I just think there's still a chance, Cohen—”

“Trust me when I tell you this: There is no chance of me giving up Vienna ever again. I know that's not what you want to hear, and I know it’s blunt and maybe even harsh, but there is no other way for me to say it. What you and I had is the past. What Vienna and I had, and what Vienna and I are now—that's my future. She is my future. I adore her, Liz. You've always known that, even when I was unable to admit it to myself. But I love Vienna just as much as I did a decade ago. Hell, I love her more, and I didn't even think that was possible. So, this—” I can only assume that he's motioning between them as they stand in the doorway. “—This cannot happen again. Because, believe me when I say this, Liz, I will not give up Vienna for anything. And I won't apologize for that.”

Whatever Liz has to say about Cohen's declaration, I don't hear it. The hot tears are streaking down my face and wetting my cheeks. I can't hear anything beyond the loud pounding of my pulse in my ears and the muffled sobs that I'm trying desperately to contain by clapping my hand over my mouth and turning away from the door. I don't bother to try to close it.

Mere minutes ago, all I wanted to do was put a little bit of distance between us, and give us time to cool down and sort things out.

Now, all I want to do is close the gap between us and wrap my arms around the man that I love so much. The man who adores me and won't apologize for that level of adoration.

I sit in the bathroom and let the liquid emotion spill from my eyelids. Because that's all it is, my emotions bursting from within me, turning me into a mess and causing me to take out my frustrations on the wrong people, Cohen being the one on the frontlines.

Sometimes, we can take out our frustrations in a negative way, causing waves in the relationships that mean more to us than we know how to communicate. Which is exactly what Cohen and I did to each other this morning in the kitchen.

But sometimes, there are other outlets to take out our frustrations, and those can also include the people we adore so much—other sexy, secret, and downright dirty ways to rid ourselves of the tension we hold within us. Utilizing those ways are much, much more beneficial, and much more enjoyable for all parties involved.

And I won't apologize for that, either.