IAN
Aimee faces me from the opposite side of our room. Rain pelts the glass door to the patio behind me. A single lamp casts a golden glow in one corner. The rest of the room sits in a shroud of shadows.
I watch her warily, my stomach queasy. I’ll never forget the way she looked at me in the lobby. She’d laughed off Reese’s comment. She thought it was a joke. Office humor, however sick it might have been. She’d glanced between us, and Reese groaned an apology. She held up both hands in a deflecting manner. “I thought you would’ve known.”
Aimee looked at me. “Ian?”
I briefly closed my eyes, then forced myself to meet her gaze.
Her face drained of color. Her eyes told me everything. I’d lied to her. I’d betrayed her. I wasn’t the man she thought I was.
I was no better than James.
That’s when I acted. I got into Reese’s face. “You and me, we’re done with this assignment.”
“I’m not on contract with you,” she spat, appalled. As if I had the nerve to tell her what to do. At that moment, I was capable of more than ordering her around. I could strangle her.
“Then I’m off the assignment. Without my pictures, your article will be canned.”
“You can’t do that. You’re on contract, too. You break it and you’ll never have the chance to publish with them again.”
I shouldered my pack and grabbed Aimee’s roller case. “Come with me,” I said. “Please.” I was desperate.
I’m still desperate. I don’t want to lose her.
She stands just inside the hotel room’s door, cheeks void of color, mouth parted, and arms resting listlessly at her sides. She’s quiet, too quiet. I can handle her anger, when her Irish gets riled and she’s lobbing sock balls at me. I understand that Aimee. But this stunned, silent version? She confuses me. She scares me.
Will she leave me like she left James?
“Say something,” I beg.
“I don’t think I should.”
“Then let me explain.”
She shows me her palm. “Not yet. I need a moment.” She goes to her roller case, lifts the luggage onto the rack, and unzips it.
Thank God. She’s not leaving. Yet.
My knees buckle. I back up, leaning my weight on the table. I roughly run both hands through my hair and lock my fingers around the back of my head.
Aimee digs through her case and removes her toiletries bag. “I’ve been up for twenty-four hours. I’m exhausted. I can barely think straight. I’m going to . . .” She glances at the door, then the patio slider, and back to the bathroom. “I’m going to go in there.” She points at the bathroom, then lets her arm flop against her side.
My joined hands slip to the back of my neck. “Do you know how long you’ll be?”
“As long as it takes to figure out what I walked into.”
“There’s nothing between Reese and me.”
Aimee glowers.
“OK.” I nod. “I’ll wait.” I’d wait forever.
She walks into the bathroom and quietly shuts the door.
I listen for the shower, for the faucet to run, the toilet to flush. Anything to tell me she isn’t in there silently crying. I picture her sitting on the closed toilet, elbows on knees, face in her cupped hands, her shoulders quaking. My heart splinters because I’ve probably broken hers.
My stomach clenches and makes a gurgling noise. I feel pressure at the base of my throat. The faucet runs in the bathroom and I blow out a long, even breath, relieved she’s doing something other than sobbing. I shiver. Pushing away from the table, I cross the room to the thermostat and turn on the heat. My damp clothes are stiff and uncomfortable. They stick to my skin. Shedding my jacket, I proceed to strip. I’m down to my boxer briefs and stepping from my pants when the bathroom door opens. I look up from my hunched position.
Aimee’s eyes narrow and I slowly straighten. Her gaze drops. “Sex isn’t going to solve this.”
“I wasn’t . . . I’m not . . . ,” I groan, exasperated, and kick aside my pants. I thrust a hand at the dirty clothes pile. “They’re wet. I’m just changing.” I put on jeans and a shirt, my torso shivering, skin clammy. I slide my arms into a hoodie and zip it to my chin.
Aimee frowns. “Are you feeling OK?”
“No,” I snap, shoving my fists into the front pockets. “I’m standing on the edge of Half Dome wondering when you’re going to shove me off.” Lord knows I deserve it. “Would you please listen to me? I want to explain.”
Aimee slowly shakes her head and returns her toiletries to her case. She zips up the luggage.
My heart knocks into my ribs. “Are you leaving?”
She turns around. “I’m not sure yet.”
I close my eyes. “Don’t go.”
“Do you see what I meant the other day when we drove back from Nadia’s? How I feel you’ve glossed over your history with Reese? It’s like you were holding something back. Is she the reason you left in such a hurry?”
“No! I had no idea she’d be here, let alone assigned to the story. She was waiting for me when I checked in.”
“It’s true, then, you were married.”
My shoulders drop. “Yes. For nine hours.”
“Nine—what?”
I cross the room to her. Only inches of air divide us. “It was a stupid decision during a drunken night full of them. You’ve got to believe me.” I lift my hands to her face, but I don’t touch her. My palms hover over her cheeks, hands trembling. “It meant nothing. She means nothing.”
“It doesn’t matter what it means. You should have told me.”
“You’re right.” My arms fall to my sides. I back up a step. “You’re right. I should have and that’s my mistake.”
“We’ve talked a little about your relationship with Reese. Why didn’t you ever mention you were married?” She searches my face and it takes me a moment to answer. A very long moment.
“Before I met you,” I begin, “I’d lost everyone important in my life. For years it was just me and my camera and the next destination. Then I saw you that night at the gallery. You were so beautiful in your black dress with your curls framing your face.” I touch her hair. “I saw in you what I had felt for years after my mother left. I was alone and totally out of sorts with my place in life. I felt like I had no purpose and that made for one reckless teenager,” I rasp, thinking of those hellish years. “But you smiled at me, and you let me buy you a cupcake, and I fell for you. I fell so hard for you. And for the first time in a very long time, I felt something important in here.” I press a hand to my chest.
“When you’d left James and came back to me, I should have told you, but I didn’t want to give you a reason to not want to be with me. Those nine hours with Reese are inconsequential to a lifetime with you. Those hours are an embarrassment. I didn’t believe you’d take my feelings for you seriously—take me seriously—had you known. Bottom line? I was scared. I was afraid you’d leave me, too.”
Aimee is quiet, her gaze turning inward. She’s processing, kneading my words until she’s molded them into a shape she can comprehend. Her lips pinch. She sharply exhales through her nose and lifts her chin. I recognize the look. “You’re angry.”
“Yes, but not because you didn’t tell me Reese was your wife.”
“For only nine hours.”
Aimee’s gaze broils and I clamp my mouth shut.
“No, I’m not angry,” she corrects. “I’m disappointed you thought so little of me. That you thought a nine-hour marriage would scare me away. You should have told me.”
“Yes, I should have, and I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”
“That makes three now,” she whispers.
“Three what?” I frown, confused.
“Three times someone important to me has kept something important from me because they think I can’t handle it. James about his brother Phil. Nadia about how she’s working and flirting with Thomas.”
“Nadia’s what?” I say with an unbelieving shake of my head.
“And you about your nine-hour marriage. I don’t have a fragile temperament, Ian. I’m not a withering flower.”
“You’re right, you’re absolutely right. You’re a tree, with strong roots.” I nod continually as I speak. “You can stand up to any sort of wind that tries to blow you down.” I move my arms around for emphasis.
“Oh my God.” She scrapes her hair back in frustration.
“Sorry, was that too much?” My mouth quirks.
She buries her face in her hands and cry-laughs. “This isn’t funny.”
I gently prod her hands away and dip my head to look up in her face, my own expression serious. I stroke her cheek. “You’re right. It’s not funny. I can’t apologize enough for not telling you.”
“I love you, Ian. I’m not going to leave you. But we are going to talk about this.”
I briefly close my eyes, letting her words sink in, then cup her cheeks and rest my forehead against hers, amazed at how incredibly understanding she is. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
She nods and moves away. “Good. You can start by pouring me a glass of wine.” She points at the complimentary bottle of Tempranillo on the bureau. “Then you’re going to tell me how you got yourself hitched to Reese’s Pieces.”
“Reese’s Pieces?” I look askance at her as I make my way to the bureau.
Aimee sinks into a chair. “Yes. She’s a piece of work.”
That she is. I uncork the wine and pour two glasses. I hand one to Aimee, which she downs. O-kayyyy. I show her the bottle. “Refill?”
“Please.” She holds up her glass.
This time she swirls the glass and sniffs the wine. Then she takes a sip and sets down the glass on the table. She rubs her thighs. “I’m ready.”
I’m not, but I don’t have a choice. I don’t want a choice. This is for Aimee. It’s for us.
I don’t sit at the table with her. I need to stand while I talk through this. It wasn’t one of the best days of my life. In fact, it makes the top-ten list of the worst. I lean back against the bureau in a semistanding position, my legs crossed at the ankles. My mind tracks back to those years with Reese and my stomach curdles. I press my fingers into my abs and set the wine aside, my interest in drinking it gone.
“We’d graduated from college and wanted to celebrate so we went to Vegas. It happened to be the same day my mom was scheduled for release and Stu would be in town to pick her up. There were six of us from college, three guys and three gals. Reese and I were the only official couple. She was also the only one who knew about my mom.”
I meet Aimee’s gaze and she slowly nods, encouraging me to continue. Hugging my chest tight, I pace the room. Her gaze tracks me. I look at the floor as I talk.
“You know the story about how I found my dad drunk in his hotel room and that he told me my mom left before he got there. What I didn’t tell you was what happened afterward. I drove around for hours, convinced I could find my mom at the bus station or waiting for a train. I even tried a few hotels to see if she checked into one. It was a waste of time. She was long gone. I finally met up with my friends on the Strip and proceeded to get really stinking drunk. We were all hammered, but I was a mess, and Reese was right there with me.
“I don’t remember how it happened. Most of the night is a blur and several hours are flat out missing from the memory banks.” I tap my forehead. “I only know that we woke up with rings on our fingers and our signatures on a marriage certificate I found in my suitcase.”
“Holy . . . Wow. I can’t imagine what was going through your head at that moment.”
“Not much,” I say with an unenthusiastic laugh. “Worst hangover ever.”
“What did you do?”
I stop in front of Aimee. “We petitioned for an annulment. It was granted fairly quickly. We were both intoxicated. Happens all the time in Vegas.”
“Technically, you weren’t really married. The marriage was dissolved.”
I sink to my heels and hold Aimee’s hands in mine. “I know, but that doesn’t excuse me from not telling you.”
“You and Reese dated in college and were together for a year after. Did you wish . . .” She stalls, biting her lower lip. I squeeze her hands.
“Did I wish we didn’t get the annulment?” She nods and I hum in thought. “Yes, for all of five seconds, right before I signed the paperwork. I loved her at the time, but she was adamant—we both were—that our careers came first. Marriage was not what either of us wanted at the time. What happened in Vegas was supposed to stay in Vegas.”
“I can’t believe Reese introduced herself to me as your ex-wife.”
“I’m not going to say the b-word, but be my guest.”
Aimee laughs, breaking the tension between us. “She’s a royal—”
A wave of heat tumbles through me. Sweat seeps from my pores. My skin bakes. I let go of one of Aimee’s hands and unzip the hoodie. The room feels like a furnace.
“You don’t look well, Ian.” Aimee touches my forehead. It’s sheened in sweat. “You’re warm.”
“I don’t like octopus. Promise you’ll never boil octopus and make me eat it.” My stomach pitches. I cover my mouth and rush to the bathroom and proceed to humiliate myself inside the toilet.
When I’m done, I fall back on my ass and slouch against the wall. Arms parked on my raised knees, I close my eyes and breathe through the nausea. I’m still tasting paprika. A cool washcloth touches my forehead, then my cheeks. I open my eyes and Aimee is there, kneeling beside me. “Thank you,” I whisper hoarsely.
She hands me a glass of water, which I chug. “Slow down, you’ll get sick again. Better?” she asks when I give her the empty glass.
“Much.” Now that the slimy octo is out of my gut, my stomach has settled. But I feel a crushing weight on my chest and I need to get it off. I fix my eyes on hers. “There’s something else I should have told you.”
“Oh?” Aimee sits back warily.
“I should have told you before I left.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I didn’t.” I roll my head from side to side against the wall. “We’d argue and I didn’t want to do that before I left.”
“What you have to tell me will make me upset?”
She pushes back her shoulders, which puts her eye level several inches above mine. She looks down at me. “Do I need to remind you I’m not fragile?”
“No. No, you don’t.” I smile weakly and wave a hand, my arm flopping back into my lap. “I’m tired of arguing.”
“Me, too.”
“I don’t want to upset you.”
“Spit it out, Ian, I can handle it.”
“I talked with James.”
“And you thought by mentioning this to me I’d accuse you of bringing up James again.”
I nod.
She sighs, dismayed. “What happened?”
“He came to our house and he gave me Lacy Saunders’s card. Remember her? She’d given it to him with the request to pass it along to me. That’s why he wanted to see me. I called Lacy and—”
“Her number’s disconnected. I know. But I got her new one and I talked to her.”
“So did I. Aimee, her number wasn’t disconnected when I called.”