Treading along a long corridor, my legs heavy as though I had been walking for hours, I sighed with relief on reaching a closed door. I reached for the knob and turned it. I pushed the door open and water mixed with red paint sloshed about my bare ankles. Where were my shoes? I hadn’t even been aware I was barefoot.

I hesitated before entering the room, but curiosity grabbed me when I saw the single white porcelain tub in the room. From the rim of the tub, the red-colored water sloshed onto the floor, soaking my feet. Something was very odd about the way the water kept sloshing onto the floor. Magnetized by the tub, I inched closer, although what I wanted was to head for the door.

I almost gagged at the sight that awaited me in the tub. The lifeless body of Rachel, my daughters’ mother, lay prostrate in the tub, her wrists slashed, the blood mingling with the water, sloshing on the floor.

“Oh, God, Rachel, why?” I choked out, her beautiful face sad in death.

Her eyes flew open, and she angled her head so she could stare at me accusingly. “You know why,” she contradicted. “I told you I would do it. Why didn’t you stop me?”

“I didn’t know you were serious,” I stated, my voice anguished. “I hadn’t seen you in eight years.”

“I reached out to you, and you did nothing about it,” she said sadly. “Now you have to face the consequences. Letting the girls know what you did. You helped kill their mother.”

“No!” I protested. “I tried to help you before and it didn’t work. I didn’t believe you.”

“You failed me, Jarrod. Just like you’ll fail our girls.”

I stepped back, shaking my head, and slipped on the wet tile. Instead of hitting the floor, I was dragged under the pools of bloody water seeping into my nostrils, my mouth, suffocating me…

A poignant scream pierced the night, jerking me awake. I sat up, gasping for air and choking a little at the last lingering remnants of the dream. I’d thought I was over the guilty nightmare since I hadn’t dreamt of Rachel for several weeks.

Another scream echoed in the distance, and my deliriousness had waned enough for me to recognize the voice. I couldn’t tell by the hysterics which one of the two was wailing, but it didn’t matter. I scrambled out of bed, not bothering to grab my robe. I ran from the room towards my daughters’ bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and the screaming had subsided into soft sobs.

I skated to a stop just inside the room, not surprised to find Laurel already there, sitting on Isabelle’s bed, the little girl sitting in her lap and sobbing into her chest. Laurel rocked her gently. From across the other bed, Anabelle was shaking but not crying. I walked into the room and joined Laurel, instincts taking over and dispelling any awkwardness I would have normally felt being so close to the children. I swallowed hard when Anabelle didn’t protest me sitting on her bed and pulling her to me, my arm going around her slender body. And then she, too, started crying.

“Nightmare,” Laurel mouthed to me over their heads, and I nodded in full understanding. I could only imagine what they had seen in their dreams. If it was anything like mine, they had a right to be freaked out.

We didn’t speak, only rocked them gently until they fell asleep again. I followed Laurel’s example, placing Anabelle back into bed, ensuring she wouldn’t wake, and we tiptoed from their room. I closed the door behind us and turned to Laurel.

From her state of undress, she had run out of bed as I had. She wore a silky night dress which ended several inches above her knees. Shit. I shouldn’t have allowed my gaze to leave her face. She had perky breasts which jutted firmly from her chest without the restraint of a bra. Her nipples peaked against the material beneath my gaze, and my mouth went dry. Lust shot through my body and hardened my cock.

So the kiss in the restaurant hadn’t only been about the moment. I was attracted to her, and from the reaction of her nipples, it was safe to conclude she was turned on by me too. I hadn’t anticipated such a development, especially on my part. I’d been celibate for two years, long enough for it to have become a way of life, and I was lusting after her so hard. Maybe it was the celibacy making me react to her this way.

“Any idea what happened?” I asked her, walking beside her to her bedroom, which sat at the opposite end of the corridor from mine.

“She wouldn’t say,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest, but I could have told her it was already too late. I’d probably need a cold shower before I could go back to sleep.

“Maybe about her mom.” I sighed heavily as we stopped at her bedroom door.

“Possibly,” she concurred, pushing her hair behind her ear. The engagement ring on her finger flashed.

“I’m thinking of placing them into counseling,” I ventured. “What do you think?”

She nodded her approval. “That would be good. You all could go.”

“Oh, just them.”

“It may do you some good too.”

Sometimes, her intuitiveness was scary. I ignored her comment and switched the topic. “I want to meet with the wedding planner tomorrow. I won’t go into work until the afternoon.”

“Can we bring the children with us?” she asked.

“Are you sure you want them helping make decisions for the wedding?” I asked uncertainly.

“I think they’d like it.”

“We’ll have to tell them first,” I reminded her. “We still haven’t done so.”

“We’ll tell them together at breakfast,” she decided.

“How do you think they’ll react?”

A smile tugged at her mouth, and she bit her bottom lip to contain it. “They’ll be fine. Good night, Jarrod.”

I couldn’t help staring at her back and down to her round backside. Heat flooded my cock just before the door closed behind her. I ran my fingers through my hair and willed my erection to dissipate as I walked back to my bedroom.

Despite being jerked out of sleep, as soon as my head hit the pillow, I fell asleep, not thinking of the disturbing nightmare. The passionate way she’d kissed me in the restaurant, clutching the lapels of my jacket, was the memory that stayed with me. What had started as a kiss, appropriate after such a public proposal, had turned into us losing ourselves in each other.

The next morning, breakfast was a little somber given the girls’ horrific night. I would have changed my mind about telling them about the engagement, but Laurel plunged ahead and told them we were getting married. I sat with bated breath, watching for their reaction, and was relieved when they smiled although they didn’t say much. They were eager, though, when we suggested they help us plan the wedding.

The wedding planner met us at ten at the estate, and we went through the planning easier than I would have thought possible. It would be a small affair, with Laurel’s mother and the house staff in attendance. Since both my parents were deceased—which Laurel only found out as we discussed the guest list—there was really nobody I had to invite.

In the end, we chose the house as the venue. We would use the gardens for the ceremony as well as the reception. Anabelle and Isabelle helped to choose the wedding colors and the bouquet Laurel would carry when she walked down the aisle.

The time flew by quickly as we prepared for the wedding, which was scheduled for two weeks after our proposal. I bought a new tux, and Laurel took the girls to get matching dresses. One would carry the rings and the other play the part of the flower girl.

We debated over our supposed honeymoon until we agreed to take the girls with us for a week in Jamaica. Usually, I would have had Pearl take care of the arrangements, but given that I hadn’t informed her of the wedding, I couldn’t ask her to make the reservations. I handled the honeymoon, making several calls until I found a perfect villa on the beachfront.

Only Laurel went with me to the cake testing, although at first she argued that I could choose any cake.

“This is your wedding too,” I informed her. “I don’t want to choose a cake you don’t especially like.”

“It’s not like it’s a real wedding.” She chuckled in amusement. “You know, you should save all this energy for your second wedding.”

“This is as real as it will get for me,” I growled, opening the car door for her as we climbed inside.

“I keep telling you, you’re going to get married again,” she said with a grin, and I silenced her with a stern look.

“How is everything going on your end?” I asked her as we drove to the pastry shop the wedding planner had recommended.

“We only need to get down the aisle,” she teased, and I marveled at her ability to be so casual and jovial about this. Meanwhile, I was smarting at her comment that this wasn’t a real wedding. She was right, but for a minute there, I wouldn’t have minded this being a real wedding. Good Lord, what was I thinking? Nothing had changed with all this planning, I tried to convince myself. We were still getting married solely for my daughters’ sake, especially now that they had established a relationship with Laurel.

After ten years, we would still split as the contract stipulated. No sexual contact would occur between us, nor affectations, unless necessary, like a kiss we would have to share at the wedding ceremony. If that kiss turned out to be anything like the one we had shared in the restaurant, we just might have a real honeymoon after all, despite not having a genuine wedding.

On the way to the pastry shop, I wondered whether having sex would destroy our comradery. We got along fine, and she was an open, honest person. Maybe if we established boundaries, we could also explore the attraction between us. I was certain I wasn’t the only one who felt it.

No, no, no. Sex muddied things. Sex made everything messy. I liked her as she was now. I didn’t want the awkwardness. Rarely could a woman be sexually involved with a man and separate the sex from emotions. Laurel had made so much progress with the girls that I would do nothing to disturb that. I’d have to continue taking cold showers when I got excited by my sexy, soon-to-be wife.