Chapter Six
When I wake up the next morning, the sky is still dark. As dark as the sky can be, at least, in Las Vegas.
And Emerson is still sleeping, a perfect, dreamless sleep, a small smile on his lips.
And I can’t breathe. My chest is tight. My heart is racing madly. Yesterday I was so incredibly happy. Why can’t I recapture that now? But instead all I can think is these are the last moments I’ll spend with Emerson before I have to go back to the real world. These are the last moments before I have to go back to being an overworked sales rep and he’ll be a fancy lawyer and we’ll have to say goodbye. We’ll probably never, ever see each other again, except maybe to sign annulment papers, and honestly, I can probably just overnight those.
Some bandages are better ripped off. Pretending to be married, dream-living this mistake was never a good idea. And now, with real feelings involved, it’s a terrible idea.
Very quietly, I roll over in bed, silently memorizing every little detail of Emerson’s face. His body. His eyelashes.
Maybe it isn’t possible to fall in love with someone in a weekend, but I think I did. But staying—not leaving—just made it hurt worse to leave now. At least if I would have left right away, I would have just had a few scattered memories and I wouldn’t have had the pain of remembering the kind of person I was leaving behind.
I take off the very beautiful, very expensive ring, and set it carefully on the grand piano. I cast one more look around the honeymoon suite, one more look at my beautiful husband, and then I leave to catch a flight home.
***
I was that person, the girl crying in the airport. Crying on the plane. Not sobbing—I’m not completely ridiculous, but doing simple things like grabbing a coffee made me miserable. Guilty.
I should have said goodbye.
But I couldn’t. It would have hurt too much. So now, I’m back in Portland, and I’m lying listlessly on my bed, staring around at my apartment. My very void of human contact apartment.
The phone rings, and I jump up to answer it, scowling when I see it’s my boss.
“Hello?” I say, trying not to sound impatient.
“Oh, good,” she says, “you’re home. I hate to do this to you, Eliza. But I need to go back to that shit town. The project’s about to fall through.”
My heart thumps. “You mean that place in Kansas?” I ask. The place where I met my husband, I don’t add.
“That’s the one. I booked you a flight at four, but I couldn’t secure any lodging. You’ll have to do it when you get there. There’s some kind of festival going on—who knows.” She sounds annoyed, but the idea of a festival is adorable. I wish more towns had them.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m on my way.”
My boss hangs up, and I go to my room to pack a small bag. Not even unpacking the one that’s still sitting there from Vegas. It’s been two days, and I can’t even bring myself to open it.
So I pack a new one, and I head back to the airport.
***
I get a cab from the airport, and ask the driver to take me to the nearest hotel. He laughs, and glances back at me.
“Hotel? Miss, we only have one of those and she’s all booked up for the Firemen’s Social. But there’s a motel that ain’t too bad on the other side of town.”
Firemen’s Social? Sounds like this small town has got some good ideas.
“Sure,” I say, waving my hand. “The motel will be fine. Thank you.”
He nods, and I sit back and watch the small shops and quaint houses pass. I like it here. In fact, I like it here quite a bit.
I can’t help but wonder if Emerson is back in town. I won’t be here long enough to find out, but I have half a mind to ask the driver if he knows him. But that would be dumb, so I continue looking out the window.
I once again thank the driver for his help, tip him well, and book a room at the Sunset Lodge Motel. It’s not grand, but it has a lot of flowers overflowing in baskets, and wood log bannisters. It has some serious charm.
I go to my room, and call to book an appointment to meet about the latest project. The business manager isn’t exactly thrilled to hear from me again, saying I left in a hurry last week. I don’t really remember that, but I apologize and say I’ll give them a better deal than ever.
He agrees, and we set a time to meet in the morning.
I change out of my business suit, and put on a thin, over-sized white T-shirt, no pants, and I go to the back window of the room, overlooking the woods behind the lodge. It’s easier to breathe here. Better air? Less people? I sigh.
There’s a knock on the door, and I jump, and look toward it. I wonder if it’s housekeeping, and I tug down my T-shirt to mid-thigh and walk over.
I open the door slightly to peer out, and my heart just about stops.
Emerson Banks stands there, unshaven in a wrinkled suit jacket, his eyes weary. He’s still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
“Emerson,” I say, breathless. “What… how did you find me?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “It’s a small town.”
It makes me laugh, but I bite back my smile. “Apparently. Uh…” I open the door. “Come in.”
He does, only a passing glance at my legs as he walks into the room, looking around. When he turns back to me, I can see the hurt in his eyes. He’s also a little pissed. My conscience aches, as does my heart.
“I’m sorry—” I start to say, ready to explain why I left him. Why I had to. But he holds up his hand to stop me. My stomach dips.
“Can I show you something?” he asks. I don’t like how serious he is. I don’t like that I’ve done this, taken away the fun he had in Vegas. I think I broke his heart.
“It’s nice,” I say, nodding. “But I’ve seen it.” It makes him smile, and he shakes his head.
“Something else.” He takes out his phone, cueing up the screen, and holds it in my direction. I narrow my eyes, not sure what he’s playing at, but I take it from him.
There’s a video, the screen blurred in a frozen action shot. A tuft of white with a dark background.
“What—?”
“Just watch it,” he says impatiently.
I sigh, ready to finish this before either of our hearts can be hurt anymore. I can still survive this, go back to my old life. I click play.
“Hello!” a girl says into the camera, and rests back into the seat.
I realize with a start that it’s me. I flick my eyes to Emerson, and he nods for me to keep watching.
Video me laughs, and I see the white fuzz is a veil, a cute little wedding veil tucked up into my hair, my make-up flawless. I’m in the back of a limo.
“Look at my husband,” I say, reaching over. The shot widens to include Emerson in a suit, bow tie. I put my hand over his chin and squeeze his cheeks. He instinctively makes a kissing sound, his eyes glassy. “Isn’t it cute?” I ask, clearly smitten. “Isn’t he seriously the cutest fucking thing you’ve ever seen?”
Emerson turns to me, and leans in, kissing me softly on the mouth.
“Look at my wife,” he says, directly to me. Our eyes locked. “My beautiful wife.”
“I love you,” I say.
“I love you,” he replies, and kisses me again. His hand rests protectively on the back of my neck, our open-mouthed kiss growing hot.
Standing here now, I feel myself blush.
“We shouldn’t record this part,” I whisper, making him smile. He rests his forehead against mine, and then falls back in the seat, throwing his arm behind me.
“My beautiful wife walked into a bar in Kansas, and I pointed directly at her and yelled—”
“Good Christ, who’s that?” I say for him.
He nods that it’s true, gazing at me, reaching over to play with my hair.
“And I’d just left a different bar,” I explain, and reach over to grab two glasses of champagne, handing one to Emerson. He looks at me like he wants to bury his face under my dress. I see his hand head that way.
“Turns out,” I say, holding up my glass, “my husband is a lawyer, and a really good person. Loves his family, his brothers and sister. I decided I wanted to quit my job in the city and live with him in Kansas forever.” We both laugh. “It’s been a whirlwind romance,” I add, sipping from my drink.
Emerson leans over to kiss my shoulder, and watching it now, I feel heat creep over me at the intimacy.
Emerson moves to kiss my neck, hand sliding under my dress. “And I told her I wanted to marry her,” he murmurs. “I was going to marry the fuck out of her because I’d never met anyone else like her and never would. I told her I’d worship her.”
“So I agreed,” I say, then laugh. He pulls back, biting on his bottom lip.
“It took a little more convincing than that,” he says.
I smile at him. “It was a really nice ring.”
He laughs, and tackles me over on the seat, white fabric flying. Our empty champagne glasses clank on the floor of the limo. We stare into each other eyes, him on top of me. We whisper I love yous, whisper them like we mean them.
And then Emerson looks over at the camera, his eyes shining happy, and says playfully, “You can’t watch this next part.” And the video ends.
I stand there, his phone in my hand, my heart in my throat. I’m not sure what to say, but I can at least acknowledge that we looked blissful. We meant to get married, it wasn’t an accident. It was still absolutely bonkers, but in a way, really pure.
It wasn’t a mistake.
I lift my eyes, and find Emerson watching me. He’s kind of miserable, and I realize that I’ve hurt him. I walked out on him without giving him a reason. I’m an idiot.
He holds out his hand for the phone, and I give it over, waiting as he slips into his pocket. Neither of us say anything at first.
“So…” I start, drawing his gaze. “You had that on your phone the entire time?”
His mouth flinches with a smile. “Found it on my way here,” he says. “I can only imagine what’s on your phone.”
I laugh, and lower my head. I hadn’t checked. Hadn’t thought to.
“We got married,” I whisper, and look at him again.
“We did. I mean, we are married,” he adds. He takes a step closer, his eyes vulnerable, and my heart missing him. “And I’m here to ask you if you’d do it again,” he adds.
My eyes widen. “What?” Tingles race over my body, pin pricks of vibration.
Emerson swallows hard, and he looks a little scared. I can’t help how it strums my heart, makes me want to wrap my arms around him and tell him I love him, just like I did on our wedding night.
He lowers himself to one knee in front of me, and takes my ring out of his pocket. He holds it out to me.
“Eliza,” he asks, a hitch in his voice. “Will you marry me again?”
I stare down at him, loving his beauty, his tender way. I realize I didn’t marry him the first time because I was drunk and reckless. It’s because I was drunk and open to the possibility of happiness. And he made me happy.
“I’d love to marry you again,” I reply, and Emerson puts one hand over his heart, his lips pressed together. I climb down to my knees in front of him, making him laugh, and he slides the ring back on my finger where it belongs.
He runs his hand all the way up my arm to my neck, and he pulls me into a kiss.
His lips are soft, his tongue against mine, my fingers in his hair. It’s loving and gentle, and then I push him back on the floor, and I unbutton his pants, and then we’re both saying I love you, screaming it, really, until we’re both blissfully happy once again.
I collapse in his arms, both of us grinning and staring up at the ceiling of the motel room. Not nearly as nice as our Vegas hotel.
“Now what?” I ask, turning to throw my thigh over his hip, my face at his neck.
“We get married again. Try to remember it this time.” He brushes his lips over my forehead in a kiss.
“And the last time?” I say. “Do we tell anyone about Vegas?”
He laughs, snuggling against me. “No,” he says. “That’s just ours.”
I smile, reaching to interlace our hands together, admiring our rings. “That’s perfect,” I say. “It’s our little secret.”
He hums out that he likes that, and then I lift my head to gaze at him. He puckers his lips, and I smile and kiss him. And then again.
We kiss until the sun comes up.
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