Chapter 9

Bella sat across from me at the oak table in the cabin and ate four slices of pizza. Four. I was downright impressed. It was like she hadn’t eaten in a week because she didn’t even hesitate between slices. She was chatting and laughing with me and eating without missing a beat.

“This is so good,” she sighed as she bit the end of the crust of her fourth piece. “God, I forgot how good pizza tastes.”

She was actually ahead of me. I was only on my third slice but I eyed her, curious. “Please don’t tell me it’s been eleven years since you’ve eaten pizza either. I can get how you might be able to avoid doughnuts for a decade, but pizza? It’s basically a food group.” I had decent eating habits, but I also worked out a lot and had a high metabolism, so pizza was definitely a part of my life I wasn’t willing to eliminate.

“Just six months. Wedding prep.” She licked her fingers and I was instantly reminded of her sucking my cock in the car.

Bella was a combination of sexy and sweet that I had just never encountered before and it was really doing it for me, no doubt about that. She never intended to be sexy, she just was. Her blow job wasn’t the best I’d ever had, but it was the most attentive. She had wanted to please me, and more important, she had wanted to please herself. It was the hottest thing in the world.

“Eat until you’re full,” I told her. “And if you want more, I’ll order another one.”

“I think I’m good for now,” she said. “But thank you. I didn’t eat much this week. I was having trouble swallowing.”

My eyebrows shot up. She never knew when she said something that could be taken as dirty. “Well that’s a shame. I was hoping to finish what you started in the car.”

Bella wiped her fingers on a napkin, then blotted her lips. “Oh, I’m fine now. I seem to be cured. I can swallow anything you want.”

Damn. She was just…everything. Perfect. Adorable. Fuckable.

I wondered how long realistically I had. Twenty-four hours? Maybe forty-eight tops? How many times could I take her before she was shoving me off her? I wanted to take full advantage of our limited isolation.

Before long her parents or her former fiancé or her sister were going to be storming the cabin, demanding answers and whisking her away. I had seen her phone, tucked in the side of her bag, and heard it buzz repeatedly with notifications. “I’m ready whenever you are,” I said, turning my chair so I was facing out and spread my legs. “Come here and kiss me.”

We hadn’t done enough of that. I had tasted her pussy more than I had her lips and I wanted to make out, like we had endless time and nowhere to be.

“Ew, no,” she said. “I have pizza breath.”

“So do I. What difference does it make?”

“It’s gross.” She sipped her soda and eyed me. “You won’t like it.”

The way her mind worked was a total fucking mystery to me. “You don’t know what I like and don’t like. Now get over here.”

She stood up, though she looked unconvinced. “What?” She hovered in front of me.

“I told you,” I said, pulling her down onto my lap. “I want a kiss.”

Some of her makeup had come off in the shower and I liked her like this—stripped down. More real. She had pulled off her fake eyelashes and didn’t blink as much now. She just perched delicately on my thighs and studied me. “You didn’t say the magic word.”

She had a cute sense of humor. Not dark, not dry. But sweet and silly. “I want a kiss, please. With sugar on top.”

Leaning forward, she bent closer to me. And closer. I shifted, anticipating her lips on mine.

Then she burped. Right in my face.

It was clearly an accident, and her eyes went wide and her cheeks turned red. I started laughing. I couldn’t help it. It was fucking hilarious.

“Oh my God!” she cried. She hit me on the shoulder. “It’s that stupid soda! I cannot believe I just did that. This is your fault for making me kiss you without brushing my teeth first.”

That just made me laugh harder. “How is this my fault? And who cares? Everyone burps. You already told me you do. It’s your special talent, remember?”

“Yeah, but not without warning and not in your face. I have pepperoni breath!”

She looked like she wanted to die a thousand deaths, which made me laugh even harder. I gave her a kiss, despite her squirming and protesting. “I don’t care, Bella.” I stood up, which made her shriek.

I had her under her ass and carried her to the bed and tossed her down unceremoniously. “I’m turned on by you. All the time. Nothing you do is going to change that. Doughnuts or pizza or burping or an irrational fear of water. I want you. Get over it.”

She was already trying to get off the bed. “Just let me brush my teeth and take a shower and I swear I’ll do whatever you want. I mean, within reason. If I like it.”

I pushed her back down in a tangle of limbs and stripped her dress down over her tits, her waist, her hips. “You’re not listening to me. I don’t care that you ate pepperoni or that it’s been a whole two hours since you showered. I don’t care.”

She stopped wiggling and eyed me. “Really?”

“Really.” I wanted to tell her she had some issues that needed working on, but that was none of my business and I didn’t want to kill the moment anyway. She looked like she might actually believe me. “Now shut up and kiss me.”

To my surprise she did, with an enthusiasm I wasn’t expecting. It made me instantly hard. I yanked down my jeans and kicked them off. I kissed her back, feverishly, stroking my tongue across hers. I wanted her to understand sex could be raw and spontaneous and very fun. I didn’t need her spritzed and brushed and cleansed and posed. I just needed her.

I didn’t even wait to push inside her. I just took her, hard, wanting her to let go and enjoy herself. Wanting to take what I could while we still had time. She moaned in the back of her throat and dug her nails into my back. Then she shocked both of us by having an almost instant orgasm. “That’s it, baby,” I told her, my dick throbbing inside her. I heard the excitement in my own voice. She had no idea what she did to me and how sexy she was.

“Yes,” she said, sounding breathless. “Oh yes, Christian.”

Then I bent down and kissed her, hard, wanting to drive my point home. “You make me need to come, baby.”

“You really should,” she said, like she was encouraging me to try for a new job or take a vacation.

It amused me. I exploded deep inside her, loving the way she held on to me, her eyes rolling back in her head.

And when I slowed down and rested my forehead briefly on hers, kissing her slightly greasy pizza lips that she was so insanely stressed about, I realized that this was trouble on a whole other level.

Fuck my life, I actually liked her.

---

I had thought that for the first time in a week I would be able to sleep. That the relief I felt and all the carbs and a few glasses of wine, the multiple orgasms, would knock me into a sleep so sound and deep I would wake up at 10 A.M. on Sunday morning, groggy and sluggish. I wanted that. I wanted oblivion.

I didn’t get it.

Christian lay next to me in bed sound asleep, and that in itself was unsettling. It had been four years since there had been anyone other than Bradley in my bed. I knew his habits, his breathing, his sleep sounds. Christian was bigger and took up more space. He eschewed the covers and lay sprawled out bare-ass naked on his stomach. It seemed important to him to always be touching me. We had started out spooning, then when I shifted away from him and he rolled onto his stomach, he flopped his arm across my middle.

It was sweet and I appreciated the intention behind it, but I didn’t like it. His arm was heavy, the weight oppressive. Bradley never touched me when we slept and I was disconcerted by Christian’s dominating contact. But then everything about Christian was disconcerting. Especially how easily he brought me to orgasm. It was unreal.

My body warmed at the memory, and even though I was actually a little sore from having sex three times I also wanted more. Real life was going to hit me hard and I wanted to avoid it as long as possible.

But as I lay there in the quiet darkness of the cabin and felt sick to my stomach from both the pizza and thoughts of my wedding, I couldn’t avoid reality. I wondered if the reception had just gone on without me. I wondered if Bradley was still in town or if he had immediately gone back to Boston. I wondered if I could get my job back. Or my apartment. Or if our honeymoon to Bora Bora was refundable. I knew Bradley wouldn’t go on it solo. That wasn’t his style.

I thought about the mothers I had been working with whom I had passed off to my colleague Sandra and I felt terrible. I loved my job. The relief those mothers felt when they were reassured by the adoptive parents they would love the child was amazing. And the joy of the adoptive parents was always beautiful to see. I had walked away from that and now I wasn’t sure if I could go back.

Then I realized the most obvious answer was I could never go back to any part of my old life. That was the life of a woman who got everything she ever wanted. Only none of it was real.

Peeling back Christian’s arm, I climbed out of the brass bed. It was creaky on the floorboards but I tiptoed over to where my dress was lying on the floor and pulled it on over my head. I put on my sandals, pulled my phone out of my bag, and opened the door as quietly as possible. There were four chairs in the yard arranged around an old fire pit and I sat down on one, sinking back so I could look up and see the stars. When was the last time I had looked at the sky?

Maybe summer camp. I went every year in Vermont until I was thirteen. I was always socially adept and I loved camp because it was one big social event. Swimming and horseback riding and laughing in the bunk when I was younger. Gossip and games and checking out boys when I was older. Sophie had despised camp and I had spent a good chunk of time insisting that my friends let her hang around with us because I always felt sorry for her that she couldn’t make friends. She was too smart, too factual, too serious. She made people uncomfortable.

I was always hugely confident then because conversation and making friends came easily for me. Drawing my feet up onto the chair, I pulled my sundress over my knees and hugged them. I stared at the sky, at the brilliance of the stars floating over the canopy of trees, and wondered where was that bold little girl who turned cartwheels and performed camp cheers in front of a hundred people. I spent the summer tanning to a golden bronze while my hair lightened to nearly white and I was happy because I knew who I was.

Now I had no freaking clue.

I lifted my phone and unlocked it with my pass code. My screen said I had forty-seven texts and six voicemails. The social media notifications were in the hundreds. Clearly everyone was tagging me and questioning the wedding that didn’t happen.

I started to scroll through them. They were predictable. Concern. Anger. Fear that I had lost my mind entirely. My mother seemed to think I was kidnapped. I sent her, my father, and Sophie a group text.

I’m fine. Just need some time. I’m sorry.

I wasn’t sure what else to say. How did I apologize to my father for his tremendous waste of money? Or my mother for humiliating her in front of her peers?

It was chilly in the night air so I went back in the cabin and dragged out my wedding gown to use as a blanket. Or maybe just because I wanted to hold it and cry. My heart was more than a little broken, but I also realized it was my ego that was very bruised.

I kept searching my messages, and there, buried in the list of texts from a dozen other people, was the last text Bradley had sent me. At 8 P.M. Three hours after our wedding was to have happened. It was a picture of him in his tux looking wasted, his arm groping a girl’s breast in a bar while she was laughing.

Without even thinking about it, I hurled my cellphone into the woods with all the strength I had. It went sailing through the air and landed with a soft thump in the brush.

My stomach clenched. What, had I expected Bradley to cry? To feel sorry for himself?

Right now he was probably having sex with the girl in the picture.

And I had had sex with Christian.

It should have felt like the perfect revenge. Instead it felt like a new beginning.

The door to the cabin opened with a creak and Christian came out onto the porch, scratching his chest and looking sleepy and sexy. “You okay?” he asked, his voice gravelly.

“Yes. I’m fine.” I actually was. Just sad. Disappointed. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

The moonlight was cutting through the trees and I could see his expression, though I couldn’t really read it. “I got worried when you weren’t in bed.” He was completely naked as he came down the steps and moved toward me.

With a sigh he sat down heavily in the chair next to me, looking adorable and bleary-eyed. His hair was sticking up in the front.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

His hand snaked over and he laced his fingers through mine. “Is there anything I can do?”

He really was sweet. “You’re already doing it.”

“Are you sure? Because I’m kind of looking at you draped in your wedding dress and I’m a little worried you may be going off the deep end.” His voice was easy, calm. He didn’t actually sound worried about my mental health.

“I was cold.” I squeezed his hand lightly to let him know I really was okay.

“Maybe a blanket would be better.” He stood up and went back into the cabin. He returned wearing his boxer briefs and carrying the plaid blanket from the bed. “Give me the dress.”

For a minute I debated tussling with him to retain possession of my wedding gown, but then I realized he was right. A blanket would warm me up. The dress just left me feeling cold and numb. He hooked the gown over his arm and dropped the blanket over me. He disappeared inside again while I snuggled under the blanket. He returned with some newspaper and a lighter.

“What are you doing?”

“Starting a bonfire.”

And he did, with the efficiency of a Boy Scout. Or more like someone who had lived in Maine his whole life. “Isn’t it kind of late for a fire?”

“Are you going back to sleep anytime soon?” he asked, glancing at me over his shoulder. The muscles in his back rippled as he rolled newspaper and laid it in the fire pit.

“No.” I was wide awake. “Shouldn’t you put shoes on? Or pants?” Starting a fire in underwear seemed a little risky.

“Don’t worry, I won’t set my junk on fire.”

That was a terrifying thought. “Good to know.” I watched him and thought about his son and that horrible girl who was Camp’s mother. “Were you in love with Ali?” I asked. Maybe he had been heartbroken too, like me. Deceived into believing someone was a better person than they were.

Christian snorted. He went to the porch and pulled some logs off the woodpile stacked there. “No. I had a crush on Ali growing up. I just wanted to win her over, if that makes sense. It was fucking stupid.”

“But you got Camp out of it.”

He nodded. “Yep. He makes all of the bullshit worth it. I love that little guy with everything inside me.”

That warmed my heart. I could see how much he loved his son. “You’re a good father.”

“I try. I need to pick him up in the morning. I don’t like to go too long without seeing him.”

He wasn’t looking at me, just creating his wood pyre. Christian was hard to read. He didn’t display a huge amount of emotion. But I believed everything he said was the truth. He didn’t play games, even when he was flirting. He had so far always flat-out told me the way it was going to be. I appreciated that. “That’s fine. Do you want me to stay here so you can spend some time with him by yourself?”

I didn’t want to interfere in his parenting. Though if I were being totally honest, I didn’t want to be alone. I’m not good at alone. I never have been. I’m social by nature.

“You can come with me.”

I was relieved. “Okay.”

Christian set his masterpiece ablaze. He blew on it to get it going. “Tell me about your job,” he said, still not looking at me. “What do you do exactly?”

He had an amazing skill for keeping me calm. Being with him was so easy. Frighteningly easy. I launched into a description of my responsibilities and told him how rewarding it was to pair birth mothers with adoptive parents and how I always cried when the babies were sent home to their family.

“You really like kids, don’t you?” he asked, sitting in the chair next to me.

He had created a beautiful fire that danced in the dark, the warmth allowing me to relax my shoulders and my death grip on the blanket. “I love kids,” I said, glancing over at him. “I want at least four.” Without warning a sob wrenched out of me. “I thought I was going to have that.”

“Come here.” Christian stood up and took my hand. He pulled me to my feet. “Come sit with me.” He dropped back down into his chair and urged me to sit on his lap.

I dragged my feet a little. I didn’t want to let him comfort me. Because I already liked him too much. It was confusing and unnerving and crazy and a bad idea to actually like Christian. But he was determined, and I found myself on his thighs and leaning back against his bare chest. I sighed, hugging the blanket around us.

“How old are you?” he asked me.

“Twenty-six.”

“You have plenty of time to have kids. It will happen and you’ll be a great mother, and the guy you actually marry will think you’re the shit.”

That made me laugh a little. “I’ve always wanted to be the shit.”

“You already are in my eyes.” He kissed the top of my head.

I snaked my arm around his waist and looked up into his light eyes. “Likewise.”

Then I had to look away because something was shifting inside me—something crazy, something that made zero sense.

I turned back to the fire, afraid that I had metaphorically jumped into the scorching hot flames.

Christian and I sat there and talked, cuddled together, until the sun started to rise over the water and shed light on us.

Dawn. A new day.