Chapter 16
Clarabella
I take one more swig of the bottle before putting it down and looking at Luke straight in his eyes. I laugh out loud. “Of all people to rescue me, it had to be you." This is the universe kicking me in the vagina without even batting an eye.
He laughs. “I didn't come to rescue you." He stands and walks over to the bag, taking the food out of it. “I was there to help Mikaela."
"Well, you were there at the right time and place, then," I say, looking around. “I mean, at this point, that should have been a sign."
"What do you mean?" he asks, and I laugh.
My hand spins the bottle in it. “Well, for Travis's wedding, there were signs that it was doomed." I laugh. “One, the fire in the kitchen." I hold up a finger. “Two, the wrong flowers coming." I put up one more finger. “Three, the bride being rushed to the hospital."
"Three strikes and you're out, I guess," he says, putting one hand on the counter beside him.
"Then with Shelby, the groom was late." I hold up a finger. “Then, well, I think that was the only sign, but I mean, it was a huge one before she got a love letter that was for someone else."
"But she ended up with Ace," Luke points out, “which was always the obvious choice."
"I never thought of it like that. I mean, I knew they were best friends, but I don't think I ever saw them as lobsters."
"Oh, here we go." He laughs, shaking his head and putting his hand on his forehead. “The minute you saw that episode of Friends."
I can't help but clap my hands and laugh, picking up my fingers and trying to get it like Phoebe, but with the scotch I drank, it doesn't work out that way. “She's his lobster."
"You kept saying that for a whole month," he reminds me, and I'm wondering why he even remembers since it seems like a lifetime ago.
"It's poetic," I defend. “A masterpiece."
"Oh, God." He shakes his head. “A masterpiece, really?"
"Anyway." I ignore him. “There were signs that Edward wasn't the one for me."
"Like what?" he asks, and I just look at him.
"Um, one." I hold up my hand. “I was a bunch of nerves."
"I think everyone who gets married has some sort of nerves." He looks at me, and I just tilt my head to the side, waiting for him to finish what he started. “It's a big commitment."
I chuckle. “That it is." I bring the bottle to my lips, taking a sip. “Some would say it's forever."
"Exactly." He takes a deep breath. “Forever is a long time, and you have to be one hundred percent sure of the person." He's got a point there, as I bring the bottle back to my lips just to keep from saying something that I'll regret. All I can do is look at his face. His scruff is a bit longer than it was the last time I saw him. I'm going to be really honest. I’ve avoided going out since I knew he was back. I would go to work and then go home. I never ventured out, making the excuses that I was busy, but the truth was I didn't want to run into him. His blue eyes almost look green in this light. I could get lost in them. The minute the thought runs into my head, I look down at the bottle and think maybe I should stop drinking now.
"Well, whatever it was, the woman showing up with his child was all I needed to see. The fact that he kept a child from me. His flesh and blood." There is no excuse, none, not one that would make it okay. "By any chance…" I look down at my wedding dress. “Do you have a change of clothes?"
He turns and walks into the room that I'm assuming is the bedroom, coming back with the backpack that looks empty. “I have T-shirts and a pair of boxers."
I look at him with my mouth open. “How do you go away for the weekend and pack just T-shirts?"
He laughs at me. “I was planning on getting trashed all weekend long. I was going to change my shirt and boxers," he says, and the minute he says boxers, the memory of me taking his off comes to me, but just like all the other times, I push it away.
"Don't you leave clothes here for the next time?" I ask, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that he went away for the weekend with no clothes.
"Not really. I bring what I need." He shrugs and tries not to laugh while he looks at my face.
"I guess I have no choice," I say, getting off the stool and wobbling back and forth. My hand holds the island so I don’t fall. "Do not drink and then stand suddenly." I laugh at my own inside joke. “Can you imagine if I fell and busted my face? Now that would be funny."
He shakes his head. “That would not be funny at all." He hands me the bag and puts his hand on my elbow. "Especially since the closest hospital is an hour from here."
"What are you doing?" I ask as he starts to walk with me.
"I'm helping you to the bedroom so you can change," he replies, and I gasp.
"You want to see me naked?" I turn to see his face and the smirk comes out. I want to hate it, but let’s be real; there is nothing I hate about Luke. I mean, I’m sure once my head isn’t cloudy the way it is right now, I will come up with things to hate about him. Like having the best sex of my life and then leaving me. Yeah, hate that about him.
"I'm walking you to the bedroom and closing the door with me on the outside of it," he mumbles, avoiding looking at me. Maybe I was the only one who had the best sex of their life that night. God, maybe I wasn't as good as I thought I was. Maybe it wasn't even good, and I'm imagining it was.
"Whatever," I say, turning to walk into the room and stopping when I can't see anything. I reach out, flipping the switch, but when the light turns on, it's very dim. The room has a soft yellow glow as I look around, seeing just a king-sized bed in the room and nothing else.
"Call me if you need me," he says, then closes the door, leaving me by myself.
I kick the bottom of my dress as I walk toward the bed and sit down for a second. My hand comes out to take the headpiece out of my hair. My fingers trace the jewels as I think back to five minutes ago when I told him my story. I didn't know if I would be able to do it.
I know that when I get back to reality, I'm going to have to sit down with my mother and explain everything. Regardless if she hears the story from Edward or my sisters, she deserves to have the whole story, and she deserves to hear it from me.
Repeating the story again, I was wondering if the pain would hurt less. But the pain was just anger. Angry that I got played. Angry that I didn't see it right in front of my eyes. Angry that I let it happen. Angry that I fell for all the fucking charm he dished out. Angry that I knew I should have taken my time and not rushed into it.
I put the headpiece down, then stand to take the dress off. I look over and try to get to the buttons, but my fingers keep slipping. "Great," I mumble and walk to the door, pulling it open. He's standing with his arms stretched and hands propped on the island. His head hangs down, and the bottle of scotch sits in front of him.
His head moves up when I clear my throat. “You have to unbutton me."
"Um," he stutters, not sure what to say.
"I've tried, but I can't reach them." I turn, showing him that I can't get to them. I don't wait for him to come to me. Instead, I kick off my shoes and pick up the bottom of the dress with both hands as I walk to him. Once I get beside him, I turn and wait for him to unbutton me.
"Don't worry," I say over my shoulder. “I won't bite." I roll my lips as I feel his hands touch the first button. “Unless you want me to."
He groans, and I can't help but throw back my head and laugh. My body shivers when I feel his fingers against my back. I close my eyes and count to ten to try to distract myself from his touch. "I need a drink," he says.
"You can't. I'm the only one who is drinking tonight," I inform him and hold the dress to the front of my chest when I feel it start to slip down.
"Why is that?" he asks, and I can see his eyes are concentrated on the buttons.
"Because I’m the runaway bride." I giggle. “I wonder if I am going to have to add that to my business card."
"You are all done," he announces, turning and walking as fast as he can away from me.
I hold the dress to my chest as I walk back to the bedroom. I can feel his eyes on me, but I avoid looking back at him.
As soon as I close the door to the bedroom, my back falls against it, and I shimmy my hips so the dress falls straight down. I step out of it, and it still keeps its shape and doesn't fall over. I take a second to pick up my dress and put it in the corner. It’s not like I'm going to be wearing it anytime soon. I giggle, opening the backpack as I stand here in the middle of the room with my barely there white thong on. His smell hits me right away, making my stomach have little butterflies. “I'm just hungry,” I mumble to myself to make an excuse for why I’m getting all my feathers ruffled because of him. It’s stupid. He made it clear that he isn’t interested in me like that. I pull out one of his T-shirts and opt for the black one since I don’t have a bra to wear. Even though he's seen all that I have to offer, I shouldn't just flaunt it. Slipping the shirt over my head, I see it lands just in the middle of my thighs, and I don't even bother putting the boxers on. It is one thing to wear his T-shirt but another to put on his boxers. There is a line that shouldn't be crossed, and this is one of them.