Oh, Jesus Christ, I have done it now. I put my hands together like I’m praying and touch the tips of my fingers to my forehead. “Kristi, please. Be calm and listen to me, OK? I don’t know Johnny. I saw him for the first time yesterday evening. I have no clue how he feels about you or why he wants to marry you. Only you know that stuff and honey, this is called cold feet. Lots of people get this, it’s not new. Do you love him?”
She gets a look of pure panic on her face. “I don’t know! I’m so emotional these days because of the baby. I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not.”
Welcome to the club, I feel like saying. But I don’t. I’m the professional here, I need to act like it for once. “Listen to me, Kristi. I’m a love-life loser, OK? I know nothing. At all. So forget everything I said yesterday and just ask yourself… do you really want to throw this day away over cold feet?”
She takes a deep breath and appears to gather herself. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything, Grace. Tell me what to do.”
“Go back to your room and take a moment. I see your hair and makeup are done, so all you have to do is touch it up and then go down to the dressing room like we planned and let them get that dress on you. OK?” I hold her shoulders gently and give her a small shake when she doesn’t answer. “OK? We’re going to get you ready and you’re going to calm down. Just go get your stuff and I’ll meet you down in the dressing room in thirty minutes. We can do this.”
She looks warily at me.
“Kristi,” I say firmly. “You’re getting married today. You love this man, he loves you. And this wedding is that expression of your love.” I wait but she just continues to stare. “Right?” I prod her.
She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Right.”
“I’ll meet you in the dressing room in thirty minutes. OK?”
“OK,” she says with a pouty frown on her face. “OK. but please, Grace, don’t be late. I still might need some support and I have no family here. I can’t exactly talk to his people about this, ya know?”
“I know. I’ll be down there in thirty minutes, I promise.”
She bobs her head in agreement and then turns away.
Whew. Crisis averted.
Chapter Twelve
I TURN over in bed, still lost in my dream about Grace. She’s in a white dress surrounded by twinkling lights and there’s music playing. I take her hand and draw her to me, my eyes never leaving hers, and then I cup her face fully in my palms and kiss her mouth in a way I’ve never done before. So thorough. So soft. So lingering.
And she lingers too, like this kiss is the first.
We kiss like it’s the first time ever.
I reach out to her in bed, unwilling to leave the dream, yet wanting her close. But all I get is empty sheets.
I bolt up. “Grace?”
“In here,” she calls and my racing heart immediately calms down. She comes out of the bathroom a few seconds later, brushing her hair. “It’s Kristi’s wedding day and she’s freaking out. I need to get down to the dressing room and calm her down.”
“OK,” I say, swinging my feet out of bed.
She glances down to my morning wood and smirks. “Apparently you are not the invisible man this morning.”
“Completely visible,” I joke back. “We need to talk, Grace. Before you run off for this wedding. I just need you to understand that whatever it is, I’m here for you.”
“What are you talking about?” She bends over to slip on her shoes and I ogle her ass. “You’re here for me about what?”
I grab my trousers off the chair and slip them on. “Your childhood.”
“My childhood?” she asks, her attention immediately on me. “What about it?”
I just stare at her. “You don’t remember?”
“Remember what? Jesus, Asher, I don’t have time for this. I have a wedding—”
“Asher? Why are you getting defensive with me? Last night we were talking and I asked you about your childhood and you insisted that if I dropped it, you’d tell me as soon as we woke up.”
“I did no such thing,” she says, walking out of the bedroom.
I follow her out. “You absolutely did. Last night, we were celebrating with champagne after we had mind-blowing vanilla sex—”
“Well, champagne makes me crazy drunk. That’s why I started drinking margaritas. You should just forget everything I said because chances are I was talking out my ass.”
“Fuck that.”
She whirls around at my language. “Excuse me?”
“Fuck. That. We had a f**king awesome night, Grace. And then you wake up this morning and tell me to forget about it because of some stupid excuse about champagne? Fuck that.”
She gives me a short laugh. “You can drop all the f-bombs you want, Asher. I’ve got nothing to say about my childhood. It was perfect. My parents were perfect.”
“Obviously not, Grace. They’re dead. So something happened and it’s affected you and your ability to commit. You told me so last night.”
Her mouth flies open to make a perfect O shape, like I just stunned the shit out of her. “I just explained to you, I don’t remember anything and I know for a fact I must’ve been wasted out of my mind if I was telling you that kind of stuff. So sorry, I’m not talking about my childhood.”