Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 151044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
She hurt me. Deeper and harder than anyone ever had. She was the one person I trusted above all others to accept my ugly insecurities and keep me safe from the mean people of a sometimes uglier world. Never once did I assume she would become the person I needed protection from most.
I couldn’t stop replaying her words in my head, inflicting the emotional trauma she caused over and over again until I broke down and cried. But sometimes I wouldn’t cry. Sometimes, I became so overcome by fury I couldn’t function, so appalled by the hurtful things she said even food brought no comfort.
I was down one dad and now one maid of honor.
I’d written out several texts. Some rehashing. Some apologizing. They all got deleted because in the end, they all felt more like justifying, which I didn’t want to do.
Then I would deflate. The constant internal badgering wore me down like a steam roller until I felt flat and lifeless inside.
Hale’s concern increased as the weeks passed and no reconciliation came. He didn’t know what to do and his instinct was to help.
“You’ve got me,” he said, late one night as I lay on my tear soaked pillow. “I’ll be your best friend.”
“Thank you.” I smiled, more grateful than ever to have such a good man at my side. But Hale and I both knew a best friendship with a spouse wasn’t the same as the one shared between two girls.
For his sake and mine, I forced myself to put my emotions about Elle aside. If I didn’t get control of my feelings, they would distract me from the fact that I was getting married. This unearthed a new appreciation for wedding planning.
I had an outlet. A purpose.
To cope with my breakup with Elle, I focused on my job during the day and my upcoming wedding at night. I even read the bajillian articles Phina emailed me that had been sitting unopened in my inbox for weeks. That was how I stumbled across one specific article about the lure of romantic mystique.
“I think we should stop having sex,” I said over dinner one night.
Hale paused, his fork suspended midair between his plate and his open mouth. “Excuse me?”
“Until the wedding.”
He scowled. “Why would we do that?”
My reasoning stemmed from the article I read about waiting until marriage. That ship had sailed for us, but there was something intriguing about a chaste bride and groom sharing a wedding night.
What if our wedding night just felt like any other night? I wanted it to feel special, like the way the virgins described theirs.
“It could be fun.”
“Not having sex? That sounds like the exact opposite of fun, Rayne.”
We had done every position known to man. At least I thought we had. “Abstinence could freshen things up.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, have you been bored? Because last night you came so hard I think your screams called a few ships into harbor.”
“Ha. Ha. I’m just saying, a little waiting could spice things up. Remember how hot it was when we used to have to sneak around the Lady Parr?”
“If I recall, I wore you down in a matter of hours.”
“No one likes a bragger, Hale.”
“No one likes abstinence, Rayne.”
“Ugh, you can be so difficult sometimes.” I stabbed my fork into the broccoli. “If I say no, there’s nothing you can do.”
“I think we both know how that would end.”
“In court?”
“Oh, please.” He laughed. “You enjoy it too much. Five minutes and I’d have you drenched and begging.”
“You make it sound like I have no self-control. A lot of couples stop having sex during their engagement.”
“I’m not giving up sex, Rayne.”
“Well, your fiancée is, so have fun with your hand.”
Unimpressed, he set down his fork. “This is ridiculous. We have a healthy sexual relationship and we both benefit from that strong intimate connection. Why would you want to tamper with that?”
He was adorable when he used the right words and high emotional IQ to communicate his needs. Hale was so evolved compared to some of the men I’d met early on in life.
“We can still do other stuff—”
“Blow jobs?”
I glanced over at Elara who repeatedly whacked her bowl on the tray of her high chair.
“I meant kissing and making out. Nothing with penetration.”
He rolled his eyes and reached for the baby food. “This is the most asinine thing I’ve ever heard. Did I do something to piss you off? Have you not enjoyed yourself?”
“Hale, you know I always enjoy it.”
He eyed me suspiciously. “Women fake orgasms.”
I snorted. “I’m not stage trained. Besides, you would totally be able to tell if I faked it.”
The baby spoon rattled against the glass jar as he swiped up a spoonful of green goop and grumbled something under his breath.
“Why do you force her to eat that sludge? She doesn’t like it.”