Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 88456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
“Gives you time to calm down,” I try to joke with him, laughing through the tears.
“Or gives you time to come up with a better excuse,” he counters. “I love you, Zoey, and I’m always proud of you. Some moments more than others, but always.”
“Thanks, Dad. I love you,” I say before I disconnect the phone and look down at my notifications, seeing I have about twenty-five missed calls and over one hundred missed text messages. Fifteen different family chat threads are going crazy, and then I spot the one with Josh’s name flashing on the top, so I open it up and see.
Josh: You need to call me right fucking now, Zoey.
Josh: What’s up with your Instagram?
Josh: WTF did you do?
I switch open my Instagram, and right there at the top of my profile is a picture of Nash and me from last night. It’s the same picture he sent to Caine with the caption: Introducing Mr. & Mrs. Griffin.
“Oh my God.” I don’t even bother reading the comments because I see a couple from my cousins Michael and Dylan, and I just can’t deal with this right now. I hear the door slam and look up when Nash comes back into the room.
“Do you want to eat in here or at the table?” He points toward the door and doesn’t even wait for me to answer before he switches topics. “And just saying, we aren’t getting divorced.”
I put my head back. “You haven’t even had one serious relationship in your life.”
“Until now.” He points at me. “I’m pretty serious about this relationship right here.”
“Okay, well then, let’s go with we don’t even really know each other.”
“Fine, I’ll give you that. We don’t know each other as well as other people who get married know each other.” He stands in front of me. “Give me ninety days for you to fall in love with me. For us to fall in love with each other.”
I gawk at him. “That’s not how this works,” I point out. “Usually, you get to know someone, and then you get married. You know, go out on dates.”
“I’m not going to be dating my ex-wife,” he scoffs. “I’m going to date my wife.”
“That makes absolutely no sense, Nash.”
He walks to me and puts his hands on my cheeks. “You were crying?” he asks softly, his thumbs wiping away where the tears must have left marks. “I don’t like it.” His words throw me off guard.
“Can we focus on one conversation at a time?” I tell him, trying not to get sucked into his charm.
“Yes,” he says, “we aren’t getting divorced because we are going to be dating.”
“Again,” I huff, “that makes no fucking sense.”
“It makes all the sense in the world, baby.” He bends to kiss my lips. “Besides, who dates their ex-wife?” He shakes his head. “Now that’s just weird.”
Twelve
Nash
I see her eyes moving from my eyes to my lips and back to my eyes. “Now, let’s go eat,” I urge, kissing her softly. “We need to keep up our strength.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “We don’t need to keep anything up because that’s not going to happen again.”
“I mean, not right now.” I grab her hand in mine, and I don’t expect her to follow me, but her fingers wrap around mine exactly how she did last night. We walk out of the bedroom hand in hand, both of us wearing the hotel robes, as I lead her to the table the room service attendant put all the food on. “I didn’t know what you ate, so I ordered one of everything,” I say once we get to the side of the table. “I also got you a mimosa,” I tell her, walking over to the bottle of champagne in the ice bucket. Picking up the bottle of champagne and popping it, the sounds make her jump a little as the top spills over, so I move closer to the bucket. “Baby, give me a glass.” I point at the two crystal glasses set on a silver tray with orange juice and pineapple juice.
“I said I wasn’t drinking again,” she reminds me as she hands me both glasses.
“What’s the worst that can happen?” I wink at her as I pour half of the glass full before the bubbles fill it up the rest of the way, then hand it back to her. “We’re already married. Unless you want to have a baby?”
“Are you out of your mind?” she shrieks, grabbing the glass from me before sliding into the chair in front of her. “A baby?” She shakes her head. “This”—she points at the table before grabbing the pineapple juice instead of the orange juice—“is one reason we should get divorced.” Filling the rest of her glass with the juice. “My husband would know what I eat for breakfast.”