Page 37 of Kiss the Bride

Only, when I return to our villa, Olivia is passed out on the bed, an empty glass and half drunk bottle on the nightstand.

Shit, damn.

I shouldn’t have left. A friend wouldn’t have left Olivia alone without checking for bottles. Before she stirs to the smell of yogurt and muesli, breakfast frittata, or eggs Benedict, I hide all unopened bottles in the bottom of my luggage, doubting she’d search there.

I call reception, determined to take proactive steps whether Liv wants me to, or not. “Miss Woodgrove is going through a difficult time. I want our villa stocked with bottled water, fruit and cheeses.”

“Yes, Mr. Williams.” Recognizing me as a generous tipper, all staff want to be my best friend.

“Please don’t supply any further alcohol to my villa unless I approve it.” If I need to, I’ll be honest with her parents and they can make the call. But right now, I’ll take the blame for being the asshole taking away her buzz.

“Certainly, Mr. Williams. Would you like me to arrange meals in your suite?”

“I’ll let you know.”

Yes, Olivia needs to grieve and has every right. But I’ll be damned if I stand back and watch her hurt herself more than that bastard ex of hers did.

Back home, my life is scheduled into six-minute, mostly billable increments. Each minute of my day is accounted for from the time I wake to the networking at my gym, to personal calls, to late-night emails. Each minute is meticulously planned, but since graduation, hardly any of those minutes have been my own.

Having nothing more responsible to do than lie next to Olivia and watch her sleep gives me too much time to think. Call it my own detox. Maybe not a relationship detox but the outcome feels the same, forcing self-reflection that I didn’t know I needed.

What am I looking for in life?

Here I am, no longer mid-twenties and closing in on thirty—the big three-zero. Without bragging, I owe nothing on a condo fifteen minutes from the center of Sydney, enough money to buy a car without blinking, or pay for somebody else’s honeymoon without really noticing the dent to my bank balance. I have a small group of friends who are as close as brothers. Not only Pete and Caleb, but also Zac, Jarrod, and Jake from university. They are the guys I call to chill with, shoot a few rounds of pool or golf. They even schedule me for quarterly drunken weekends—promoted to girlfriends as boys-only fishing, but the only fishwe’ve ever bought back were usually the result of handing cash to a local fisherman in exchange for his catch.

What happens on fishing trips stays on fishing trips and is generally worth crossing time zones to get to.

My life doesn’t suck, but it isn’t what I expected being an adult would be like.

Where is the woman by my side? Where are the plans for making babies—having hours of naked fun making babies—lazy Sunday mornings in bed recovering from crazy Saturday nights cutting loose?

The promise of adulting was more glamorous than reality.

Suddenly, Olivia stirs beside me, mumbling something indistinguishable before rolling closer and flinging an arm across my leg. Her hand, with its neatly painted nails, curls around my thigh and starts to rub up and down before I quickly move it aside.

Shit.

How to define an impossible challenge? Best answer is by stopping the woman you love from groping you in her sleep. The reward is absolutely nothing at all—it’s not like I’m going to tell her about it when she wakes.

Since returning to Australia, whenever my parents suggest finding a good woman and settling down, I think of Olivia. When I think of future and family barbecues, it’s Olivia’s face who is by my side. If I can’t have Olivia, then I want a woman who I can love enough never to call out Liv’s name, again. Which is why I don’t date and can’t remember the last time I hooked up.

At my age and point in my career, it’s about lessons learned and moving forward. But when I think about the biggest fuck-ups or mistakes or even regrets, it isn’t the lost business deals. Or even the hundred grand blown in one weekend at a Hong Kong casino.

It was my reactive breakup with Olivia, for no other reason than I resented the hell out of our families pushing us together. I wanted to be my own man, choose my own girlfriend, and not have one handed to me on a silver fucking platter.

My biggest rebellion is my biggest regret.

And as much as I keep fighting her, Liv’s hand insists on holding my thigh while she sleeps.

Regrets, I’ve Had A Few

Hunter

“Hey,” Olivia moans beforetrying to sit up, only to collapse back, clutching her head in pain. “How long have I been out?”

“You didn’t get much sleep last night.” There’s no need to tell her the time. Not with the dipping sun and darkened room. Day three on the island, and she slept through it with me by her side.

“Your family appreciated the photo updates.” I start cautiously. “Are you going to give them another one today?”

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