Page 23 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding
He’s very wealthy.
So are you.
Ugh.
Hunter uses an app on his phone to remotely open the gate at the start of the drive before pulling in.
“Wait right there,” he says as he parks the car. “I’ll come around and help you into the house.”
“That’s not necessary, I’m fine.”
“Nonsense, you barely touched your lunch.” He shuts his car door and comes around to open mine and help me out, then walks me to the front door with one arm around my waist and the other at my elbow.
I allow him to lead me into the living room where he pushes me gently to the couch, then kneels and pulls off my shoes. As he lifts my feet to turn me from sitting to lying down, I peek to make sure the edge of my control top shorts aren’t showing beneath my skirt before he covers me with a blanket and kisses my forehead.
“Do you need me to stay with you?” he asks.
“No, I’ll be fine.”
“I can send the doctor over to check on you. Nothing is too good for my queen.”
“Really, Hunter, I’m fine. I promise.”
“Okay, I’m heading into my office, but I’ll see you later. Call me if you need anything.”
I nod and smile, then close my eyes and try to banish from my memory the feeling of Pax’s hands around my waist. His fingers curving toward my ass. He used to hold me like that when he’d fuck me on the table. Or the counter. Or the vanity in the bathroom. My core clenches thinking about it.
I pull my phone out of my purse and flip through my old pictures until I find the one I’m looking for. It’s Pax, in bed, first thing in the morning. His hair is mussed and he has a slight scowl on his face, but his eyes are shining with so much love.
For me.
He wouldn’t often let me take pictures of him, always more comfortable on the other side of the lens. But I’d straddled his waist, waking him with the movement, and capturing the moment before he had a chance to stop me. It was shortly after we’d moved to Los Angeles. We were so young. It hurts to see how innocent we were.
God, what I wouldn’t give sometimes to have that innocence back.
Even though I was grown up far beyond my years in a lot of ways, thanks to Hollywood, I’d experienced very little sexually. Pax was my first everything. First boyfriend, first real kiss, first orgasm, first person I had sex with, first person I lived with aside from my mother, and of course, my first marriage and subsequent divorce.
I wasn’t even planning to get married again. My first one was too public, too painful, too eviscerating. Until I met Hunter. He’s good, calm, and kindhearted. The opposite of Pax in so many ways, that I can’t help but be convinced it’s right. That it will work between us for that very reason.
A message pops on the screen, from Liza, our wedding coordinator.
LIZA: Just to keep you updated, I’m setting appointments with photographers. Will have samples of their work for you to review once I narrow it down. Have one in particular am hoping to get, if so will just hire. Otherwise, getting quotes to capture the planning, rehearsals, and wedding day per Mr. Simpcox’s request.
ME: That’s fine. Thank you, Liza.
At first, I felt funny doing a big thing for my second marriage, but it’s Hunter’s first and it’s important to him. Plus, I didn’t have a big event the first time around. Pax and I eloped and then holed up in a cheesy love-themed hotel for the weekend. It was pretty damn perfect. We couldn’t take off work much longer than that. I was filming a made-for-TV movie at the time and Pax was about to take his first trip overseas for a small tour with a group of Marines in Afghanistan.
For our honeymoon, Hunter and I plan to take a three-week tour of Italy to visit as many vineyards and wineries as possible. Hunter dreams of one day owning a winery, and he really wants to experience the differences between the right and left banks of the Rhone River; in layman’s terms, the difference between Cabernet Sauvignon versus Merlot.
I’d originally cleared my schedule for this afternoon thinking that Hunter and I were meeting with a couple wedding planners and deciding together who to hire. Since that didn’t happen, I find myself with an unusually free afternoon. Not that I would have hadthatmany demands on my time, but I still would have filled it with something, like usual.
Feeling better, I busy myself looking through a few bridal magazines and earmarking pictures I’d like to show Liza. Dresses, bouquets, flower arrangements, monogram styles, and place settings. It’s important to Hunter that everything be super upscale and classy. His words, not mine. Because,image is everything. Also his words.
I look at the clock, surprised to see that only took a little over forty minutes. I don’t do well with idle time. I need to stay active or my brain gets too busy and kind of wraps around itself, so to speak. My stomach rumbles, acid bubbling up my esophagus. I drank too much champagne and didn’t eat enough lunch when we were out, so I pop an antacid pill and sit still for a moment until it starts to work. I know it’s not healthy to take them as often as I do, but I’d rather take too many pills than have my insides roiling around.
I don’t do well with stress.
Which is why this is a good step that I’m taking toward my future. It is the right step. Because Hunter adores me; he has me up on a pedestal.
