Page 30 of Crumbling Truth
All I could do was hope the memories of the rest of the night—apart from the interaction with her dead husband’s asshole friend—would outweigh the debacle of its ending.
Chapter Twelve
Esther
Guiltslitheredthroughmethe minute I closed the door, enveloping myself in the silence that had been my companion for so many years but now felt hostile and lonely.
I braced my arms against the kitchen counter and drew several shuddering breaths until the risk of bursting into tears finally diminished. My limbs trembled as though I’d run a marathon instead of sitting at a bar with a handsome stranger.
A stranger I was pretending to be involved with in order to avoid holiday invitations that, in my case, were barely even a threat after all these years.
Why the hell had I agreed to this?
He’s a nice guy and you’re doing him a favor,I told myself sternly, but then a voice at the back of my mind—probably the voice of the therapist I’d been seeing since the week after Steve’s death, at Anita’s urging—reminded me that I had my own self-serving motives as well. I didn’t need the shield of a love interest to protect me from being inundated with holiday cheer.
I was, however, sick and tired of being alone. On weekends. On holidays. On quiet evenings at home.
Despite my sister being the golden child of the family, I always thought I’d had a decent relationship with my parents. They weren’t overly affectionate people, nothing like the Silver family, but they were involved, encouraging. Of course, they didn’t love that I didn’t become a doctor like my sister or a lawyer like my father, but I at least felt like I was still part of a unit, like there was someone I could go to when the entire world went to shit.
I was wrong.
That fantasy came crashing down two years into my marriage when I showed up on their doorstep, sobbing uncontrollably after Steve screamed at me for nearly an hour, then shattered a wine glass—full of red wine—against the wall in the living room. My father was an insurance attorney, but I’d thought he could connect me with a colleague to help me start the process to divorce Steve, make an effort to save me from the misery that had become my married life.
Instead, my parents patted me on the head, told me marriage required work on both sides, and sent me back to him.
Looking back, that was the beginning of the end of my relationship with my family—and of my marriage, as well. I set the idea of divorce aside, not because my father was right, but because that moment taught me that the only person I could rely on was myself.
Instead of serving Steve with divorce papers, I went home to his familiar series of apologies and let them bounce right off of the newly formed armor around my heart. When he tried to kiss me, I told him if he ever touched me again, I would kill him in his sleep.
Apparently raw fury lends credence to that kind of thing, because he took me at my word.
It didn’t stop any future manipulations or his continuous stream of filthy insults, but it kept him standing silently aside while I moved my things into the guest bedroom. It didn’t eradicate his threats or his pointed reminders that he held a great deal of power over me, but it prevented him from trying to coerce his way back into bed with me.
It hadn’t kept him from telling his closest friend about my “betrayal,” either. After that, Tyler was around more than ever.
With a broken sob, I pushed away from the counter, shut off the lights, and crawled under the covers. When Steve’s contemptuous sneer flashed through my mind, I summoned up an image of Theo instead. The only way to keep the memories at bay was to focus as hard as I could on tiny details, so I envisioned the soft, curling beard that surrounded his mouth, the way his fingers felt wrapped around mine as we walked into the bar, the solid warmth of his body beside me. I remembered that growling moan as he sampled my baked goods, the blissful sigh, the deep rumble of his voice, the solid strength of his arm draped over my shoulders.
With the comforter cocooned around me, I squeezed my eyes shut and thought about Theo until I fell into a fitful sleep.
Justafterseventhenext morning, I jerked awake from a distinctly explicit dream featuring my very attractive fake suitor. I reluctantly peeled my eyes open, staring up at the ceiling as I tried to slow the pounding of my heart. The images receded slowly, leaving trails of fire along my veins even once I recognized it was only a dream.
Holy hell, was that actually what Theo would look like naked?
I groaned and buried my face in the pillows for a minute before forcing myself out of bed. The ghosts of the previous night had dissipated, and in the weak morning light, all that remained was a burning sense of shame.
Theo had ventured into dangerous territory for my sake, not his own. He’d only been trying to make sure he didn’t inadvertently press any buttons during this charade, especially after Tyler’s little digs, and I fell apart over it.
I needed to apologize, definitely. But first, I needed time to process, to figure out what to say and how to proceed.
Since I did my best thinking while baking, I scarfed down a quick breakfast and got straight to work. Instead of beginning the preparations needed for my upcoming orders, I sat down at the table with a cup of coffee and my color-coded binder of recipes. Some of them were specifically for the business, others were personal favorites. One section was for recipes I hadn’t gotten around to trying yet, and that was where I started.
I considered Theo’s reactions to the items he’d tried already, thought back through our conversations for any clues about what he might like. After ten minutes of deliberations, I consulted the fridge and the pantry, then decided on a peppermint cheesecake. He might love my cookies, but it was the groan of pleasure brought on by peppermint frosting that echoed in my brain.
While I made the chocolate cookie crust, I considered the best way to apologize for ditching him so abruptly. I could’ve answered him without any details, but instead I’d grown defensive and sullen. That was why I’d suggested that rule in the first place, knowing I wouldn’t be able to stay calm during the discussion, but maybe that had been a mistake.
Fake dating or not, we were spending a lot of time together. Maybe we’d set ourselves up for failure by not sharing pertinentinformation. Maybe we needed to discuss some amendments to our original agreement.
Once I started preparing the filling, my mind wandered back into the dangerous waters brought on by that dream.
