Addict doesn’t like that I’ve locked myself in the bathroom, so he’s pounding his fist on the door.”
“I’m not addicted to porn,” I heard Tucker complain. “Jesus, Ashley, men and women all over the world watch porn. It’s normal.”
“Men and women all over the world also commit first degree murder,” she shot back. “Doesn’t make it right.”
“You’re comparing what I did to murder?” he asked, his voice dripping with disbelief.
“Well, you murdered my trust in you. It’s in tatters right now. I don’t see how we can come back from this.”
“You said that yesterday when you didn’t like the way I loaded the dishwasher.”
“Well it’s not fucking rocket science, Tucker! Excuse me, Vienna, I have to go deal with this cheating asshole.”
“Woman, I did not cheat on you.”
“All right, Ash,” I said, unable to hide my amusement from my voice. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” She ended the call.
Tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair, Dane lifted a brow. “You have interesting friends.”
“I do,” I agreed, putting my phone on the dresser.
“Chris just called me. He and Miley are stuck in traffic, so they’ll be a little late getting here.”
I was looking forward to their arrival, since they were bringing my dress with them. It was hard to believe that Dane and I would be having our reception in exactly a week’s time. The months had flown by. It didn’t feel like that long ago that he and I stood in front of a burping Elvis in the chapel.
“Well, I’m almost done here,” I told him.
“I can see that.” He sank deeper into the chair, as if settling in to watch a show.
“You’re going to sit here and watch me get ready?”
He just shrugged.
I gave my head a little shake. “All right.”
His eyes followed the movements of my hands as I smoothed lotion into my skin. I thought he’d cheekily offer to give me some help with it, but he remained in his seat, seemingly content to just watch.
We hadn’t spoken again of the revelations he’d made about his father a few days ago. He’d been a little different since then. Not bad different. But … pensive. Distracted. Quieter than usual.
I’d sometimes catch him staring into space, lost in his thoughts. Other times, I’d catch him staring at me, his expression so blank it made my skin prickle. If I asked what was wrong, he’d merely shrug and blow off my question.
I wondered if he regretted telling me about his childhood. Dane was very self-contained and wouldn’t like to feel exposed. Having someone know your darkest, most painful secrets could indeed make a person feel stripped bare.
He didn’t even like to have people in his bedroom, let alone inside his head, and fuck if I didn’t hate his father for that. Your bedroom should be a place where you felt safe and secure and perfectly at ease.
It was humbling that he felt relaxed enough around me to sleep beside me at night. It demonstrated an element of trust. Although I’d still often wake to find him working in the chair he was now comfortably lounging in, I never commented on it.
Right then, his eyes never left me as I dressed, dabbed on some makeup, and slipped on my earrings. “Don’t,” he said when I went to tie back my hair. “Wear it down for me.”
As we weren’t going anywhere, I relented and dropped the hair tie back into the drawer.
He pushed out of the chair, grabbed my rings from the nightstand, and slid them both onto the third finger of my left hand. He’d done it a few times over the last few weeks. I’d never had to return the favor, because I hadn’t yet seen him without his wedding band.
He tugged on my hand. “Breakfast.”
“Breakfast,” I agreed as he guided me out of the room, down the stairs, and into the kitchen.
“Coffee?” he offered.
“As if there was any doubt,” I said. “I’m in the mood for French toast this morning. Want some?”
“Sure.”
We each ate French toast and drank coffee as we alternated between talking and checking the seemingly endless number of notifications on our cell phones.
It had been a fairly uneventful few days. Thanksgiving dinner at my foster parents’ house had gone well. As I feared, there’d been a little tension between them and Dane, but he hadn’t seemed whatsoever effected by it. He’d talked mainly with my father, who’d constantly tried to engage him in conversation … as if he’d hoped to distract Dane from the tension.