The Prenup - Lauren Layne Page 0,32
day in the bar before he’d told me he wanted a divorce, I’d guessed he had at least a six-pack, and I give myself a mental pat on the back for being proven right this morning. Colin’s chest is broad, sculpted, and covered in just the right amount of hair. And interestingly enough, I may have hated that beard back in the day, but the dark shadow on his jaw at the moment is extremely appealing, especially when paired with the mussed dark curls.
“Charlotte, what the hell?”
“What the hell am I doing in your bedroom, or what the hell is with the flowers?” I ask.
He drags his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes slightly, then shakes his head and repeats. “What the hell?”
“Okay, so that’s what the hell to both, then. Well, okay. I’m in your room to deliver the flowers. And I’m delivering flowers because I’m really, really sorry.”
“For?”
I take a deep breath. “Your parents. For their passing. And for not knowing and saying some really insensitive things about how you didn’t make time to visit them, and … oh God. It’s so awful, and I’m so sorry. Really sorry. And I want you to forgive me. You have to say that you do.”
Colin doesn’t say he forgives me. He doesn’t say anything at all. He just sits there with the sheet pooled at his waist, his eyes still looking slightly fuzzy from sleep, his hair rumpled and adorable.
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay, you forgive me?” I ask.
“Okay, you can get out of my room now.”
“Fair enough. I made coffee. I’ll go get it.” I heave the flowers upwards slightly, as I lose a couple of tulips to the floor. “Can I set these down first?”
“Please don’t.”
I pretend I don’t hear this, mainly because if I don’t put the flowers down soon, I may die of blood loss.
Colin sleeps on the right side of the bed, so I scoot around to the left side and leaning over, I awkwardly deposit the flowers on the bed. They take up a lot of room, and he makes a grumbling noise.
I make a quick sprint for the kitchen, hoping coffee will make up for the fact that he’ll probably have to wash his bedding to get rid of all the flower pollen and dirt that are now all over his bed.
I’ll wash the sheets, I amend. Right after I cook him breakfast.
I pour us each a cup of coffee, and when I go back into his bedroom, he hasn’t moved except to turn his head to stare at the flowers as though he doesn’t quite know what to make of them.
“Coffee?” I ask rhetorically, going around to his side of the bed. I hand it to him, but he doesn’t reach out to take it, so I set it on the nightstand.
Without warning, Colin reaches out and jerks the hem of my cami upwards.
“What the—”
“You’re bleeding,” he announces unceremoniously, as he looks at my exposed stomach.
“Oh.” I glance down at the red scratches on the left side of my torso. “Yeah. Roses weren’t a great choice for my plan.”
“So, you actually had a plan?” he asks.
“As much as I ever do.”
His lips twitch a little at that, and I suck in a breath as he sets his thumb near the largest of the cuts along one of my ribs. “The cuts look pretty shallow. Do they hurt?”
“Paper cut pain,” I say, taking a sip of my coffee.
His gaze flicks up. “So, the worst kind of pain on the planet?”
I smile. “Pretty much.”
He lets my shirt drop, though I notice it takes him just a second too long to remove the finger that had been resting against my stomach. I also notice that my body is throbbing in ways that have nothing to do with any cuts from the flowers.
He reaches for his coffee mug, and I nudge his calf beneath the blankets, a silent command to scoot. I count it as a victory when he moves toward the center of the bed instead of ordering me out.
“I really am sorry,” I say softly, meeting his eyes. “About your parents. Mine drive me crazy, but to lose them … especially to lose them both at once. I can’t even imagine what that must have been like.”
He looks down at his mug. “How’d you find out?”
“Justin called this morning. Finally,” I mutter.
Colin gives a grim smile. “Yeah. He’s been avoiding me too.”
Sensing he doesn’t want to talk about his parents—and who could blame him—I shift