IT’S BEEN NEARLY FOUR months since I became Nick’s wife. We had a simple, outdoor wedding, with just the two of us and a couple of Nick’s friends. It was beautiful, yet understated. Nick said that he wanted to keep everything quick and uncomplicated.
“I just want to be with you. I don’t need a fancy wedding to show you how much I love you. It just needs to be you and me. And as soon as I hear the words, ‘I now pronounce you husband and wife,’ I’ll be the happiest man alive.”
How could I say no?
I never considered what my wedding would be like as a little girl. When I’d use my imagination to think about what it would be like to have a husband, I’d always envision the future after I said, “I do.” The one I was meant to grow old with. My 2.5 children. My large golden retriever. Those were the things that I looked forward to.
Since I’ve been older, I’ve considered what it would be like to dress up like a princess—for one day—in an extravagant celebration. Have my husband look at me adoringly as I walk down the aisle. But I wanted to make Nick happy. It was his day, too. So, I willingly compromised in favour of a happy husband.
My only regret was that my brother and sister, and my friends, weren’t able to be there. My siblings couldn’t get the time off work—because of the short notice of our whirlwind wedding. And over our time together, my friends and I have grown apart. Our lives followed different paths, though I never expected mine to veer so far away. I miss them. Some days more than others. But looking back, I’m not sure what I would’ve changed. Nick is all I need.
“Are you going to be working late again?” I ask into the phone while feeling the pull of loneliness seep in. I’m getting ready to go home after a long day of classes, and I was hoping to spend a quiet evening with my husband.
“You know I have a big case I’m working on. I need to meet with my client and line up my defence,” Nick explains petulantly. There’s a moment of silence, then he lets out a long sigh. More subdued, he continues. “Look, we’ve talked about this, Pixie. This is temporary. I’ll make it up to you. I promise. Please don’t make me feel bad for doing my job.”
“I’m sorry. Yeah, okay.”
A voice is muffled in the background. The words blend together in a garbled murmur, and are followed by scratchy movements against the phone’s speaker. Nick’s voice returns, “I really do have to go. I’ll see you soon.”
“I love you,” I sneak in before the low hum of the dial tone sounds in my ear.
A familiar gnawing nips at my stomach. It aches. It feels raw. But I do what is expected and push it away.
“He must not have heard me,” I rationalize, quietly mumbling to my ears only.
Talking to myself has become a daily ritual for me. It’s emerged as a way to cope—a way to keep me lucid when the loneliness tries to take hold.
When Nick and I got married, he was lucky enough to land a job at a great law firm—straight out of school. He moved out of the men’s dorms to a bachelor apartment, and the distance became too much. We decided we couldn’t bear to be apart any longer, so Nick used his substantial new income to get a mortgage on a classy, two-storey detached home, with a beautiful brick facade, located in a suburban area near the school. We happily moved in together, thinking it would take away the longing. Physically, we became closer, but mentally we’ve grown even further apart.
My evenings are filled with solitude as I wait to hear the jingle of his keys in the door. The long hours he works monopolizes the majority of his time. When he finally comes home, he’s exhausted. Moody. He only speaks to me when he needs a release. Someone to transfer his frustration to, through harsh and cutting words.
Consequently, I’ve retracted from interacting with others. The edge to Nick’s voice when I mention my need to find new friends dampens my resolve. He takes it personally. He’s insulted that he’s not enough. So my words lie dormant on my tongue as I pass the sea of students hurrying to leave school.
My emotions creep to the surface, threatening to spill over.
How can someone feel so deserted in a school of thousands of people?
Exiting through the large front doors after my first day back, following the summer break, the push of gravity seems to be too much. It weakens my knees and weighs more than my body can handle. Depression joins forces—adding to the pressure of my reality, and I lower my eyes. My hair fans around my face as I walk down the paved path toward the bus stop.
My pixie cut has grown substantially since I met Nick at the club a year ago. He said he’d like to see what I’d look like with long hair. So now I use it to hide, beneath the strands, to block out the world that’s forgotten me.
My spatial awareness fades as I get lost in my thoughts, and I’m unaware of the student crossing my path until it’s too late. We ungracefully collide in a head-on collision. Thankfully, my school books break the fall for my netbook. They’re the only casualties spread in disarray over the pavement. I scramble to pick up my small computer while curses are flung in my direction. I tip my head to shield the words, and once again, I become invisible.
My trembling fingers struggle to grasp onto the edges of my computer case when a large shadow engulfs me. Strong hands enter my peripheral, and I turn my head to see someone has come to my aid. A natural, woody scent, with a hint of spice, floats upon the breeze. I inhale deeply basking in the masculine, heady scent. Its delicious smell calms me.
“Here, I got this.” The stranger’s rough voice sounds vaguely familiar.
While squatting down low, I turn my head to give my thanks, not realizing his closeness. He’s huddled next to me. His sleeves cling to the contours of his well-defined arms with each move. When he reaches for a book a few feet away, his large muscled back flexes beneath his shirt.
“I never thought I’d see you again.”
His statement unintentionally surprises me as his fingers brush back through his hair.
“I’m sorry. Have we met before?”
He gives a low, self-deprecating chuckle before replying, “Yeah, I’m not surprised you don’t remember. It was only for a minute. I was playing pool and…you bumped into me.”
“Oh…I remember now,” I reply shyly. The memory of his concern for me replays in my mind. He was gentle and calm. Not very talkative.
“Yeah, well…here are your books. It was nice seeing you again.” He moves to leave. “And by the way, don’t hide behind your hair, you’re doing the world a disservice.”
His words register a second too late, and he’s already walking away. A small smile lifts my cheeks when I realize the not-so obscured compliment he gave me. I have an overwhelming need to know who this mystery man is, so I call out to him. “What’s your name?”
“Tyler,” he returns from afar.
“I’m Allie.”
For some unknown reason, I want him to know. If only to give me some solace, knowing someone else knows of my existence.
His mouth quirks in an endearing, crooked grin before admitting, “I know.” Then he places his hands in the pockets of his low-hung jeans and casually walks away.
I don’t have time to consider how Tyler knows my name before Nick startles me from behind.
“Who was that you were talking to? And why does he look so familiar?” His jealousy burns his words. I spin around. His scowling face tracks Tyler’s retreat, then turns to eye me suspiciously. “Well?”
I hesitate, knowing nothing I say will pacify him, but decide to go with the truth. “I clumsily ran into someone, and he was just helping me pick up some books I dropped. There’s no need to worry, Nick. He was just being nice.”
“Nice? Guys like him don’t help girls like you because they’re being nice. He’d rather see you bent over a table.”
Like me?
“Is that what you thought when you saw me?” I stupidly provoke him.
My words are like a hot poker stirring smoking coals. His hand snaps out to grab my wrist and roughly pulls me toward him. His shoulders round when he towers over me. I’ve never seen this side of him before. He’s had a temper, where he’s used words for weapons, but never has he transferred it into a physical reprimand. The aggression scares me. And when he pulls me against him to lowly snarl next to my ear—his warm breath pulsing against my neck—my body stiffens beneath his grip.
He sidesteps my question and prods again. “Why does he look familiar, Allie?” His grip tightens around my wrist. I can feel his fingers bruising my skin where he digs in. His voice escalates when he bites out, “Are you sleeping with him?”
“Of course not!” I defend, tugging myself from his grip. He growls under his breath. “What’s gotten into you?” I plead for an explanation with tears in my eyes. My lip quivers as I restrain the need to sob.
My fear thaws his fury. His expression softens and he looks apologetic.
“I’m sorry. I came here to surprise you. My client had something come up, so I thought I’d see if you wanted to do something. I know you’ve been lonely…and then I saw you with that guy…It looked like you were flirting with him. You know I love you so damn much. I can’t bear the thought of you cheating on me, Allie. I can’t lose you.” His voice breaks with emotion, expressing the intensity of his love.
His vulnerability pulls at my heart, and I know he needs reassurance. I sweetly look up into his eyes and splay my fingers over his jaw to hold him in place. “I wasn’t looking where I was going and bumped into him. That’s it. He was just helping me pick up my things. I love you, Nick. And only you. Okay?” I question to ensure he understands the honesty in my words.
His rigid stance relaxes, and I know he’s accepted my explanation. He wraps his arms around my waist affectionately. “Can you forgive me for being so hotheaded?” he says with a sexy pout.
“Always,” I smile, absolving him without question. Then I seal his pardon with a kiss.