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Chapter Nineteen

Austen

The limo ride to our house is quiet as Savannah browses her phone. Tomorrow we’ll leave for Italy, for our honeymoon, and won’t see the house again for ten days.

I stare out the window at the town passing me by, all places I’ve grown up around.

Nothing in this town has changed since I was a kid. I used to think that was great. What’s wrong with consistency and familiarity? Stability?

But now, as I ride home with my wife, I can’t help but feel like the monotony is strangely suffocating.

I slide my hand into my pocket, my fingers wrapping around the solid metal key to our front door. I don’t really need a physical key, since Savannah’s dad had a top of the line security system and digital lock installed. But I’d insisted on having a physical key because isn’t that what every kid dreams of? Turning that key in your front door and opening it on endless possibilities?

I turn for a moment, stealing a look at Savannah. Even hours later, her hair is still perfect, the curls still bouncy, her makeup flawless.

She doesn’t notice me looking at her, then again, she never does. She’s always engrossed in something else. Her phone. Her friends. Small town drama. The newest trends on the runway.

“Hey,” I say, pulling her attention. She looks up at me, her bright blue eyes rimmed in dark liner, long lashes standing out against her near porcelain skin.

She’s so pretty, and I know she’ll look phenomenal in our wedding photos. But I can’t help but feel as beautiful as they will be, they will never be perfect.

Because the most important person in my life is missing from them. I always imagined him being by my side during my entire wedding, especially the photos.

Savannah is now the most important person in my life.

The thought is sobering, despite the fact I haven’t had much to drink. After what happened with Cam, I think it’s best I avoid alcohol for a while.

“What?” she asks with a sigh.

“You look beautiful,” I say with a smirk. It’s the truth. She’s the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.

She rolls her eyes at me. “Well, that’s kind of the point, Austen.”

I reach my hand out across the seat. She’s on the other side of the limo.

She should be with me, right?

Snuggled close, unable to stop touching me and giggling with excitement because we’re married.

My fingers graze hers, jutting up against her canary diamond engagement ring and her diamond band.

I proposed with my grandmother’s ring. The bright canary diamond in the center was originally offset by a halo of peridot stones, the silver scrollwork a work of art itself due to the fact it was art deco. Cam thought Savannah was a fool to change it. He vehemently advised me to not let her change it, but I wanted her to be happy. So I let her remove the stone and set it in something she liked better.

“Still,” I say, sliding my fingers between hers. She glances down at my hand, but she doesn’t hold it. I pull it away.

I’m sure she’s just tired. It’s been a long day, but I know it’s not over yet.

Just as I settle my free hand in my lap, the limo stops. I roll the window down, taking a look at our house.

It’s been ready for two months, but my parents told me I wouldn’t get the keys until the wedding. So I could sweep Savannah up and carry her into our house, and it would be our magical moment.

It’s big, but I knew it would be. My parents wouldn’t want us to have anything less.

I’d never questioned such things. So why am I questioning it now?

I get out of the car and come around to let Savannah out. I hold my hand out and she takes it, but she doesn’t look at me. I lower our hands, squeezing hers tightly as I walk her slowly up the sidewalk, which is already landscaped with bushes and flowers I didn’t pick out.

We come to the front door, underneath the porch. I notice to my left there’s a rocking chair, with a big pillow that reads Brewer Est. 2017.

With shaky hands, I insert the key and open the door. It swings open, the inside bathed in darkness, and I can’t shake the feeling that this is all wrong.

This isn’t home

But it is our home…

I feel along the side of the wall for the lights, and flip them on before I turn to Savannah, who is tapping out a text on her phone.

“You want me to pick you up?” I ask, but she doesn’t answer. “Savannah,” I call, the annoyance in my voice more than evident.

She huffs out an exasperated sigh. “What?”

“Do you want me to pick you up?” I grit out. “You know, the threshold and all that.”

She crosses her arms. “I can walk in a door, Austen.” She bristles past me, stepping through the doorway. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

I enter the house, closing the door quietly, before turning to her. I grab the phone out of her hand and throw it across the hallway.

That gets her attention. She sucks in a breath and I take two steps toward her, imploring her gaze with my own.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Brewer,” I say, settling my hand on her neck. Her pulse is steady, even.

With my free hand, I pull her close to my body. Her hands rest on my abdomen, but they don’t move any further.

I lean in and kiss her, as I have a hundred times today. For the pictures, every time someone tapped their glass with a fork…

Those had been staged, quick, and for everyone else.

But this kiss, I want it to be for us.

For me.

My lips move slowly against hers as I test the waters, seeing how far she will let me go.

She kisses me back for the briefest moment and I take the initiative for once.

Usually I need a drink or two to take the edge off so I don’t get in my head, but I realized last night as I laid awake thinking about today, that I’ve never fucked Savannah sober.

Tonight, I plan to change that. I need us to have a fresh start. I need to know I’m not crazy.

That I’m well and truly straight, and not… not straight.

I push her against the door, deepening our kiss. Her back hits it with a soft thud as her arms travel up my chest, wrapping her arms around my neck. I try my hardest to remember all the things she’s told me she likes. Kiss her here, touch her there.

The movements are methodical, like writing code.

I pick her up, bunching her skirts and lift her with ease and carry her to the primary bedroom. Or at least, I think it’s the primary bedroom, because there are at least four bedrooms in this house, and they all look the same.

“Austen,” she sighs as I place her on the bed, settling between her legs. I’m met with a bunch of tulle, like an oversized pillow.

My watch catches the light, and for a moment, I stop. The shiny dark face glistens and tears pool in my eyes as the knife turns in my heart.

I thought when he came to the wedding today, that meant we were okay. As if we could both just forget.

I climb up Savannah slowly, reaching my hand out and burying it in her hair as I stare down at her. “I love you,” I say as I kiss her, tears falling down my eyes.

I expect her to say it back, to tell me that everything will be okay.

But all she says is, “I know.”

Not “I love you too, Austen,” or “I love you too, husband,” or anything remotely romantic and assuring. Just… I know .

I kiss her to quiet the ache and the voice in my head telling me to run. To get up out of this house and just fucking leave. But I can’t do that. I made a vow. At least that’s what I tell myself as I fuck my wife.

When she’s had her orgasm, she pushes me away. I slide out of her, relief flooding me.

I did it.

But it didn’t feel as good as I thought it would. As I know it should. And I never got off. Not that I needed to, but…

“I’m going to get a bath,” she says as she gets up, heading for the bathroom.

She doesn’t wait for me to respond, just leaves and shuts the door.

A part of me wants to call him. Cameron.

Tell him what happened. Once, I told him everything. He always understood, always knew what to say or how to make me feel better, but I can’t do that. Not anymore.

The tears come without warning as reality hits me that I am alone.

And the only person I have to blame is myself.