Page 14 of Dearly Unbeloved (Spicy in Seattle #3)

SIERRA

I look myself over in the mirror, smoothing my hands over the tight, burgundy leather-style pants. They’re not my usual style, but they were on clearance and I’ve never met a bargain I could pass up—even when my closet is already overflowing with shit I never wear.

It’s been a long week since family dinner last Friday, and I need to get out of here. Being stuck in an apartment with Rose is shitty at the best of times. Being stuck here while we’re learning to navigate our new situation? So much worse.

When we initially agreed to stay married, I didn’t think anything would change at home. I figured that we’d only notice it when we were around others, lying our asses off. But there have been constant reminders, and, just like at breakfast with Jazz, the guilt is eating me alive.

First, it was our official marriage certificate.

It arrived the Monday after family dinner and I didn’t want to lose it, so I stuck it to the fridge with the purple poker chip magnet, assuming Rose would file it away wherever she keeps all her important shit.

But she didn’t. Five days later, and it’s still stuck up there, a glaring reminder every time I want a snack.

Then, the gifts started arriving. Rose’s parents clearly feel guilty about how they acted at family dinner, because they’ve sent thousands of dollars worth of gifts: gift cards, kitchen shit, fancy towels, bedding, and, weirdly, a personalized welcome mat.

Rose still isn’t speaking to them, but she wrote out a thank-you card and mailed it to them.

They must have told their friends about us, too, because packages have been arriving daily from people I haven’t heard of.

I felt guilty at first until Rose pointed out that most of them probably outsource gift-sending to their personal assistants and wouldn’t notice the dent in their bank accounts.

The gift that bothered me most, though, was the drawing Kami’s daughter, Lexi, drew for us.

It’s mostly scribbles, but it’s two clearly defined people, one with black hair, one with yellow, and a giant purple heart.

She even painted a frame for us. Every time I look at it, displayed by the TV, I wonder how many asshole points Rose and I gained for lying to a four-year-old. Probably more than I want to know.

But tonight, I’m putting all of that out of my brain. I’m going to my favorite lesbian bar to have a drink, meet a woman, go home with her, and have so many orgasms that I don’t spend a second thinking about?—

Shit. We never talked about this. I should probably ask Rose if she’s cool with me hooking up with other women while we’re married. Knowing her, she’ll probably say no just to spite me. I grab my purse and heels and head out into the living room.

Rose is lying on the couch with her feet up, a barely cracked paperback in her hand (god forbid she breaks the spine). I perch on the arm of the couch, and she doesn’t bother hiding her sigh as she puts the book down.

“What?”

“I’m going out tonight,” I say, and she raises an eyebrow that clearly says, “and why would I care?” I count to three in my head. “I wanted to make sure you were okay with me sleeping with other women.”

Rose furrows her brow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because we are technically married.”

“Legally, yes. But that’s it. Personally, we still hate each other’s guts, and I don’t care what you do.”

Succinct and a little mean: the Rose Cannon specialty.

“Great. In that case...” I stand and head toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I thought you didn’t care,” I say, looking back over my shoulder.

“I don’t, but if something happens and I can’t tell the police where my wife is, they’re going to think that’s pretty suspicious. Actually, maybe we should just share our phone locations with each other. Spouses do that, right?”

It’s not the worst idea. Jazz often sits and watches Liam’s location dot when she’s feeling clingy at work (and, when she’s not watching his, she’s showing Cal Maggie’s, since he can never find the right app on his phone) .

I quickly share my location, and a notification pops up to say Rose has shared hers.

“Great. I’m going now.”

“Sierra,” she calls the second I have my hand on the door handle.

I grit my teeth. “What?”

“You might want to take your wedding ring off.”

The bar is dark, the music just loud enough that I have to strain to hear the woman standing beside me, and I can’t shake the feeling I’m doing something wrong. I owe Rose nothing, but something about standing here, trying to hook up with some random woman while she’s at home, feels wrong.

Not trying to have a repeat of Vegas, I ordered a single glass of white wine, but it tastes sour on my tongue. There’s a gorgeous brunette flirting with me, but every time I look into her piercing blue eyes, I think of hazel instead.

She ruins everything.

“Anyway, I feel like I’ve been talking about myself for hours. What do you do?” April asks, leaning in closer. Her perfume is pretty—vanilla with floral undertones. Roses, probably. Fuck.

“I’m an assistant at a law firm downtown,” I say, leaning back and breathing in my wine instead.

“Nice. So, do you live nearby?” April asks through fluttery lashes and, as out of sorts as I am, I recognize the cue .

“I’m like ten minutes away. You?”

Her eyes twinkle. “I’m just around the corner. My place is much quieter than this if you’d like to...” She trails off, her gaze falling to my glass. Fuck. I didn’t take my ring off.

April raises a brow. “Is that an engagement ring?”

“It’s a wedding ring, technically,” I answer without thinking. I flinch. “Shit. No, I mean… It’s complicated. I’m?—”

“Wait.” April holds up a hand. “Don’t tell me. I won’t feel as guilty if I don’t know the details. You want to come back to my place?”

The knowledge that she’s not put off by the ring on my finger zaps any of the attraction I feel for her. She has no idea my marriage isn’t real, and she doesn’t give a shit.

But it’s also just another reminder in a long line that, even though she might not feel guilty, I do. It doesn’t matter that Rose okayed me coming out tonight. My stomach is in fucking knots.

I drain my glass and set it on the bar top. “Actually, I think I’m going to head home. It was nice talking to you.”

I turn to leave, but April grasps my shoulder. “Hey, she doesn’t have to know. I won’t tell if you won’t.”

The urge to laugh, because she wouldn’t care if she did know, rolls over me, but I just pull out of April’s grip. “Goodnight,” I say, heading for the door and wishing I’d brought a jacket as I step out into the cool night.

I consider calling a cab, but it’s only a ten-minute walk, and I could use the fresh air.

Two weeks married to Rose, and I haven’t really let myself think about it.

We talked about when to tell our families, how to approach Rose’s colleagues, and made sure we were both aware of the end date, but neither of us brought up what this would look like day to day.

Maybe it’s me. Rose doesn’t seem nearly as cut up about it all as I do. The guilt is eating me alive. I can barely sleep, and she doesn’t seem to give a shit. It’s so fucking typical of her—icy and aloof.

Is this what life is going to be like for the next three months? I’m already exhausted. And all I wanted was a goddamn orgasm or two.

I stop outside our apartment building. How the hell did I get home so fast? It’s like the closer I got to home, the closer I got to her , the more pissed off I got. It was Rose’s idea for us to stay married—how dare she be so calm about it all?

The front door bangs behind me as I storm into the building and up the stairs, forgoing the elevator. My keys shake in my fingers as I force them into the lock and push open our apartment door. I drop my keys on the entryway table and kick my shoes off messily—fuck Rose’s shoe organization.

It doesn’t look like she’s moved since I left. She’s still lying on the couch, her book in one hand and a blanket covering her body. She looks up, confused. “That was… fast.” She picks up her phone and frowns at the time. “You’ve only been gone for forty minutes. How did you meet someone?—”

“I didn’t,” I interrupt, sounding as pissed off as I feel.

“Okay…”

“Well, I did, actually. Her name was April, and she didn’t care that I’m married.”

“And the problem is?”

“I care!” I shout without meaning to, and Rose’s eyes widen. “Fuck,” I mutter, rubbing my face.

“This seems like a bigger conversation than I thought,” Rose says, sitting up and putting her bookmark inside her book. She sets it down on the table and looks back at me. “Okay. What’s going on here?”

I suck in a long breath, trying to get my thoughts together.

“Marriage means something to me, Rose. I grew up watching my parents so happy and in love, and all I ever wanted was a marriage like that. And I know it’s just a legal contract, and it doesn’t really matter, but I never expected to be thirty and married to someone who hates me, with the intention of getting divorced in three months. ”

I can tell from her expression that she doesn’t get it, and of course she doesn’t. “And this stopped you hooking up with this April person because…?”

“Because you are my wife.” I’m shouting again. “Sure, it’s not real, but I already feel so fucking guilty for lying to everyone we know about this marriage. I can’t handle the guilt of feeling like I’m cheating on you.”

“It’s not cheating. We’re not in a relationship. None of this makes any sense.”

“I know that! Logically, I know that. God knows I don’t fucking want to be in a relationship with you, but it doesn’t matter. Look, you’re free to sleep with whoever you want, but I can’t do it. This is all too much.” I turn on my heel, heading toward my bedroom .

“Where are you going?” Rose asks, sounding completely baffled by my outburst.

I take a steadying breath. “Since I’m apparently going to be celibate for the next three months, I’m going to give myself an orgasm. Put some music on or something if you don’t want to hear it.”