Page 23

23

Taylor

“ O hmigod. Ohmigod. Ohmigod,” I whisper for what feels like the millionth time as I hug my purse to my stomach, the one now carrying the very real, very legal proof that Elias and I are—indeed—married.

From the airplane seat beside me, Elias takes my hand. His grip is warm and steady, calm to the storm raging inside me. I know he has to be freaking out inside too. How could he not be? But somehow he’s keeping it together, like the anchor that he is, holding me in place when I feel like I’m orbiting outer space.

Who the heck knew Rip had taken an online course and could actually, legally, marry people. Certainly not me. Or Elias. Not even Grandma, who, when we asked, swore up and down that she had no idea either, and we believe her. God, I’m still wearing her ring.

When Elias’s parents spotted it, we naturally had to explain the whole situation. Their initial shock turning into something that resembled delight. While it’s incredible that they see me as a life partner for Elias, I’m not who they think I am. We sold them that I’m an up-and-coming future Hollywood actress, someone important and worthy of the family. Not a girl who simply wants to open a dance studio for kids. Which will never happen.

Could this be any more messed up?

Yes, it could because after we talked to Rip and looked up the laws, we couldn’t run out and get an annulment. Not after we’d sealed the deal. We could lie, but I’m so sick of the damn lying. My brother is either going to lose his mind or think this is all ridiculously hilarious. God, let it be the latter.

Aren’t you a tiny bit happy about this, Taylor?

I press my lips together, swallowing down the words before they spill from my lips. “Ohmigod,” I mumble again.

A flight attendant walks by, and before I can even think to ask, Elias orders me a glass of wine and a whiskey for himself.

“Listen,” he begins softly, his voice smooth but firm after our drinks arrive. “There’s nothing we can do right now. Just try to breathe and relax. Maybe read a book, or get some sleep. I promise you. I’ll figure this out when we get home.”

Nodding, I take a small sip of the wine, but it only worsens the churning in my stomach. His hand touches mine, a soft brush of his thumb over my fingers. I exhale, letting his steadiness soothe me. Because underneath the panic, beneath the utter insanity of this situation, there’s a whisper in the back of my mind that I don’t want to hear.

You don’t hate the idea of being married to Elias.

My heart stutters. My breath catches, and before the thought can really take hold, I press my hands over my ears like a stubborn child, humming softly, trying to drown out the truth.

Because, if I let it in, if I even entertain it for a second longer, I might never want to let it go.

But I have to.

Why?

Elias might be the picture of calm, holding it together for my sake, but he doesn’t want this. Sure, the sex has been mind-blowing and we genuinely love being around each other. We have fun. So much fun. The kind that makes me laugh until I can’t breathe, the kind that makes me forget everything else. When was the last time I felt this alive, this free?

“Ohmigod,"I murmur again, and Elias shoots me a reassuring look. But what he doesn’t realize is that I’m not panicking because I hate this. I’m panicking because… maybe I don’t .

Sure, it’s unexpected—completely, utterly unexpected. My entire life, I’ve always followed the rules, done what was expected of me. I’ve lived under my brother’s watchful eye, never given a chance to be reckless, never allowed to make mistakes.

Was this a mistake?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Do I want to find out?

God help me, I think I do. Ireally, really think I do .

A hard gulp works its way down my throat, and before I can even reach for it, Elias cracks open the bottle of water on my tray and hands it to me. Just like that. Like it’s second nature for him to take care of me.

How am Inotsupposed to fall for a guy like this? Someone so thoughtful, so attuned to me, so effortlessly aware of my needs before I even voice them?

“T,” he murmurs, his brows pulling together as he studies my face. “You don’t look so great.”

I press a hand to my stomach as a cramp twists deep inside me. “I don’t feel so great.”

“Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

I shake my head . “I think I’m okay for now.”

He sighs, then shifts closer, wrapping an arm around me before gently guiding my head onto his shoulder. His warmth seeps into me, grounding me, making it impossible to focus on anything but the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek.

“You’re exhausted,” he murmurs. “Try to get some rest. And stop worrying. I’m going to fix this.”

But the only way he could really fix this is by telling me he loves me. By telling me he wants this, wants me, and that maybe—just maybe—this isn’t a mistake at all.

But that’s not going to happen.

Right?

I close my eyes and will sleep to come. Thankfully I didn’t get much last night, and I drift off. The next thing I know, Elias is gently waking me, and I lift my head, rub my eyes and take in the warmth on his face as he gazes at me. The instant sight of him fills me with a measure of calm.

“Hey sleepy head,” he teases in a soft voice as the hum of the plane settles at the gate. Around us, passengers shuffle, reaching for their bags and stretching their limbs after the long flight. Elias’s fingers brush through my hair, tucking a loose strand behind my ear.

“I’m glad you got some sleep. Do you feel better?”

I nod, but the truth is while my body is rested, my heart is…that’s another story.

“Okay, let’s get you home,” he says.

Home?

That word lodges in my throat. Where is that now? Back with my brother? Or with my husband, who might not be my husband for much longer?

I swallow hard. “Can we go to your place?”

Elias doesn’t hesitate. “Yes, that’s home.” God, everything in the casual way he says that makes me think this is all real. Granted, I have been staying with him. I haven’t officially moved in or anything, though.

Elias grabs our bags and we make our way through the airport in silence. Outside, he orders us an Uber and we both fall quiet on the drive back. I steal a glance at him, take in the way he’s scrubbing his hand over his face. The poor guy is exhausted. I’m sure he spent the entire trip trying to figure out the steps needed for our divorce.

It's late when we get home, and since we can’t do anything after hours on New Year’s Day, we head inside. “You should let Kalen know we’re home.”

“Okay,” I say, and shoot him a text.

“Maybe not tell…”

A humorless chuckle catches in my throat. “Wasn’t going to.”

“Hungry?” he asks, moving toward the kitchen. I follow him and he pulls open the fridge as I shoot Sahara a text to see if she’s free tomorrow for lunch. I’m not sure how much I’m going to tell her, but Elias will be at practice and I just need someone to talk to. She’s the one person other than Elias—and my brother—that I truly trust. Not that I am quite ready to tell my brother any of this.

“There’s not much here,” he tells me when I step into the kitchen and the second he looks at me, he pulls me to him, wrapping me in his comforting embrace. “We can order in. What sounds good? Mexican. Chinese. Italian.”

As soon as I think about those food choices, my stomach clenches, nausea creeping in. “Would toast and eggs be okay?”

He inches back and smiles at me. “You’re suggesting the one thing I actually know how to make well.”

I laugh. “I know. I’ve lived with you since I moved to Boston, remember?” He grins and I continue, “But honestly, that’s all I feel like having.” I rub my stomach again. “I hope I didn’t catch something in Vegas.”

He puts his hand to my forehead. “Not warm. But why don’t you go curl up on the sofa, and I’ll take care of this?”

I go up on my toes and give him a kiss. It’s light, breezy, a fast thank you peck on the lips, but everything in the way he looks at me makes it feel like so much more.

“Go.” He gives me a playful whack on my butt and I chuckle as I hurry into the other room, stretch out on the long end of the sofa and thinking back to when I purchased it for Elias.

I flick the TV on and my phone pings. I grab it to see a message from Sahara.

Sahara: Lunch sounds great. The Nook?

Me: Perfect.

I’m about to set my phone down but it pings again.

Sahara: Everything okay?

God, am I really that easy to read? As I stare at the screen, trying to figure out what to text back, another fresh wave of emotions wash over me and my throat tightens. Not wanting to get into it tonight I message back.

Me: Yeah, all is good. Just want to catch up.

I hit send, blinking back the burn behind my eyes. From the kitchen, I hear the sound of eggs sizzling, the faint click of the spatula against the pan. The scent of toast drifts through the air, and my appetite comes rumbling back.

Elias walks into the room, two plates balanced in his hands and I don’t miss the exhaustion clinging to him. My chest tightens as I take in the dark circles under his eyes, the slight sag in his shoulders. The man needs sleep, yet here he is, taking care of me. While I’ve always wanted to be out on my own, completely independent to live my life the way I want with no one to answer to but myself, I don’t hate this. In fact, I like it. A lot.

When did this shift in me happen? I’m not sure, I only know it did.

He hands me a plate and settles in beside me. “Find anything good to watch?”

I poke my egg. “An old romantic comedy.”

His brow lifts, amused. “Yeah?”

I almost laugh. Here we tried to pull off our own real-life romantic comedy, only for it to crash and burn in spectacular fashion. Nothing funny about that.

“Yeah,” is all I say.

“Sounds good.” He takes a bite of his toast and I stare at him, my chest warm as his mere presence comforts me. We eat in silence, the soft flicker of the TV casting a glow across the room. When we’re finished with our food, I curl into his side, letting his warmth wrap around me. His fingers brush against my arm in lazy, soothing strokes, and it eases the tension in my body.

Then, in what feels like a blink of an eye, I wake up. Only I’m no longer on the sofa. I sit up too fast, my heart kicking against my ribs as I take in my surroundings. Elias’s room. His bed. The sheets tangled round me. How did I get here?

I lift the cover to find myself in my bra and panties. Elias must have carried me to bed and tucked me in. That realization sends warmth through me that has nothing to do with the blankets. I glance at the clock, and I’m surprised it’s late morning. Elias is already at practice and I have an hour to pull myself together before meeting Sahara.

Feeling sluggish, I drag myself into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the remnants of exhaustion clinging to my body. But even after I’m dressed, my limbs feel heavy, my stomach unsettled. Like a hangover without the booze.

An hour later, I push through the doors of The Nook and immediately spot Sahara, her fingers curled around a coffee cup. She waves me over, and I hurry to her, eager for the distraction, for the comfort of my best friend.

The moment I sit down, her sharp gaze sweeps over me. Concern flickers in her eyes, her head tilting. “Are you okay?”

I exhale, rubbing my forehead. “I haven’t been feeling well, actually.”

Her eyes drop to my hand. And just like that, her entire expression shifts—her mouth falling open, her gaze going wide as she grabs my fingers like I might try to run.

“Taylor,” she hisses, her voice just shy of a shriek. “What the hell?” She stares at the ring gleaming on my finger like it’s a bomb about to detonate. “You got married in Vegas?”

“Shh!” I lean in, glancing around, my pulse spiking.

“Sorry. What the hell happened?”

I quickly explain everything, from Grandma, to the license, to us not knowing Rip could actually officiate a wedding. “It’s crazy, right?”

“Why are you asking that like it’s a question?”

I wave my hands like I’m trying to take flight. “I just mean, it’s crazy. Elias doesn’t want to be married to me.”

She sits up a little straighter, her hands flat on the table. “Taylor…”

“Yeah.”

“You love him.” It’s a statement, not a question, followed by, “You want this.”

I work to form a response, but what am I going to say, that she’s right about everything but Elias is adamant about ‘fixing’ this? “He doesn’t love me,” I finally manage to get out. “This was all a ruse. He’s trying to fix this.” She shakes her head and I continue, “Come on, his parents think I’m going to be someone important.” I put my hands on my chest. “If they knew who I really was…”

“They’d love you,” she says quietly.

“I’m not…no. He doesn’t want this. He would have stopped pretending and made it real, right?”

“Taylor,” she tries again, but before she can get her words out, Avery appears beside the table, her usual bright smile in place.

“Taylor!” she chirps, oblivious to the minor crisis unfolding between me and Sahara. “Coffee?”

I nod, forcing a smile. “Please.”

She lingers, tilting her head. “How were your holidays?”

“Good,” I say quickly, hoping she doesn’t notice the way my voice wavers.

Her gaze darts around. “Elias not with you today?”

“He’s at practice,” I answer.

A dreamy expression washes over her face. “I still owe him a lasagna.”

Oh God.

“Right,” I mutter, but the mere thought of lasagna makes my stomach lurch. I press a hand against my stomach, trying to steady the nausea, but Sahara doesn’t miss a thing.

She cocks her head, suspicion flickering across her face as Avery steps away to greet another table. I take a sip of my coffee, using the moment to collect myself, to prepare for the inevitable interrogation. I open my mouth, ready to spill the details of my own personal rom-com-gone-wrong?—

Then my stomach twists violently.

Oh, no.

Bile punches into my throat, and I barely manage to jump up before the nausea overtakes me. I rush to the bathroom, making it just in time to empty my stomach. Humiliation washes over me as I slump against the cool tile floor, my forehead pressing against my arm. Perfect. Just perfect.

The bathroom door creaks open, and I groan, wanting the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

“Taylor?” Sahara’s voice is soft but laced with worry.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Yeah. I think I have the flu.”

“Let me help you.”

I force myself to my feet, wobbling slightly as I make my way to the sink. Cool water rushes over my hands, and I rinse my mouth, avoiding my reflection. But I can’t avoid the way Sahara’s watching me in the mirror—her gaze sharp, assessing.

“We need to talk,” she says, her voice steady.

I sigh, knowing she’s right. I lift my hand, the ring glinting under the fluorescent lights. “Yeah. I know. Big problem.”

But Sahara doesn’t look at the ring.

Nope. She looks atme.

My skin prickles at the way her expression shifts, the way the color drains from her face, her eyes widening with something I don’t understand.

“I don’t think that’s your biggest problem, Taylor.”

Her words send a shiver down my spine. And for the first time, I wonder if the nausea, the exhaustion, the sluggishness…

…isn’t the flu at all.