Selfish Desires

Six

He had arrived half an hour earlier before he finally relented and entered Marta's Bridal Shop for the first time in four years. He was killing two birds with one stone, fulfilling his fiancée's desire to corner him into participating in the selection of their wedding outfits and confronting his ex-wife. His face was the picture of cold detachment that denied the very real torment that had him on edge.

He ignored the receptionist, who did nothing but flutter her eyes at him in dreamy adoration and entered the first elevator. Before the doors closed, he watched as a woman ran past with long, loose auburn hair trailing behind. As recognition settled in, he slammed his open palms against the elevator doors, but it was too late. They were closed. He cursed his timing, only a second's delay kept him from meeting his ex-wife after four long years. His body responded overwhelmingly in favor, for which he cursed himself mentally on the smooth ride up.

Despite his grievances, he savored the new image of her in his mind. She looked slim in a fitted white tank top that was tucked into a deep blue skirt. The colors reminiscent of the sun settling beyond the inky blue depths of the ocean. She'd always loved wearing the color blue. She looked upset and she was running, so his impulse was to chase her, but that was physically impossible while he was trapped in an elevator that was still making its steady ascent towards the wrong woman. He unclenched his hands at his side and did his best to compose himself and to shake the sourness that had crept into his bloodstream at the knowledge his kitten had a husband to take care of her when she was upset. Another man would be there to hold her and whisper comforting words.

He could admit now that his hesitation to enter the building was because he'd feared his reaction to her. After all she'd done, he still wanted her with the same fierceness that had spurred him to propose.

When the doors finally opened, Clara was waiting to greet him. How did she know when he'd arrive?

"Yay, you came," she said throwing her arms around his neck. He couldn't help but compare Clara to Lacey, who he'd had to lift so she could wrap her arms around his neck. His kitten was adorably petite, obliviously sexy, and when he'd nuzzled her favorite spot between her neck and collarbone, she'd purred in pleasure.

Thoughts of the wrong woman had his head turning, so Clara's kiss brushed his cheek instead of his lips. Her eyes told him the action hurt her, but he couldn't do it. No matter how much he tried to reason with his heart, it didn't feel right. He was going to have to overcome this. Somehow. In a very short time, Clara would be his wife and he owed her the touch of a husband, even if he couldn't give her love. After all, it was part of their contract.

Had Lacey felt that same sense of hopelessness and lack of control over one's own body when he had insisted on that particular clause in their contract? He really hoped not.

He plastered a smile on his face as he asked Clara to show him the designs that she'd wanted his input on. As they walked, she explained she had narrowed down her choices to three, and today, they would see samples of each on her bridesmaids. She had seven bridesmaids, which meant he had to find seven men to accompany them. It was easy enough to fill, but if he had his way, the wedding party would be smaller, more intimate. With Lacey, he'd only had Ben by his side. She'd worn a pale yellow dress that day, fitted at the waist and then flared down to her knees. Her hair was loose, although not quite as long as it had been when he'd seen her a few moments ago, and she'd had low, white heels that had lifted her to his shoulders.

In a few days, Clara wanted him to return so she could see how the bridal dress would look beside his suit. Another appointment he couldn't get out of. Too bad she wasn't the slightest bit superstitious. Most brides wouldn't allow the groom to see their dress before the big day, but Clara was having none of that. Her only concern was that they looked perfect for the photos. His guilty heart wondered if she'd still feel the need to push for an over-the-top display if this was a love match rather than a joining of empires with a reluctant groom.

Clara was still talking his ear off about her thoughts behind each design that appeared on the stage before them when he cut her off.

"That one," he said pointing at a fitted bodice and a skirt draped in tulle that expanded out like a bubble that swallowed her bridesmaid, "reminds me of cotton candy. Get rid of it." He couldn't help his face from screwing up in distaste. When they'd been 12 years old, he and Ben had snuck out to attend a carnival at night. They'd both gorged on cotton candy until they'd thrown up. The mess was sticky, sweet, and very pink. He'd disliked the stuff ever since, and the likeness of the tulle with its airy-fairy puffiness made him want to throw up all over again.

"Great. We've narrowed it down to two. Any other thoughts?"

"I'm sure whatever you choose will be perfect," he said noncommittally. He felt responsible for casting a shadow over the shine in Clara's eyes with his inability to get excited. "I need some air," he said before hurrying away. He found a kitchen nook; one he'd almost walked past until someone strode out with a coffee. It lacked the extravagance of the main areas, with an understated elegance, so he figured it was a common room for the workers rather than the clients, but the space soothed his tired eyes and runaway thoughts.

He relaxed for the first time that morning and inhaled deeply. He closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment to indulge until he caught a familiar scent. She must have been in this room, except – the scent was too strong to be considered lingering. He opened his eyes and cast his gaze at the entrance, where he spotted his petite ex-wife, who stood frozen on the spot.