First comes love.
Then comes marriage.
Then comes a-
Unfortunately, life is not a checklist, and there's no white picket fences and baby carriages. After a failed long and stable relationship, Arryn Rivera tries her hand at online dating and gets mo...
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Arryn looked at the clock, and the numbers blurred. She squinted and focused. It was just a little after four in the morning. Then she remembered falling asleep in Rhys' arms while laying in the truck bed under the stars, listening as he pointed out constellations and made up stories that were clearly bastardized Disney plots. This one's called The Sulky Redhead. Supposedly, she was in love with this handsome prince and, after saving his life, went to a witch in the woods and gave up her voice for a pair of apple bottom jeans and boots with the fur.
She turned over and tried to make herself comfortable. Rhys slept soundly next to her without a care in the world. While he softly snored, she struggled to fall asleep amidst her guilt. It was already their last day together. Anxiety knotted in her chest, and the thought of leaving made her heart hurt.
She deserved it. The agony, guilt, regret—everything. She traced the scar on his chest, careful not to disturb him. Here he had a physical reminder of how a lie could hurt. For the first time since he'd been shot, he'd put his faith in another person. Another liar. If he ever found out what she did, he'd hate her.
He shifted, and his arm slid around her waist, clutching her against him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. In one weekend, she felt at home in his arms, his house, and in his life.
Now, what was she going to do? She'd met a great guy and screwed it up from the beginning. Leslie wouldn't be surprised. Mom expected her to fail, and once again, Arryn didn't disappoint.
She should tell Rhys the truth and beg forgiveness. If he didn't, she'd live with it. She'd have no choice. She didn't want to think anymore. Her brain was tired. Guilt did that. An endless swirling black hole of despair sucked the life out of her. With that final horrible thought, sleep came.
At ten o'clock, she rolled to her back and watched the overhead fan spin fleeting shadows across the ceiling. An accurate comparison of her emotions. Spinning out of control, and soon to disappear from his life, like a flicker of sunlight. God, she must be losing her mind to compare herself to fans. Where was Elia when she needed her?
Rhys was missing from bed, so she assumed he was drinking morning coffee on the deck, and enjoying nature. She put her feet on the floor, steeled her shoulders, and concentrated on making the most of the few hours they had left.
After dressing in jeans and a tee-shirt, she headed down the hall. As she expected, he sat on the back porch, mug in hand, Guinevere by his feet. For a moment, she imagined being a part of that snapshot every day, but Elia thumped her upside the head and pulled Arryn from the daydream. Her alter ego made her promise to concentrate on fun for the rest of her stay and stop wishing for something that would never happen.
She opened the door, and he turned to look at her. "Hey, Sleepyhead."
"I'm sorry."
"The fish will wait. You still want to go, right?"
