Page 123 of The Reason I Married Him
“Yeah, because well, we’re getting married and that will entail a ceremony.”
“Yes, that’s usually what happens when people get married,” I say.
“Which means we’re going to have to kiss.”
I feel sweat break out on the back of my neck. “Yes, that’s something we’ve mentioned before.” His hand slides under the covers to my hip where he gently grips me.
“And I mean nothing sexual about this, and I don’t want you to think this is me trying to extend the date, but don’t you think we should, I don’t know, at least kiss each other good night so we get used to the feel of it?”
“The feel of kissing?” I ask, my nerves starting to shoot up.
“The feel of kissingeach other.”
“Oh . . . uh, why?” I ask even though I know why. I’m just trying to prolong this because I’m so nervous I could actually throw up.
His thumb rubs against my hip in a soothing motion as he says, “So when I kiss you on our wedding day, you’re not completely disgusted with me.”
“I’m not . . . I’m not disgusted with you,” I reply.
“Then how come I can feel you slowly leaning back, farther away from me?”
“Am I?” I laugh nervously. “Oh, didn’t realize.”
“Don’t you think it would be smart to try kissing if we’re trying to sell this?”
“I mean, yes,” I answer.
“Good,” he says. “Then I propose every night before we go to bed, we kiss each other just to get used to the idea. How does that sound?”
I involuntarily wet my lips. “Sounds fine,” I say, trying to hide the shake in my voice.
“Okay.” And then to my surprise, he pulls me in closer so our knees knock together and our faces are only a few inches apart. The smell of his soap mixed with his fresh breath hits me all at once as he says, “You ready for this?”
No.
Not even a little.
What if . . . what if he thinks I’m bad at it?
What if he regrets this deal after he kisses me? That would be so humiliating and not something I think I’d recover from.
“Uh, yes.” Even though my insides are trembling with nerves.
But there’s no stopping him because he leans in closer and then runs his hand up my side until he’s lightly touching my jaw.
I hold my breath as he closes the space between us, and when his lips reach mine, I still, my mind whirling as he applies the lightest of pressure.
He’s kissing me. Oh my God, he’s—he pulls away before I can even reciprocate the kiss.
Oh God.
I had . . . I had dead fish lips.
They weren’t even puckered.
“Great,” he says as he moves away with a smile. “See, you didn’t explode or anything. You’re still alive and well.” He casually wets his lips...probably because the death of mine sucked all the moisture from his. “You didn’t get poisoned by my lips.” He’s trying to make a joke out of it, but I’m still in shock over how fast that was.
I wouldn’t have even called it a peck. It was . . . a whisper of a kiss.
