Page 68 of Orc'd At A Wedding
I pull away from the curb and drive home.
I do not sleep.
At 0500 hours, I get up, shower, shave, and put on my best suit—the charcoal gray one that Bliss once said made me look "unfairly competent."
I rehearse my apology in the mirror.
"Bliss, I made a significant tactical error. I allowed fear to override logic, and I hurt you in the process. I am asking for theopportunity to prove that I am capable of being the partner you deserve."
Too formal.
"I was scared. I am sorry. Please let me fix this."
Too simple.
"I love you, and I was an idiot."
Accurate, but insufficient.
I try six more variations before giving up and deciding I will have to improvise based on her immediate reaction.
At 0900 hours, I get in the car and drive back to her building.
The doorman eyes me with visible suspicion when I walk into the lobby, which is fair. I am a 6'11" Orc in a formal suit, and I move like someone conducting a threat assessment.
"I am here to see Bliss Vance," I say.
"Is she expecting you?"
"No."
The doorman's hand drifts toward the phone on his desk.
"I am not a threat," I add. "I am apologizing."
He looks unconvinced.
I pull out my phone and show him a picture of Bliss and me at the wedding reception, her head tipped back in laughter, my arm around her waist.
"We had a disagreement," I explain. "I would like to resolve it."
The doorman studies the picture, then studies me, then sighs.
"Fourth floor. Apartment 4C. But if she calls down here and tells me to remove you, I'm calling the cops."
"Understood."
I take the elevator to the fourth floor.
The hallway is quiet and smells faintly like vanilla and cleaning products.
I find apartment 4C.
I stand in front of the door, my heart doing something erratic and unprofessional inside my chest.
I raise my fist.
I knock.
