Page 62 of My Dead Wife's Ex Will Do
I dress for Kelsey’s wedding day in this fog of swirling, conflicting thoughts. Victor keeps casting sidelong glances at me, like he knows something is wrong but he’s weighing whether to confront me about it. Finally, he approaches me as I’m standing at the full-length mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door. I’m fiddling with my pocket square and Victor puts his hands on my sides and turns me to face him.
“You look great,” he says. He pulls the fabric from my suit’s breast pocket and spreads it across the palm of his large hand. He pokes the index finger of his other hand into the middle of the square, then twists the fabric around his hand. When he pulls it off his hand, he twists it a little more, then tucks it into my suit pocket and fluffs it until it looks like a rose peeking out of the pocket.
We’re not wearing ties but our suits and pocket squares match, and I see that Victor has already created a rose with his pocket square. “You look very sharp,” I tell him. The peacock blue of the suit jacket sets off his dark blond hair and blue eyes, and the pink and emerald patterned silk adds a lovely pop of color.
I cup his jaw and rub my thumb over his smooth-shaven cheek. He closes his eyes and the corners of his mouth lift in a little smile. I moisten my lips. “Thank you,” I say.
His eyes pop open. “For what?”
“For being there for Leah. For helping me raise our daughter, even when I was less than amicable about that.” My own mouth twists when he looks like he’s about to object. “You know it’s true. I should have focused on the ‘co’ part of co-parenting when Kelsey was younger.”
Victor shrugs. “You were dealing with a lot. I didn’t need to make it harder for you.”
“Well, I should have gotten over myself earlier.” If I had, would we be in this situation right now? Would I have been tempted to start a relationship with Victor years earlier?
Probably not. My grief for Leah was too strong.
And that only means I would have had to face the dilemma about my job earlier.
I take a deep breath. “Thank you for this week, too. It’s been…” I struggle to find the right word.
Victor kisses me while I think. Or, try to think anyway. He’s very distracting.
“Inappropriate?” he suggests.
I snort. “Definitely.” He kisses me again.
“Incautious?” he asks when the kiss breaks.
“That, too,” I agree, and kiss him back.
“Instructive,” I add in between kisses.
“Ooh,” he says, and his lips curve under mine. “Really?”
“Also, inconvenient and insane,” I murmur, and pull his hips toward me. We’re both hard under our wedding trousers and it really is not only inconvenient, when we’re supposed to meet Kelsey and Adrienne in half an hour, but insane, that less than a week ago, I’d been dreading spending so much time with Victor and now I don’t want to let him go.
Victor steps back to admire his handiwork with the pocket square, and I catch his wrist before he can pull away entirely.
"What happens after this?" I hear myself ask.
He goes still. "After the wedding?"
"After we go home."
The question hangs between us. It's the first time either of us has acknowledged that "just this week" has an expiration date that's rapidly approaching.
Victor's expression is careful. Neutral. The face he probably uses with difficult clients. "What do you want to happen?"
I want to keep waking up next to you. I want to know about the scar on your shoulder. I want to think of you as something other than my stepdaughter's father.
None of those are things I can say. None of those are things I'm supposed to want.
"I don't know," I say instead.
He nods slowly, like that's the answer he expected. "Then let's get through the wedding first. We can figure out the rest later."
It's a reasonable response. A mature response.
