In deference to Paige’s condition, I forgo a glass of cabernet, opting for ginger ale instead. To be honest, I’d prefer some scotch to loosen up the small knot in my gut. Even though she’s back, I can’t really relax. She hasn’t mentioned my proposal back at Samantha’s office, and there’s the whole unresolved “if you don’t trust me, we shouldn’t marry” business.
“Don’t force yourself to eat this. We can always get you something else,” I say, watching Paige cut the meat with care. I don’t recall her liking lamb before. She’s more a steak and chicken kind of girl. Besides, she’s entirely too pale, with circles under her eyes so dark they almost look like bruises. I can’t help but think I’ve contributed to that by being stubborn. I’ve probably been a terrible dickhead if Elizabeth felt compelled to call me the a-word.
“But why? This is fine.” She pops a small piece into her mouth and chews.
“I don’t want you to get sick afterwards.” My eyebrows pinch together as I study her expression for any signs of distaste. “I know you’re supposed to be all nauseous and everything when you’re pregnant.”
The smile she gives me is bemused. Warmth unfurls in my chest, and some of the ugliness that’s built up since the night of our engagement party ebbs away.
“Not everyone suffers from morning sickness,” she tells me. “I’ve been okay so far. And the doctor at the hospital didn’t seem too worried about my diet.”
That reminds me… “Have you seen Dr. Silverman?”
Paige shakes her head. “She’s out of the country right now.”
“When is she coming back?”
“Day after tomorrow. And I have an appointment with her at eleven.”
“Okay. I’ll take you in.”
Her lips part, then she shakes her head. “You don’t have to.”
“I insist.” I hesitate, then add, “I don’t ever want to go through that again.”
She gives me a small smile, but somehow it lacks the usual umph. “Agreed. Let’s not.”
I brush my thumb over the fleshy web between her thumb and forefinger. The touch isn’t sexual. It’s a silent combination of “thank you” and “I’ll take care of you”. Until Dr. Silverman clears Paige for active duty, I really shouldn’t make a move, no matter how much my hormones urge me to remind her how good we can be together.
We’ve had too many things happen to stop us from really talking about the core issue of whether or not we can trust each other enough to go through with the wedding. It’s not something we can just gloss over. Perhaps making a decision about it would help me sort out my feelings. I hate it when I’m in limbo like this.
“About the job,” she begins.
I wave a hand. “I only used that to make you come back.”
“Still. I’ll do it, but I’m not sure about the wedding yet.”
It feels remarkably like she just kicked me in the nuts. I take a moment to process things. “Why?”
She shrugs. “You explained it yourself. I’m going to need a job that provides benefits, and I’m not going to find another position with all this media circus around me and my pregnancy. Not in this town, anyway.”
It’s nice to have her seeing things my way. But what she’s saying doesn’t relieve me of the pain. Rather, it intensifies it, and I can’t figure out why. She’s just repeating what I told her. But I hate it anyway, and I feel like a man on the run, although from what I don’t know.
Sighing, she lays down her utensils. “I’m not saying no, Ryder. But I want you to really think about why you can trust me if I’m your assistant, but you can’t if I’m your fiancée.”
The suggestion makes me blink. “What are you talking about?”
“You would never make somebody you don’t trust your assistant. You were always very clear on that point.”
“I don’t understand what that has to do with you being my wife. You know I wouldn’t have proposed if I didn’t trust you.”
“Yeah, I know. But still, the first thing that came to your mind when you heard about the sex tape wasn’t there must be an explanation for this. You thought I did it to become famous.”
“Are you ever going to forgive me for that?” I ask, my whole body numb.
“It isn’t about forgiveness. It’s about how it’s going to be between us going forward. This matters to me, Ryder. So please. Take a moment and really think about what I’m saying.”
“But we have less than three weeks before the wedding.” I’m starting to feel a little panicked. What she’s asking for isn’t something I can come up with in the next twenty-four hours. But at the same time, I can’t imagine marrying anybody but her. My mind just won’t consider it.