“You finished with that?” Elliot asks. He’s in a pair of gray lounging pants and a black V-neck shirt that molds to his perfect physique. Veins stand out on his arms, his muscles the kind you can’t get unless you work at it. His hair stands in spikes as though he’s run his fingers through it. Unlike his previously neat style, it makes him look utterly touchable, like he’s just rolled out of bed.
The thought of bed warms my cheeks, and tremors ripple over me like a phantom breeze. I deliberately shove it out of my mind. I’m not going to think about sex at all, no matter how scrumptious he looks. I close my old laptop and push it aside on the dining table. “Yes.”
He takes a seat to my left. It’s close enough that I can get a faint whiff of aftershave and something else that’s uniquely Elliot. My muscles soften at the decadently sinful smell. Even though I’ve only known him for so little time, I can pick that scent out anywhere, any time.
“We need to have a reception,” he says. “I’ll leave the planning up to you.”
I blink. “A reception?”
“For our wedding.”
“Yeah, but…it’s already over.” Our simple and efficient courthouse ceremony. A perfect reflection of our relationship.
“It was expected that I would elope or do whatever the hell I wanted with the wedding. But a reception is also expected for a few close family members and friends.”
“Do you want me to plan a family dinner?”
“If that’s what you want to call it.” He shrugs carelessly.
“Who am I inviting?”
“My family, plus whoever you want.” He drums his fingers on the table. “But hold off on sending the invitations to my parents as long as you can. The reception should be in a week, but their invitations should go out two days before. At the earliest.”
I gasp. “That gives them no warning at all.”
“Precisely.”
“How about your siblings? Elizabeth and Ryder and…” I trail off helplessly. I have no idea who his siblings are. Haven’t even met them. It strikes me then how little I know about Elliot. He’s my husband—albeit for a year—but I know less about him than I did about my high school boyfriend.
“Invite them ASAP…along with Blake and Lucas, although I’m pretty sure they won’t come.”
“Who are they?”
“Blake is the oldest and my half-brother. Lucas is my twin.”
Oh, right… The genius twin who created the company with Elliot. I hope he’s wrong, about Lucas at least. I want to meet him. “Okay. I’ll need to see what venues are available that soon.”
“We can hold it here. There’s plenty of room unless you have a long guest list on your side of the family.”
I shake my head. “Nobody, really.” My parents were both orphans. That was how they bonded—the need for somebody to fill the void and complete their lives.
And they single-handedly destroyed my friendships with everyone I knew in Lincoln City. Even as I resent—and sometimes rage at—what they did, I can’t really hate them for it because they were my mother and father, and we had some beautiful moments together. I still struggle with reconciling the fact that they ruined countless lives but were still loving parents.
“Then it should be easy,” Elliot says.
I nod. “By the way, are there any other appointments I’m required to go to?”
The eloquent dark brow arches.
“Like today. I don’t know what you have planned, and unless I know what my schedule’s going to be like, it’s hard for me to structure my days.” My words fall smoothly from my lips although I’m really thinking about the meeting with Dennis. His impatience is strange. He should want to avoid me as much as I want to avoid him.
“No.”
I nod. “Great. Thanks.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Annabelle
Dinner is a surprisingly simple affair. Even after Elliot said pizza was fine, I had my doubts. People like him should be into fancier things, the kind that can reinforce my belief that he and I are fundamentally too different.
Instead he’s too damn normal. We even eat at the coffee table with some show on the huge screen mounted on the wall, and Nonny has sparkles in her eyes, something I haven’t seen much since our parents’ deaths.
“Don’t you have homework?” I ask as I clear the table.
“Yeah.” She makes a face. “Algebra II. Ugh.”
“Why ‘ugh’?” Elliot props the side of his face in his hand, his elbow dug into the cushion at the back of the couch.
“It doesn’t make sense. And it’s not like I’m ever going to use it.”