Words escape me. Is that all he thinks of me as? Some vapid bride-to-be?
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves.” My palm presses into his chest, and I back away. “Way ahead of ourselves.”
“God, Samantha. I’m trying here. I’m trying to be the man you want, and all I get from you is resistance. Where’s the girl who’s face used to light up when I came into the room?”
Maybe you should get a puppy?
I shrug, shaking my head. My eyes land on his feet. “I don’t have that answer for you.”
“What changed, Sam?”
I glance up when I hear the sharp tinge of panic in his tone. For a moment, all I see is Jeremiah Crawford, Celebrity Chef. And all I feel like is Samantha Russo, ex-fiancé of Jeremiah Crawford, Celebrity Chef. Maybe somebody will write about me someday on his Wikipedia page. The idea that Jeremiah’s role in my life might someday be a bleep on my timeline is both terrifying and exhilarating.
For the first time, not knowing what the future holds excites me. Half of my heart is running toward the altar, bouquet of flowers clutched tight in my hands and wearing nothing but a white dress and a smile. The other half of me is galloping away on a white horse a-la Julia Roberts in Runaway Bride. No destination in mind. No goals besides pursuing everything that makes me feel alive.
“I love you, Sam,” Jeremiah says. My wrists are squeezed in his hands, his fingers digging into my bones. “Tell me how to fix this. Tell me what you want.”
He wants me to tell him I still want him. And part of me does. But I can’t say it. Not until I know for sure.
“Are you scared, babe?” His tone is softer, comforting. “I was scared too. But imagining standing at that altar watching you walk down the aisle makes all those worries go away.”
“It’s not that simple.” Making decisions based on an idyllic daydream fantasy isn’t the brightest. “And let me remind you that you wanted a break from me. Kind of rattles my confidence in us for the long-term. It’s forced me to look at things from a different angle.”
“What about your father?”
My skin heats. I can’t believe he’s going there.
My bottom lip trembles, my eyes burning as they refuse to meet his gaze. Jeremiah releases my wrists and cups my chin. He lifts my eyes to his.
“Not talking about it won’t change anything.” His words slice open the scabbed wound I only pick at in my darkest hours. “He’s in poor health, Sam. He’s not getting any better. He wants to walk his youngest daughter down the aisle. He wants to make sure he leaves you in good hands before he goes.”
“Don’t.” I don’t want to hear what I already know. Inhaling a lungful of thick air, I push past Jeremiah and grab my keys and bag. Stepping into my shoes and blinking away tears, I know if I say another word it’ll come out as a string of nonsensical sobs.
“Sam, where’re you going?”
I shake my head, my shoulders shaking as I turn to face him. “Do not use my father’s health to guilt trip me into marrying you, Jeremiah.”
My eyes close and in that moment, I’m transported to the top of the stairs of my parents’ house. An assortment of photos in every size and frame available covers the wall in perfect harmony. My sisters and brothers are all married off, all of their wedding photos hanging happily side by side. The spot on the end is saved for me, I’ve been told. But the possibility of my wedding photo not including my father is as real as it’s ever been. The man can hardly breathe thanks to his emphysema. The doctor’s keep threatening to amputate his feet if he doesn’t get his diabetes under control. He’s a good man with heart of gold. All he ever did was live his life to the fullest.
“I’m sorry, Sam.”
Jeremiah comes toward me, but I place my hand up to stop him. “I’m going for a walk.”
“When will you be back?”
“I don’t know.” I slip out the door, craving the cool night air on my face.
When I return two hours later, Jeremiah’s gone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
BECKHAM
“These are for you.” Odessa enters my office Monday morning with a pale pink bag and a sly smile on her face. She drops it on my desk and stands back.
“What’s all this?”
“A few things I picked up in Vermont.”
Reaching into the bag, I retrieve a pale pink blanket. It’s the softest thing I’ve felt in my life, and the word “princess” is embroidered along one side with cream thread.
“I thought it was fitting,” she says. “Your name being King and all.”