I swallowed hard. "It's what's best." Then I walked backward away from him before turning and heading for the exit.
"Paige, if you're leaving, I'll take you home," he said, when he caught up to me.
"No need. I'll get a cab."
"Paige-"
"Seriously, stay. Enjoy your night. I'll see you around, Dawson."
As I made my way to the door, I pulled out my phone and made a request for an Uber car to come pick me up. I could've called one of the girls, I supposed, but the thought of having anyone pay witness to whatever fucked-up headspace I was in tonight wasn't something I wanted them to see. Dawson hadn't come after me, thankfully, and though I knew cutting ties outside of our friendship was the right thing to do, it still didn't make the lump in my throat go away or the tightness in my chest ease.
This was for the best. Really, it was. The last thing Dawson or I needed was to be tied down, so if I was the one who had to cut the cords to set us free, so be it.
I just hadn't expected it to hurt so fucking bad.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Night of the Gold
THE NEXT FEW days were anything but easy. Dawson's bags remained in the guest room, but he hadn't come home.
Huh. Home. It was weird that I thought of this as his home too, but chalk that up to getting used to the guy. And as much as I'd given him the speech of "let's have fun and party every night and see other people" and blah blah blah, that had lasted all of one evening, and then my ass had been planted on my couch every night.
And maybe there was a small part of me that had been hoping he'd show up too. That even though we couldn't be together, we could at least be friends. Do things friends do … that did not include sex or intimate feelings of any kind, but still. That left the door open to a better relationship. A happier one. Most of the people I knew that were married wished they could be living the single life again. Not Dawson's parents, my brain wanted to remind me, but I shoved that thought where the sun doesn't shine.
Leaning in the doorway of his room, I sipped on my coffee and wondered if he'd show up. Last night I'd sent him a text that said the annulment papers had been drawn up and we should meet at noon today to get things finalized. He'd responded with a thumbs up, which irked me to no end because USE YOUR WORDS, PEOPLE, but at least he'd responded. And he'd be here in a couple of hours. And then he'd leave with his bags as a free agent, and I'd go back to being a man-eater.
All would be right in the world again. Right?
Pushing off the doorframe, I made my way back to the kitchen, needing a caffeine refill. Something had to get me back to feeling fabulous, and if anything could do it, it was the holy java that came out of my French press.
After adding a bit of coconut milk, I swirled the mixture, and as I brought it to my lips, I heard the doorbell chime. And damn if that didn't have my heart jumping in my throat, because there was only one person I was expecting today, and though he didn't need to ring the doorbell, maybe that was the level of comfort we were back to.
As I went to let him in, I found myself fiddling with the hoop of my earring, pulling my hair over my shoulder, tugging at the hem of my off the shoulder blouse. It was like I was nervous, for Christ's sake.
Opening the door, I came face to face with … not Dawson.
"Hi, I have a delivery for Richard Dawson," said the teenager standing in front of me. He wasn't UPS or USPS or FedEx, and he didn't have a bundle of flowers in his hand. He's getting packages delivered here now? Okaay.
"I can sign for him," I said, taking the pen from the boy and scrawling my name on the slot. Then he handed me a small package, which had no return address listed on the front. "Who's this from?"
"Fuhrman Photography. Have a nice day, ma'am." Ma'am … what was I, fifty?
Kicking the door shut, I looked down at the square box that had mine and Dawson's name on the front. No, really, it was spelled out just like that-Mr. and Mrs. Richard Dawson.
What is this? Fuhrman Photography was one of the businesses I'd worked with in the past, but what would Dawson be getting from there that had to be signed for here? After yanking the tape off, I pulled out a notecard that read, Sorry about the delay, but I think you'll enjoy the additions you sent. Congrats again, you two! And it was signed, Dave from Fuhrman Photography.
Dave sent this? He was a friend of Dawson's, and I'd recommended him to a few of my brides in the past. He'd also been filming my parents' anniversary party in Vegas the night Dawson and I had-
Oh my God.
I looked down at the DVD case that had been hiding under the notecard, and on the front it said, Dawson and Paige, with the date of the day after my parents' anniversary underneath. If this was what I thought it was, that meant that it was our wedding DVD.
Holy fuck.
Not only that, but judging from the date, we'd gotten married in the early hours of the morning. Considering I couldn't remember anything from that night, I had the case open and was popping the DVD into the player in ten seconds flat. Dawson had joked about a video, but I hadn't thought he was serious. Why had it come from Dave and not the Tunnel of Love or whatever ungodly chapel it was we'd gotten married in?
My hands were shaking as I turned on the TV, and the words Paige & Dawson came up on the screen with a wide shot of Las Vegas from the air that had to be some kind of stock intro. I was holding my breath as the video cut to a handheld camera, judging from the slight shaking.
"SO WHERE IS it we're going, folks?" Dave said as he zoomed in on a shot of me and Dawson in front of a limo. Dawson had on a midnight-blue tux with an open white collar, and I wore a barely-there white dress.
"We're getting maaarrieeed," I said, holding up our marriage certificate. Then Dawson helped me into the limo and got in behind, and Dave followed suit, taking a seat on the opposite side of the one we'd commandeered. I hadn't bothered with a seatbelt, planting myself in Dawson's lap instead, as his arms went protectively around me.
"Can you guys tell me how it happened? Who proposed?" Dave asked.
Dawson and I both looked at each other and then burst out laughing.
"It was him," I said. "He's the one who asked."
"I believe you're the one who brought it up in the first place. You said, and I quote, 'I dare you to marry me.'"
"Nooo, we were giving dares, and I said, 'I dare you to get married.' I didn't say to who."
"Who else would I want to be with, if not you, love?"
I smiled so big then, and my forehead dropped to his. "I have a secret." Then I whispered, "I love it when you call me love."
"I'll have to do it more often, then."
Pulling back, I asked, "Do you call everyone that?"
"Only you."
"No way. I would've noticed."
"I'm more surprised that you haven't."
I was silent then for a long moment, before saying in a small voice, "Only me? Really?" When he nodded, I said, "Why?"
"Because you're my girl. Always have been. Always will be."
"Even when we fight all the time?"
Dawson chuckled. "Especially then."
"Even when I call you Dirty Dick?"
"Somehow even then."
"You know I don't really hate you, right?"
"I'd hope not, since I'm about to put a ring on your finger. Figuratively speaking, for now."
"And you don't hate me then either?"
"You can't hate what you love."
My eyes had widened then, the surprise in them evident, and I had a feeling my eyes looked the same way now. He was admitting … that he loved me? Oh my God. I kept watching, hoping drunk me would press that issue, but I hadn't done that. Instead, I'd been distracted by something out the window.
"Ooh what's that? Tunnel of Love … is that a ride?"
Dave said, "I believe it's where you can have a drive-thru wedding."
I gaped at him. "You can get married in a Tunnel of Love? In your car? Oh, Dawson, let's go there. We have to go there."
Dawson let out a laugh. "All the chapels in Las Vegas, and that's where you want to get married?"
"Yessss. Who else can say they got married there?"
"Probably a lot of people."
I slapped playfully at his chest. "I mean people we know." Then my gaze went back to the window. "This is perfect. It's perfect, right?"
"It is," Dawson said softly, his gaze fully on me.
Past me hadn't noticed, but he was looking at me reverently, and his words hadn't just been talking about the choice in venue. I'd never seen Dawson look at me the way he was looking at me in the video. Or had I?
"So we can do it there? I think we should stay right here in the car," I said.
"If that's where you wish."
I grinned down at him and teased, "Where I wish? Richard Dawson, why didn't I know you say the sweetest things?"
"Because you never wanted to hear them," he said, and then called out to the driver, "Sir, can you turn around? We'll be going through the Tunnel of Love this evening, as my bride-to-be wishes."