This wasn’t going to stop, was it? He was going to have to check all the bloody blondes in the world wherever he was to make certain it wasn’t her. Crazy.
What he needed to do was forget her, not search for her everywhere he went.
The legs of Joseph’s chair thumped back on the floor. “You’ve got it bad, haven’t you?”
Luke tore his gaze from the woman at the bar. “I haven’t got it—”
“Bullshit. You think I can’t see it? I’ve been there, man. I know the signs.”
Caleb nodded sagely. “Besides, you don’t check women out like that, bro. But it’s okay, I know how that goes. You’re making sure it’s not her, right?”
Luke gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to talk about this. He’d managed to rationalize his emotions totally and he wasn’t keen on bringing them out now for his friends to pick apart. “It’s not her, and I’m fine about it,” he said, fiddling with the coaster. “I thought we might have…something more, but it turns out we don’t.”
“Why not?” Joseph demanded. “Because I’m getting the distinct impression that you’re not fine about it.”
Luke put one hand in his pocket, fingers closing around the object he kept in there. Yet another thing he kept checking on. Holding it made him feel better so he obeyed the impulse, the bead of Marisa’s necklace cool against his palm. “Whether I’m fine about it or not doesn’t matter. The OCD makes relationships difficult so I decided we were both better off not seeing each other. She agreed.”
“You know that’s more bullshit, don’t you?”
“It’s not bullshit. You’re lucky with the ADHD. And you’re lucky with Christie. You’re—”
“Luke,” Joseph interrupted, putting his hands on the table, “those are excuses and you know it. Do you love her?”
He opened his mouth, ready with a denial. But the word felt wrong.
That’s because it is wrong.
“Yes,” he said instead.
“Then what’s worse?” Joseph looked him in the eye. “The OCD or not having her in your life?”
The blue bead rested in his palm, not so cool now, warming up through contact with his skin. It felt smooth and silky, like she did. A reminder of dreams.
She’d made him aware of those dreams. Of a life beyond the day-to-day management of his condition. A life that included teasing and flirting and laughter. And ice cream and making love on the bonnet of his car. And a woman who undressed him and folded his clothes up because she knew he couldn’t concentrate if it wasn’t done right.
He could live without all those things. Had done so for years.
But it’s not much of a life, is it?
Luke caught his breath suddenly, the ache in his chest becoming deeper, more intense.
No. It wasn’t. It was only a half life. Wanting nothing, expecting nothing. Feeling nothing…
The blue bead pressed painfully against his palm and he realized he was clutching it so tightly it was amazing the thing hadn’t shattered.
No, God, he didn’t want nothing. He didn’t want to go back to that day-to-day, minute-by-minute life where there was nothing to look forward to and nothing special to remember. He wanted ice cream. He wanted sex on the bonnet of his Ferrari. He wanted her folding his clothes and touching him as though he was precious.
He wanted Marisa.
He didn’t have much to give her in return, only the studio he’d built for her and his own obsessive, compulsive heart. She was a princess who deserved more than that but it was all he had to give. And if she thought he was crazy, if she couldn’t deal with him and his issues, then he’d have to risk it. He had to try.
“I think,” he said, “I think I have somewhere to be.” He pushed back his chair and got to his feet suddenly. It tipped over with a crash but he didn’t turn around—he was already heading to the exit.
Behind him, he heard Caleb say, “Mate, you should give up IT and open a relationship counseling service. You’d make millions.”
He only caught the first word of Joseph’s reply. It started with F.
…
“What do you think?” Marisa did a little twirl in front of the mirrors, layers of white tulle swirling around her.
“Oh my God,” Christie exclaimed from her position on the sofa the bridal shop had for clients who were waiting. “You’re wearing a freaking meringue!”
Judith, in an elegant ivory sheath dress, raised an eyebrow. “It is definitely meringue-like.”
Marisa looked down at the frothy confection she’d tried on. Yes, it was meringue-like. And definitely not to Judith’s taste, admittedly—which was kind of the whole reason they were in the wedding shop in the first place. But she hadn’t been able to resist trying it on because it was pretty. Not that she’d ever come close to having the opportunity to wear this, of course. Marriage wasn’t ever going to be in her future.