If it were, last night after we shut the door on my family, Lachlan and I would’ve bumbled about in his big house, stealing meaningful glances, accidentally brushing arms as we passed one another, and realizing that due to a series of unfortunate and entirely unbelievable circumstances, there was only one bed to be found beneath his roof. Exhausted, we would’ve reluctantly slipped beneath the sheets, keeping a continent of space between us, only to wake up the next morning, wrapped in one another’s arms and a romantic spell of perfect breath and kisses.
But this was my life. And Bridget Jones I was not.
Instead, I waited until midnight, then left Lachlan’s house under the cover of night. I drove straight to my apartment, showered until all the travel grime and residual regrets washed down the drain, then fell into my own bed, where I considered my options for a quality mental breakdown. I lay wide awake all night, staring at my ceiling and wondering if going along with Lachlan’s plan had been a mistake bigger than I could possibly handle.
By seven a.m. on Monday, I’d washed two loads of laundry, packed three suitcases to transport to Lachlan’s, and even completed a spin class at the gym downtown.
When seven-thirty rolled around, I found myself sitting in my car in Flair’s parking lot, wondering what fate awaited me inside. My fingers flexed on the door handle, and I was just about to pull the rip cord when my phone dinged.
Lachlan
Good morning, wife.
Don’t call me that. Why are you texting me?
Lachlan
Because that’s what husbands do. I don’t want to deprive you of all the romance I’m supposed to deliver.
Feel free to abstain.
Lachlan
Are you saying I’m not romantic?
The long line of girls you went through in college certainly seemed to think you were.
Lachlan
We’ll never make it to our golden anniversary if you keep bringing up my sordid past. You know you’re the only woman for me now.
The very thought kept me awake most of the night.
Lachlan
Thoughts of me drove you wild? I knew it wouldn’t take long.
I’m going into the office now. If I survive my meeting with Celeste, I will be home late this evening. If she chews me up and spits out the bones, my remains belong to my family. Not you.
Lachlan
I will remember you fondly. I think we had at least ten minutes in Vegas that we got along. I’ll hold onto that the rest of my days. Now be brave, Mrs. Hayes. You can do this. Fake love and kisses. XXOO.
I threwmy phone into my purse and startled as I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror. Was that…a smile? No. That was absolutely not allowed. Lachlan Hayes would not charm me with morning banter and zippy texts. He was still obnoxious, and I needed to remember he was a temporary problem. Not a permanent husband.
Another car pulled up beside me, and I gave a half-hearted wave to a curious coworker. It was time to get out and face the music. That music being a funeral dirge.
I bypassed the downstairs coffee shop, ignored the chatter that swelled when I breezed by, and aggressively punched the third-floor elevator button like it had done me wrong.
Slipping inside, I sighed with relief when the doors began to close, only to hear, “Hold the elevator!”
With zero care for manners or appearances, I mashed that door-close button as Morgan stuck her willowy arm inside, prying the doors apart like bratty curiosity had made her superhuman.
“Oh, thank goodness.” Morgan swooped inside, looking quite proud of herself. “That was close, huh?”
Her perfume wafted in a hovering cloud, and I covered my Red Bull with a hand to protect it from the toxic off-gassing. She wore a black pantsuit, her jacket tied with a silk sash, and her dark camisole dotted with delicate sequins. She looked sleek and elegant, while I no doubt looked as if I’d just stepped from the wreckage of a downed airplane.
“Olivia!” she exclaimed, as if she’d just now identified my face. “I don’t even know what to say!” Condescending shock rounded Morgan’s eyes, and she clasped a hand to her buoyant chest. “I mean…you? Lachlan Hayes? Married?” Her airy laugh sounded like the wheeze of a sharp clarinet. “I saw the news, but is this even real? How could it be, right?” More laughter followed as she waited for me to open my mouth and bless her with a logical explanation.
