“You’re welcome,” I say softly as my hand comes up to touch her face. “I would do anything for you,” I say. I see her swallow and then move out of my touch. I try not to let it hurt, try not to dwell on it, but when I get up and bring the plates into the kitchen, she starts walking around me, holding my hips again. When she runs her hand up my back softly while she walks by, it takes all my willpower not to ignore the fact that she drank too much and touch her the way I want to touch her. When the kitchen is cleaned up, I lean against the counter, and she mimics my stance. “Are you tired?” I ask.
“Not really.” She walks over to me and wraps her arms around my neck, getting on her tippy toes. “We can maybe go into the bedroom.” My hands go to her hips, and I want so much to take her to the bedroom. I want so much to tell her all of the things, but I don’t want her to have to get drunk to be with me.
“I think I’m going to take a shower,” I say and see the look in her eyes change and her hands fall from my neck. Her shield is suddenly up.
“Yeah, that is a good idea,” she says. “Why don’t you go first?” She turns and walks away from me, and I want to call her back. I want to hold her hand and sit on the couch with her, but she has closed herself off. I saw it in the look she gave me. I walk to the shower, feeling defeated as the warm water runs down my body. When I slip on my boxers and shorts, I open the door and find all the lights from downstairs turned off.
After I walk downstairs, my eyes roam the area, looking for her, and I find her in a ball on her side. Her eyes are closed, and I have to wonder if she is faking. I stand here for a minute, and when she doesn’t move, I grab one of the throw blankets and cover her with it. I sit next to her, not knowing what to do. We are both in uncharted territories, and the last thing I want to do is lose her. I put my head back, closing my own eyes, and the next thing I know, light is coming into the house directly on my face as if someone is holding a flashlight. I put my hand up to block the sun from my face and open one eye. The smell of coffee hits me right away, and when I turn to look over in the kitchen, I find Savannah moving around.
“What time is it?” I ask, mumbling.
“A little after seven,” she says, and I see that she has changed from what she was wearing yesterday.
“How long have you been up?” I get up, going to the kitchen, and when she turns around, I see that her nose and her eyes are red from crying.
“I don’t remember.” She avoids looking at me. “I got up and took a shower.” She grabs her coffee cup, bringing it to her lips. “Then I couldn’t fall back asleep.”
I walk to grab a cup and pour coffee in it. “You should have woken me up.”
“There was no use in both of us being awake,” she says, standing exactly where she did yesterday right before she wrapped her arms around my neck, and I told her I was going to take a shower.
“I came out, and you were fast asleep on the couch.” I bring the cup to my lips. “It’s a rough day when your wife falls asleep on the couch two days into your marriage.” I can’t stop myself from saying the words. I don’t know what I was thinking, but what I wasn’t expecting was her comeback.
She blinks and looks me straight in my eyes. “It’s a rough day when your husband can’t stand your touch and runs off to shower.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Savannah
I don’t know why I say it because I told myself for the past four hours that I was not going to bring it up. I was not going to let the hurt of him not wanting to be with me affect anything. He married me because he had to, not because he wanted to, the voice chants over and over in my head. The thought cuts me right through the heart, and no matter how many times I’m blinking away the tears, they fall anyway. “It’s a rough day when your husband can’t stand your touch and runs off to shower.” I watch his eyes and then see his mouth hang open as I put my cup of coffee beside me. “There is a certain look we have to give the public.” I start to say my speech that I also spent the night thinking of. “So in public, we can be all lovey-dovey, but when we are behind closed doors, it’s just Beau and Savannah, best friends.” The sting of the words are so much more when they are out of my mouth and not just in my head.