My One Week Husband by Lauren Blakely

Author:Lauren Blakely
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little Dog Press

15

Scarlett

In the center of the yellow dining room, I ponder Daniel’s query.

Do these games we play remind me of my charade of a marriage? Do they remind me of it in any way, shape, or form?

I sweep my gaze over the sunshiny walls as my mind hunts for the answer, for the truth of it.

Maybe Monet painted each room in his home in such vibrant colors because each one helped, in its own way, to guide him through such moments.

Maybe the blue kitchen was the place that helped him navigate through dark moods, to see inside his soul, to improve it.

Maybe this room, with its bright shades of yellow, became a bastion of clarity.

Nearly a century after the artist inhabited this space, after he walked across these same floors, maybe even after he stared out this same window, my own sense of clarity burrows into my bones.

“No. Because this arrangement with you is nothing like my marriage.” I meet his blue-eyed gaze head-on. “We put our cards on the table, you and me. You’re not lying to me. You’ve been open from the start.” My voice is strong, matching my certainty.

It’s strange, in a way, feeling this sure this soon. But maybe it’s not as soon as all that—maybe it’s a certainty born from knowing someone. I only knew Jonathan a few months before we were married. I’ve known Daniel three years, and perhaps now know him better than I did my husband.

“You laid out your feelings,” I go on. “What you can give, what you can’t give,” I add. “You never promised forever. And you certainly didn’t promise anything more than you could deliver.” As I speak, it’s as if I can breathe more deeply, as if the latent pain I carry in my shoulders weighs less. Perhaps some of it is even taking flight with my words.

Yes. It feels good to speak the truth.

Funny, too, that Daniel and I have spent evenings together at the theater, at the opera, in restaurants, and in hotels. We’ve toasted to each other, celebrated milestones, and inked deals that required blood, sweat, and tears, but we haven’t ever delved into the nitty-gritty of my sham of a marriage.

Maybe I never wanted to until now.

Want is a powerful emotion.

I want so much with this man.

I want to share more of myself with him.

But I also want to know what he’s thinking. So I practice patience, waiting for him to go next.

He runs a hand along my shoulder, down my arm. He’s so tactile, so tuned in to physical touch. “I don’t like to make promises I can’t keep. I’ve learned how powerful they are—promises. How important they become, especially between friends and partners. At the very least, we should embrace this thing between us with the truth. Because lies can bring down a house.”

He sounds like he knows firsthand how damaging a farce can be. I want to dig deeper, to understand why he’s saying that. “What do you mean exactly?”

He waves a hand behind him, as if he’s referring to something in the past.

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