One Night With You by Fortune Whelan

Author:Fortune Whelan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance
ISBN: 9781957748290
Publisher: Tule Publishing Group, LLC
Published: 2022-03-31T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Cheramie walked along the side of the dirt road, her shoes coated with fine dust. Sitting was the last thing she wanted to do. She needed to walk. She needed to think.

“Get in the car,” Cameron pleaded. “I’ll drive you the rest of the way home—or to Seattle or wherever you want to go. I’ll drive you all the way to Boston. Just please get in the car; you’re making me nervous.”

She halted and glared at him. “Why would I want to go to Boston? You don’t think I should stay?”

“What reasons do you have to stay?” he dared.

“The two biggest reasons—to finish the project for Grandma Mae, and I’m the mayor.”

“You like him, don’t you?” Cameron said. He got out of the car and opened the back passenger door.

“I don’t even know him. Attraction, yes. I’m wildly attracted to him. I’ve admitted it, are you happy now? But attraction doesn’t equal a lasting relationship or even a good relationship. You and my mother are both right. I’ve got a great future ahead of me.” She flopped into the back seat of Cameron’s car, and they rode in silence until he pulled the car into Cheramie’s driveway.

She kicked off her dusty shoes, plopped down on the sofa, and eyed her laptop on the second-tier shelf of the coffee table.

Cheramie fanned her hands in front of herself, shot up from the couch, and started pacing back and forth again.

“Are you okay?” Cameron asked.

“I can’t breathe.”

“Your shapeware might have something to do with that. Ju-u-u-u-st kidding.”

It didn’t matter that he was kidding, again, Cameron was right. She ran to her room to change, but she couldn’t get her corset off fast enough. If she was going to be a senator’s wife, she was going to do it her way. In her own clothes. With Spanx. Or maybe she’d choose the body positivity route.

She tore into Grandma Mae’s room, and straight for the sewing station. The giant shears glinted right on top, where she’d left them the last time she used them. Part of her wanted to keep Grandma Mae’s room as she’d left it, but she snatched up the shears, gasping for breath.

Cheramie fit her fingers into the shears and crumbled to her knees. She slid the tip under the corset at her armpit and paused. The corset was an heirloom and the dress had come from her mother—not cheap. Once she cut into them, that was it, they were ruined.

“Do you need help?” Cameron called. She turned around but was still in the living room.

“No, I’m good.” She had to do this herself. This wasn’t about cutting herself out of this corset, this was about making decisions for herself, about herself, ones she felt good about.

Cheramie cut through her dress and the corset, and both fell to the floor at her side. She dropped the shears on top of the pile of discarded fabric. She felt free now, unrestrained, the same way she’d felt that night with Deacon.

She went to her closet, bunched all the dresses her mother sent her and tossed them on the bed.

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