Page 72 of Only and Forever

I hear how desperate my voice turned on that last sentence. How invested I sound in its answer.

Because I can’t have Viggo the way I want—his body, his closeness, his intimacy—not when he wants so much more than I am remotely capable of giving him. But, when this is over, I wouldn’t mind having him in my life. Someone I can talk books with while playing with the dogs and cats I’d see when I paid a visit to his bookstore. Someone I could grab Chinese with and shoot the shit, whom I could see when our lives continued to overlap—our sisters’ parties, milestones, birthdays—and share... comfort, familiarity. Even if I never find my way toward seeing love, romance, happily ever after, the way he does. Even if we never truly agree on what all this—sex, intimacy, relationships—really means.

His eyes dance between mine. “Friends can disagree,” he says. “They absolutely can. You’re right.” He shakes his head, glancing away. “I’m being silly.”

“You’re not being silly. You’re being nervous.” I clasp his hand and squeeze tight. “It’s okay to be nervous. But you’ve got this. Go have fun. And if they can’t appreciate the allure of a broody duke in skintight breeches, you send them my way.” I shake a fist. “I’ll handle it.”

Viggo laughs, squeezing my hand, then pulling away. I shouldn’t feel like it’s a loss, but I do.

“Thanks, Lula.” He smiles. “So you’ll stick around, then?”

I nod. “Back here, but yeah. I’ll stick around.”

Watching him round the counter into the throng of excited people, who light up as he joins them, I feel a sad sinking sensation. I don’t like watching Viggo step into a world I’m not a part of.

And that’s not supposed to happen. I’m supposed to be okay with me here, him there, with plenty of our lives, outlooks, never overlapping.

I stare at him, stomach twisting, heart pounding. I think, I’m starting to realize, I’m not okay with it at all.

—

I’m drowning in a sea of wedding dresses. Thankfully, the painful part is over. Charlie chose her dress months ago. Now is her first time trying it on after the first alterations were made. I sit quietly, sipping my coffee while Charlie and the seamstress discuss details of the dress. They have this well in hand.

Charlie glances in the mirror, meeting my eyes.

A smile lifts her mouth.

I try to smile back.

It’s a bit tense. Charlie and I haven’t talked since our parents delivered the news of their divorce. Charlie didn’t reach out, and I didn’t reach out either. I felt selfish relief that Charlie didn’t need me, when I wasn’t sure I could give her anything, when I felt so lost and spent myself. I felt bitter guilt that I couldn’t muster the emotional strength to let her know I was there for her. There’s so much unspoken between us, and I don’t know how to navigate it. Charlie doesn’t seem to, either.

My sister’s gaze slips to my thermos, which reads,I like my coffee like I like my dukes—hot and rich.God forbid Viggo have a normal to-go mug.

“Nice mug,” she says.

I raise it in cheers, then take a swig. “The joys of living with a romance reader.”

Charlie laughs softly, then peers down at her dress. The seamstress finishes pinning its hem, since the dress turned out to still be a little long. Then she steps back.

“Ready for the veil?” she asks. “So we can see if we like how that’s lying, lengthwise, with the dress?”

Charlie nods.

Just as we’re left alone when the seamstress walks out, a buzzing phone cuts the silence. Both of us check our purses, extracting our phones. Charlie smiles, then starts typing. My screen is blank. Nothing from Viggo. Not that I’d expect it. We don’t generally text.

But I guess I wondered if he’d let me know where he was this morning. I woke up a little late, after having tossed and turned in bed for hours last night, listening to the sound of voices and laughter lingering in the bookstore, even after book club wrapped up and I slipped out, seeing Viggo’s wide smile, his relief. The book club loved their first historical romance. He’d successfully sold them on the subgenre, opened up the place to a group of people, sold books, drinks, pastries, bookish merchandise. He didn’t need me anymore.

When I came into the kitchen this morning, there was nothing to signal that Viggo had been here and was gone already except a carafe of coffee waiting for me and the absence of his keys from the littleHome, Sweet Homekey hook by the door.

I pushed past the disappointment that I’d missed him. Drank my coffee, ate my breakfast bar, and rode the Vespa to Charlie’s wedding dress fitting.

“Tallulah?”

I jerk my head up, wrenched from my thoughts. “Sorry, yes?”

My sister stands with the veil on her head. Somehow, I was that zoned out, I missed the seamstress returning, placing the veil on Charlie’s head.

She looks perfect.