Page 78 of How to Ruin a Wedding

“Hey.” He notices me and gestures to a bottle of pain medicine on the table. “These should help with the pain. Val left them here a while ago. Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”

“I’m sure,” I say, heading for the bed. I immediately pull the sheets to my chest. “I just want to sleep.”

“Okay,” he says, then pauses by my feet. “Is there a reason you won’t look me in the eyes?”

“Maybe I’m too busy focusing on my uterus being ripped apart?” I counter.

He blows out a breath, paces by the foot of the bed, until I say, “Is something wrong?”

“Not wrong,” he says.

“Well, that sounded like a lie.”

He chuckles. “If you’re still feeling bad tomorrow, let me know.”

“Tell me now, Anders,” I say, since it’s clear he’s waiting to ask something.

“With Valerie planning on getting married and everything,” he says, “my father wants us all to have dinner together. He wants to sit down with John and the rest of us tomorrow. Valerie mentioned you to him, and he asked if you’d join.”

“Ah,” I say. A very different request from usual. One that sends an uncomfortable array of nerves through me. “When’s the last time you had a meal with him?”

“Me?” He makes a face as he thinks back. “Not for a couple of years now. Valerie, though, a couple of months ago. She has a bit of a soft spot for him. Keeps hoping he’s developed the emotions a father should have.”

Instantly, I feel this protectiveness start to flood me. I want to go, be a support system for Anders, be ready to step in if he hurts Valerie’s feelings.

But that has nothing to do with wrecking Valerie’s wedding, and is exactly the kind of blurred line Anders and I have been dancing along.

“I’m sorry,” I say. Truly, I am. “But my period is the worst on the second day. I usually just take some medicine and sleep the entire time.”

He nods. “Okay, no worries, of course.” He moves toward the door. “I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

“Anders—”

“Sleep well,” he says, and I feel like the worst person on the planet.

Anders has repeatedly shown up for me, outside of the job, without question. I know that. But if I don’t draw a line now, neither of us ever will.

I don’t get more than an hour of sleep.

The next morning, Anders comes in with more medicine and water and asks if I’m feeling any better. I’m so emotional about abandoning him when he needs me that when I say “No,” he presses a kiss on my forehead and returns with some soup and crackers and Vicks, which he rubs into the heels of my feet.

I very nearly say,I’m feeling better, I’ll join for dinner. Even if he isn’t mentioning it—of course it’s not like him to say anything—I know this meeting will be hard. To have to sit around someone who is supposed to love you no matter what but you only see once a year. I know he’d like support. I want him to have it.

But I keep my mouth shut.

I don’t sleep the whole time he’s away, and at night, I shut my eyes, knowing he would peek into my room to see if I was okay. I hear his footsteps, feel his fingers as he brushes my hair from my face, then drops something weighted on my stomach.

When I hear the door click shut, I see he’s placed the heating pad back on my belly.

And I feel like the worst person in the world.

22.

I managed to get a couple of hours of sleep by the next morning. When I leave the room, I don’t hear a single sound. Anders isn’t in his room or anywhere else in the house. When I get to the kitchen, I read the tiny note he left for me.

Working at a coffee shop. Text me if you need anything.

I blow out a sigh of relief. For a little while, I can be completely by myself. Being around Anders is fun, easy, and that’s exactly why it’s better if he stays away for now. As soon as I think it’s best to keep some professional distance, he skips over the boundary—unbeknownst to him—and I risk it being erased before it’s already fully formed.