Page 103 of Unexpected Shot
“You’re right,” he says. “I always thought that one day it would just happen, but I also didn’t do anything to make it so. I’m focused on my career. The channel. I never met anyone who fit into that life, but I also didn’t want it enough to make it a priority.”
I glance away from the beautiful bay window, that is bumping this room up on the list, to look at Beau. I never thought of him as someone who wanted a family. He was…Beau. The cocky golfer who does celebration dances when he makes more than a fifteen-foot putt. The guy who does body shots in videos before hitting some ridiculous shot from a honky tonk rooftop bar. The cheater. That’s who he was in my mind.
But seeing him now. The moonlight shining in from the bay window highlighting him in the doorway of the bedroom… It’s making me think there might be more to him than I’ve let myself believe all these years.
“What about you?” he asks, clearly trying to get the spotlight off of him.
“What about me?”
“Family. Did you ever want one?”
I just shrug, hating that this conversation has turned into a tit for tat. “Not really. You can’t want something you never really had.”
I try and walk out of the room, but Beau’s hand catches mywrist, stopping me from exiting. “You had a family. Your dad was always there, even when he couldn’t be. And you know you’ve always been the third Devereaux child in my parents’ eyes.”
This would probably be the time to make a crack about now being their daughter-in-law, but it feels too soon.
“I know,” I say as I push back a threatening tear. “It’s just…I never really saw myself as a wife or a mom, you know?”
I don’t need to elaborate for Beau to nod in understanding. “Decide what room you want?”
“The first,” I say, grateful to him for changing the subject. “Can’t turn away from that bathtub.”
“I thought you might say that.”
He lets go of me and moves his hand to the small of my back, escorting me back down the hall as if I can’t find my new room on my own. “Towels are in the linen closet. Make yourself at home. Whatever we need to get from your house tomorrow that I don’t have, just let me know.”
“Thanks,” I say as a yawn overtakes me. How is this still Sunday? I swear I’ve lived five weeks just today. “Oh…shit.”
Beau gives me a concerned look. “Everything okay?”
“No…I mean…I just forgot to grab something to wear to bed and the thought of walking back to my house right now is an absolute hell no.”
“I get it,” Beau says. “Let me go get you something.”
I’m too tired to argue with him, and instead I just fall onto the bed, hoping that it’s as comfortable as it looks.
It is. Oh my God it is.
This has to be, without a doubt, the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept on. It’s like a firm cloud. How is that possible? And I haven’t even touched the sheets yet.
I don’t know how long Beau’s been gone, or how long my eyes have just been resting, but I’m gently jostled awake by the sound of Beau’s footsteps coming closer to me. I want to open my eyes to say thank you for whatever hegrabbed, but I can’t. It’s like the exhaustion and the insanity of the day have bolted them shut.
“There we go,” Beau says as I feel him adjusting me so I’m under the covers. “Sweet dreams, Belle.”
Those are the last words I hear from Beau as I drift off, hoping that when I wake up tomorrow, this will have all just been a bad dream.
“Beau! Get in here…now!”
I’ve embodied the phraseI’m an independent woman who don’t need no man. I’ve changed light bulbs and killed spiders my entire life. Hang a picture? Done. I don’t even need a level.
But why…my god, why…can I not figure out this convoluted fucking shower?
Maybe I should’ve picked the room with the bay window…
No. I made the right choice. Last night’s sleep was the best I’ve gotten in ages. Though that probably had a lot to do with the fact that I was beyond exhausted. But that mattress? One hundred out of ten. Definitely fucking recommend. When this fake marriage is done, I’m going to ask for that mattress in the divorce.
What I won’t be asking for? This fucking shower. Because how in the fucking fuck of fuckery do you turn it on?
