8. Clementine

Clementine

“Maybe I should’ve worn a skirt,” I mumbled, looking down at myself as James reached to push open the door to his parent’s home.

We had dinner with his family once a week for the last two years, and I felt as awkward now as I had the first time. They were… different .

“You look fine in your jeans, Clem,” James said as he glanced at me over his shoulder—his eyes slowly perusing my frame. “Better than fine.”

I smiled weakly at his compliment, but it did little to ease the knot in my stomach.

As we stepped into his parents’ opulent foyer, I was hit with the familiar feeling of being out of place. The chandelier overhead sparkled, casting dancing lights across the marble floor. Everything about this house screamed old money and refinement—two things I had never quite gotten used to.

“James, darling!” His mother’s voice rang out as she glided towards us, her silk dress rustling softly. She air-kissed both of James’ cheeks before turning to me with a practiced smile. “Clementine, how lovely to see you!”

I pulled at the long sleeves of my form fitting bodysuit.

“Thank you for having me, Mrs. Roker,” I replied, voice stiff even to my own ears.

“Oh please, I’ve told you to call me Margaret,” she said with a wave of her bejeweled hand. “You’ve been around for years and soon you’ll be a Roker yourself.”

Everything about his family was polite with a hint of judgement mixed in, but this was the family I’d chosen for myself and they weren’t so bad after a drink or two.

Leyland’s question lingered no matter how hard I tried to forget it, though.

Are you happy, Clementine?

I hadn’t answered him because the expression in his eyes said he knew the answer already. Why’d he even ask? Did he think we could share the happiness he explained we had in that other lifetime… in his dreams?

Shaking thoughts of the man I shouldn’t be thinking of away, I followed James into the family room where his father, Richard, sat with a glass of something dark in hand.

“Good evening, sir,” I greeted with a smile more genuine than the one I’d given his wife.

Richard wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t great either.

“Clementine, you’re looking well,” he said, his tone cordial but distant, as he stood to greet us.

“Thank you…” I took a seat closest to the window. “How have you been?”

James’ father back in his day was a renowned heart surgeon, his name etched into St. Mercy’s cardiology wing proved it.

“Can’t complain,” he replied, already turning his attention to James. “Son, I heard you’ve been in the operating room a lot lately. Anything interesting?”

I tried not to let my disappointment show as James launched into an enthusiastic explanation of his latest surgeries. This was how it always went—James and his father discussing work while Margaret fussed over drinks and hors d’oeuvres. I was left feeling like an outsider when James’ sister Jillian wasn’t around, struggling to find my place in their world.

Not having a family of my own tugged at my heart a little harder whenever we came here. My sister and I went into foster care when I was six and she was twelve; we were separated a year later and didn’t see one another until she’d aged out and searched for me.

But I didn’t get that time with her like I wanted because two years later she died in her sleep from a brain aneurysm—the same night she’d gone to St. Mercy’s ER with a blinding headache. If they’d put a little more effort into her care, she might still be here.

She might…

So, Clementine," Margaret started as she settled herself across from me. “How are the wedding plans coming along? Have you chosen a dress yet? You know I can help if it becomes too much. We have an abundance of contacts.”

I bit the inside of my cheek and reached for the glass of red she’d set on the little table beside me.

The truth was, I had given little thought to wedding plans lately. Between work and my confusing feelings about Leyland, the wedding had been pushed to the back of my mind.

“Oh, things are coming along,” I lied smoothly. “I’ve been looking at dresses online but haven’t had a chance to try any on yet. Work has been quite busy.”

Margaret’s perfectly manicured eyebrow arched slightly. “Well, don’t take too much time, dear. The best designers book up quickly. Perhaps we could set aside a day to go shopping together?”

The thought of spending an entire day dress shopping with Margaret filled me with dread. “That’s very kind of you to offer. I’ll check my schedule and let you know.”

James, seeming to sense my discomfort, chimed in. “Mom, give Clem some breathing room. We’ve got plenty of time before the wedding.”

One year, to be exact—not that much time in the grand scheme of things.

I shot him a grateful look, but Margaret wasn’t deterred.

“I just want everything to be perfect for you two,” she said, her tone softening slightly. “A Roker wedding is always an event to remember.”

A twinge of guilt filled me.

Here was my future mother-in-law, eager to help plan our wedding, and I couldn’t muster up any enthusiasm. What was wrong with me?

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of polite conversation and exquisite food that I barely tasted. As we said our goodbyes, Margaret pulled me into a stiff hug.

“Do think about that shopping trip, dear,” she whispered. “It would mean so much to me. Maybe Jillian can make it, too.”

I nodded, not committing but placating her instead.

“Of course, Margaret. I’ll let you know.”

As James and I drove home, a heavy silence hung between us. I stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past, feeling more disconnected from my life than ever before.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice cutting through my thoughts. “You were pretty quiet tonight. Is it the wedding planning? Don’t let my mom pressure you; we can go at whatever pace you prefer.”

I glanced at him, wondering why his first mind was always to push the wedding back or move slower.

“Are you having second thoughts?” I asked, hoping maybe I wasn’t the only one confused.

“Of course not. I just want you to be happy, Clem. If you need more time to plan, or if you want to push the date back, I’m okay with that.”

I nodded slowly, trying to ignore the disappointment that welled up inside me. Part of me had hoped he’d confess to feeling as unsure as I did. But James was always so certain, so steady. It was one of the things that had drawn me to him in the first place.

“You have been distant lately,” he added softly, taking my left hand in his. “I know you think I don’t notice, but I do.”

I stared at our intertwined fingers, willing myself to be honest with him for once.

“I… I’m sorry,” I said, brushing my thumb over his index finger. “I feel like a mess of emotions lately. These thoughts swirling around in my head won’t go away and it’s effecting us—the foundation we built.”

James was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. When he spoke, his voice was gentle but tinged with concern.

“What kind of thoughts, Clem? Is it work? Or... something else?”

I took a deep breath, knowing I needed to be honest, but unsure how to explain the turmoil in my mind.

“It’s... everything,” I admitted softly. “Work has been challenging lately, yes. But it’s more than that. I’ve been questioning things... about my life, about us.”

“Are you saying you’re having doubts about marrying me?”

“No... yes... I don’t know.”

He released my hand, and tears burned the corners of my eyes immediately.

Of course, he’d be upset, and I hated to be the reason for it.

“Have I done something specific? Something I can work on?”

James’ tone was even, but I heard the strain he wanted to hide and while it broke my heart, if we were going to do this, the tough conversations had to happen.

I waited until we were home to finish, thinking the place we’d shared would offer us both some comfort. But the tension was blinding as he backed me into the front door, his dark eyes searching mine for the whole truth.

“Tell me exactly what you’re feeling, Clem,” he murmured, forehead touching mine. “I can handle it and you.”

My heart staggered a little; it was the first time in a while he’d made me feel something akin to lust.

“Do you…” I nudged his head back, needing a little space to breathe. “Do you love me, James? I-I know we have mutual respect for one another and share the same goals career wise, but when you look at me, do you feel any affection at all?”

He took a step back, his brow furrowed as he processed my question. The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.

“Of course I love you, Clementine,” he finally said, but his tone was more confused than passionate. “We’ve built a life together. We share the same goals, the same values. Isn’t that what love is?”

His words should have reassured me, but instead, they made my heart sink. I realized I was hoping for something more—a declaration of undying affection, a passionate embrace, anything to prove that what we had was more than just a comfortable arrangement.

“Is it?” I whispered, more to myself than to him. “Is that all love is supposed to be?”

James sighed, a rare sign of frustration.

“What more do you want, Clem? We have a good life together. We’re both successful in our careers, we support each other and get along well. Isn’t that enough? Wasn’t it enough when I gave you that ring and you accepted it?”

His words hit me like a physical blow. Isn’t that enough? The question echoed in my mind, bringing with it a wave of sadness and longing for something I couldn’t quite name.

“I don’t know,” I acknowledged, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes for the second time tonight. “I thought it was, for a long time. But lately, I’ve been feeling like something’s missing. Like there should be more.”

His expression softened as he reached out and gently touched my cheek.

“What’s missing?”

He stepped closer, his head tipped.

“Passion. Sex…” I rested my head against the door, my gaze fixated on the ceiling. “We haven’t had sex in months. You barely kiss me. We—”

James cut me off, his lips suddenly on mine. The kiss was forceful, almost desperate, as if he was trying to prove a point. I found myself responding, remembering the familiar rhythm we once had. But as his hands roamed my body, I felt... nothing. No spark, no flutter in my stomach, just a hollow emptiness.

I gently pushed him away, my breath coming in short gasps. “James, stop.”

He stepped back, his eyes searching mine.

“I thought this was what you wanted. Passion, intimacy.”

I shook my head, feeling tears start to fall. “Not like this. Not because I guilted you into it or because you’re trying to prove something. I want it to be natural, to come from a place of genuine desire and love.”

“Clementine, we’re not teenagers. Relationships evolve. The passion fades, but what remains is deeper. Companionship, trust, and mutual respect.”

“You’re right…” I nodded and pushed off the door, wiping my stupid tears away. “I’m sorry for putting that on you. Work has been stressful, and it’s weighing on me. I’ll be fine after a bath…” I walked past him. “Don’t wait up for me.”

He didn’t get it and probably never would, so what was the point of opening up?

What was the point in any of this?