31. Elise

31

ELISE

The bell above the door chimes as I walk into the air-conditioned sugary paradise. Candy welcomes me, and I need it.

Falling in love is the worst. It’s total agony, and as far as I can tell, sugar and wine are the only potential antidotes.

It’s too early today to hit the bottle. Ergo, I’m here, three miserable days after the realization that I’m stupid for Christian.

Veronica finishes with a customer, and when the gray-haired lady leaves with her bag of red sugar lips, my friend calls me over. She flinches as she studies my face. “Uh-oh.”

“ Uh-oh what?”

She dips her hand into the candy case and grabs a gummy bear. “I can tell by the furrow in your brow that you need this desperately.”

“Wouldn’t a furrow in the brow suggest I need Botox instead?”

She shakes her head, her ponytail whipping side to side. “These are infused with champagne.”

“By all means, then, give me a bottle’s worth of gummy bears.” I take the squishy candy and pop it into my mouth. A tiny burst of bubbly spills on my tongue.

“Tell me. What brings you to my office? Want to lie down, put up your feet, and tell me all your woes as I feed you candy?”

“Yes, Dr. Candy Freud. That sounds like exactly what I need.” I stare at her from across the display. “Also, is it obvious I’m out of sorts?”

She makes a square near my forehead with her hands. “Like a big neon sign that says ‘forlorn . ’”

I sigh, wishing that it were easier to fall in love. I wish too that I could serve up the truth without feeling like I’m a traitor to myself. But since the night at the club, since the soccer game, since later that same night at my house, I am guilty of treason.

My heart skipped out sometime after midnight and ran away from me, flinging itself at Christian. Now here I am, popping champagne gummy bears into my mouth.

I don’t even like gummy bears. I like cinnamon sticks and clarity. I like walls and safety.

And I like Christian. More than all those other things. I like him more than buying gifts. My shoulders sag. “I might, possibly, just a little bit, have fallen for the man I married,” I say in a low confession, waiting for the reprimand.

Veronica squeals and punches the air, up, down, over and over, like it’s a new workout routine.

I scoff. “Why are you excited? It’s awful. My chest aches. I feel like I have a stomach bug all the time. And my brain is operating at hazy levels, like the weather report inside my head says smog for miles .”

She smiles wickedly. “Because I was right. Being right is such a wonderful moment that it must be celebrated.”

“Fine, you were right. I’m not a cinnamon stick,” I grumble.

She points at me, so pleased with herself, as she speaks in a sing-song voice. “You’re a lemon gumdrop, Elise.”

I shove another champagne bear in my mouth. “I’m going to turn into a drunk gummy bear.”

She rubs her hands together. “What are you going to do?”

“Keep faking it?” I offer.

“Why?”

“Because that’s what this is. Now I have to fake things in a whole new way. I have to pretend I don’t want to throw myself at him and wrap my arms around him every time I see him. I have to act like I don’t want to smother him in kisses and tell him he’s the one.” I cringe at the words tumbling from my lips. “What’s wrong with me? Falling in love is awful. It turns your brain to mush.”

She grabs a large silver bowl and stirs the sugar mix in it with a wooden spoon. “Or you could say, ‘I want to make hot Viking babies with you.’”

“You know he’s only half Viking, right?”

She waves her free hand dismissively. “The babies would be one quarter Viking, one quarter Brit, one quarter French, one quarter American, and one hundred percent awesome.” She squeals as she stirs. “And you’d be so cute pregnant. An adorable little creature waddling around in your cute glasses and hot skirts.”

I shoot her an admonishing stare. “You’re not helping.”

“Oh, sorry. Did you want me to say ‘I told you so’ again? Would that help?” She adopts a too-perfect smile.

“No.”

Setting down the spoon, she gives me a stern stare, but softens her voice. “Then what do you need? Elise, you married him. You were and are attracted to him. You learned he’s brilliant and wonderful, and you have feelings for him. Do you think he reciprocates?”

An image of Christian over me, his crystal-blue eyes gazing into mine, blasts before me. An involuntary fleet of tingles spreads down my body. Then, as I think about how he talks to me, how he treats me, my heart turns warm, like it’s radiating in my chest. “Just because he makes me feel all soft inside, and just because he likes to spend time with me, doesn’t mean there’s anything deeper.”

“Or does it? Maybe it means you can date your husband.”

I furrow my brow. “Date my husband?”

“Yes. Date him. Keep going. Screw the expiration date. Just keep on keeping on with him even when the deal expires.”

I suppose that’s a possibility. We could always finish the job, so to speak, but keep working overtime. Of course, that assumes he wants to, and I’ve no idea if he does.

My phone rings, and I grab it from my purse. Nate called earlier, asking me to move my flight up to tomorrow, so I did. Maybe it’s him again. But I don’t recognize the number. In case it’s a prospective new client, I answer quickly. “Hello, this is Elise.”

“Elise, this is Diana. I’m in town, and I have something that I believe is yours.”

The other wife’s voice shoots me to another time, as my past shoves itself into my present.