Am I being childish? Hiding from my responsibilities? I mean, yes. But the more time I have to think about everything that brought me here, about how a real family behaves when something bad happens… the more I wonder how the hell I got to where I am.
How did I agree to marry Sterling in the first place?
And how dare my father ask me that?
It would be good for business, you know? They would make a nice couple. Sometimes marriages are more of a business transaction than a love match when traveling in the circles we do. And that’s nothing to be ashamed of, Sloane.
Nothing to be ashamed of. At the time it had a cold, calculating feel to it, and it seemed like an effortless way out of a bleak and uninspiring dating scene. No one was ever on my level. Everyone was fine. Good. Passable. And he had begun to think that he was too demanding.
The dating world had become my real-life version of one of those Wish. com memes. I asked for Jasper Gervais and the universe sent me cheap imitations of laughter.
So hearing that an arranged marriage wasn’t shameful gave me some sense of… relief. As if I could at least help my family if I wasn’t interested in continuing to wander around with online dating or dance partners.
It wasn’t until I saw that video of another woman bouncing on my fiance’s lap that I felt embarrassed. And no shame because he was cheating on me. Shame because I didn’t feel anything at all. Just a twisted feeling of fun. Like I knew this was going to happen and I couldn’t even feel the emotion of worrying about it.
And that was embarrassing. This was not how I imagined my life. That wasn’t what I deserved.
Sure, there was a time when I imagined my life with Jasper, but the further we went in our lives, the more I packed up that dream and relegated it to the back of my mind.
That would never happen.
Imagining something was happening between us was like kissing with a pillow and pretending I was Justin Timberlake. He was famous, incredibly handsome and led a completely different life.
But Justin Timberlake isn’t the one holding my hand right now.
I absentmindedly squeeze Jasper’s hand, the sound of his dress shoes hitting the pavement echoing through the parking lot.
He squeezes me back.
I look at my friend and notice how his normally golden skin has paled and turned grayish. This week he has not been himself. He has withdrawn and become a shell of the man I know.
I hear his keys jingling in the opposite pocket and see the lights of his Volvo flash in front of us. A dry sob shakes in his chest and my chin lifts to look at him closely.
“What’s wrong, Jas?” “I squeeze his hand three times in a row, but this time he doesn’t return it.
He stops dead and closes his eyelids. His nostrils narrow as he desperately sucks air through them. Then he takes his hand away from mine. With so much violence that it startles me. With long strides, he walks past me toward a thick column and empties his stomach on the pavement.
I’m depraved enough to let my eyes focus on his ass as he bends over, his muscular curve pressed against his expensive pants.
It’s like he’s trying to give me things to be ashamed of.
He stands, panting, with his strong fingers gripping his spine, as air rushes in and out of his diaphragm.
I want to ask him if he’s okay, but it’s a stupid question right now. It’s clearly not right. Thinking the best thing I can do is be useful, I open the tailgate of his SUV and dive into a hockey bag, hunting for a water bottle or a washcloth or a towel, or literally anything to clean him off.
A plastic Gatorade bottle with a cap is the best I can find, along with a towel that smells like death.
“Jesus Christ,” I murmur, taking them and closing the bag quickly because everything stinks.
“I’m sorry,” I hear behind me.
-Because? I pour water on the towel and walk towards him.
-For making me sick.
My hand rests between his shoulder blades, sliding over the silky fabric of his suit jacket.
-Needless. I give him the towel and he lets his face fall into it. It’s your hockey bag you should be sorry for. That towel smells like moldy cheese and not the good kind.
A silent giggle shakes his body. Or at least I think it’s a laugh. It’s hard to tell without being able to see his face.
“Give me the keys, Jasper.” I’ll take us.
“No way,” he says while rubbing the towel over his face.
“Listen, I know you don’t like it when other people drive. But I promise you I’ll be fine.
He shakes his head, looking at me over one broad shoulder.
-No.
I roll my eyes and sigh dramatically as I continue to rub slow circles on his back.
Control freak.
He stiffens a little before nodding.
-Yeah.
“At least you recognize him.”
He looks at me again as he throws the towel into a nearby trash can, but this time he has a look he didn’t have before.
“Yes,” is his weak response.
Then he takes me by the hand and walks me to the passenger side, where he opens the door and leads me to the seat, avoiding looking me in the eyes. I don’t know if it’s the result of the game, the fact that he just vomited in front of me, or the fact that I called him a control freak, but there’s a new tension in the air.
Shame hits me again.
Jasper is having one of the worst weeks of his life, and I’m psychoanalyzing whether he’s mad at me as he takes my hand and opens the car door for me.
I shake my head at my selfishness as the door slams shut and he climbs in next to me.
-Ranch? -he asks me as he slides his long arm across the back of my seat.
We’ve gone out in the car together a million times, but now his closeness feels heavy and unfamiliar.
-Yeah. I sigh and sink back into the plush leather seat. Ranch.
We do the same route that we have done several times last week. No music playing. All I hear is the white noise of air rushing through the vents as I shift my gaze between the darkened window and Jasper’s carefully expressionless face.
“Do you know the saying ‘there are no stupid questions’?”
His eyes lock on me and he nods once firmly.
“Would it still be true if I asked you if you were okay?”
His cheek twitches and I watch his hands twist on the steering wheel.
“Sunny, I’m so far from okay it’s not even funny.
My heart twists in my chest and my tongue runs over my bottom lip as I continue to look at him, racking my brain for what to say next.
“Nothing you say is stupid, though,” he adds quickly.
I smile broadly and look over the dashboard. For Jasper Gervais to say something like that when I’ve spent the last five months engaged to someone who constantly made me feel like the things I had to say were stupid.