Don’t Mind If “I Do” by Everly Ashton

Twenty-Seven

Mazzy

I don’t know what to say as the word regret hangs between us like a lingering fog.

I might not know what to say, but I know exactly what he means because I feel the same. So many “if onlys” ran through my head during our time apart. But there’s no sense dwelling on them because what’s done is done.

“I know what you mean.” I put the lid on the brownie container and put it back into the bag with the other two containers.

It was sweet of Nick to lie to me about my cooking to spare my feelings. I’m surprised he bothered though, and I’m starting to wonder if maybe he’s warming to me. We can never go back to how we were but having him not hate my guts is progress.

I hook the bag on the back of my chair. “Anyway, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

“Ah, the real reason you did this.” His smirk says he’s kidding, so I don’t bother disputing his claim.

“I have an event next Friday night in the city. Will you join me?”

While I know Nick would likely rather be anywhere than at an event with a bunch of people who used to be in his circle, I also know that he knows how much it will help his cause to be photographed with me as my new husband.

Selfishly, I don’t want to go alone. I’ve already endured the “where’s her husband” whispers with my first marriage, and I don’t plan on reliving that.

“What’s the event for?” he asks with zero enthusiasm.

“It’s a fundraiser for diabetes.”

“Black tie?”

I nod. “Of course.”

He sighs. “Sure, yeah. I’m not on shift. No promises I won’t get drunk to get through the night though.”

I chuckle. “Deal.”

“All right, well, I have to get back to the ER. Thanks again for bringing this over.”

I cringe. “Sorry it didn’t taste better. I guess cooking looks like more fun on TV than it is in real life.”

He laughs. That sound probably shouldn’t make me smile so hard, but it does nonetheless. There was a time I didn’t think I’d ever hear that sound pointed at me again. We both stand, and I grab my purse and the tote bag off the back of the chair.

“Oh, heads up. Jemma’s going to call you about wine night with her friends. I texted your number to Ollie to pass on to her.”

“Oh, okay.” My eyes widen. “I’m surprised. I know she said that at our wedding, but I figured she was just being polite.”

He shakes his head. “Nah, Jemma is good people. You should go. You’ll probably have fun. Certainly more fun than we’re going to have next Friday.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

We reach the elevator, and he hits the button.

“Since I’ve agreed to go with you to your event… think you’d want to come with me Saturday morning to a homeless shelter? I volunteer there once a month. I know Fiona—she runs the shelter and she’s one of Jemma’s friends I’m sure you’ll meet at wine night—is always looking for an extra hand.”

“Seems like a fair trade. It’s a deal.” I put my hand out to shake on it.

He takes my hand and looks me right in the eye. Sometimes I forget how blue and honest his eyes can be. Like the deepest parts of the Mediterranean Sea. We shake, and he holds my hand for a second or two longer than necessary. But then the elevator dings and the doors open and the conversation from the people inside disrupts whatever we were sharing.

A couple people get off the elevator, so we wait a few seconds before we get on. A handful of other people are there with us, but it’s only Nick’s presence I’m keenly aware of. Energy pulses between the two of us and I can’t help but wonder… does he feel it too?

* * *

The next weekpasses without much change. Nick works his shifts at the hospital, we go to the gym together when we can, and we eat together for dinner—though I leave the cooking to him or we order in.

We’ve been getting along okay. He’s not overly friendly, but he’s respectful. Honestly, even that’s an improvement, so I’ll take it if this is how it will be for the next six months.

The weekend of the diabetes fundraiser arrives, and I’m getting ready in my room on Friday evening. While I was in the city meeting Sally at Pembrooke Financial earlier in the week, I popped into my condo to grab a dress for tonight.

I opted for a floor-length crystal-beaded gown that looks strapless but actually has sheer fabric that goes up over my shoulders. It dips down in the front, showing just enough cleavage to be both classy and sexy. For my hair, I opted to wear it down and pulled to one side in big waves.

After examining myself in the mirror one last time, I leave the guest room to meet Nick downstairs. I heard him head downstairs about fifteen minutes ago.

Darius is taking us to the event, so I’m not surprised to find Nick sipping a glass of what I’m assuming is Scotch. He did warn me he might have to drink to get through this evening.

I plan on staying sober. First, because one of us has to have our wits about us, and second, because tomorrow night I’m going out with Jemma and her friends and I’m assuming I might drink too much. The problem with getting older is you have to pick your night to drink.

“Ready to go?” I ask.

He looks up from where he was studying the inside of his glass and does a double-take. “Wow.”

“Wow good or wow I can’t believe you’re wearing that?”

“Wow it’s a good thing we’re already married or there’s a good chance I’d get in a fight tonight protecting your honor.”

Although he doesn’t really mean the words, a warm feeling blooms from my heart and spreads through my chest. “Thank you. You look very handsome.”

His traditional black tux and slicked-back hair gives him an air of timeless elegance and power.

“Shall we?” He motions toward the door.

After Nick locks up, we make our way to the oversized black SUV. Darius stands at the end of the hood with his arms crossed. I give him a small wave as I walk down the path toward the driveway.

“Miss Mazzy, how you doin’? Missed you, girly.” He bends down for a hug, which I return.

“Hey, how have you been? How’s your niece?” I ask when I back away.

“Growin’ like a weed.”

“Well, that’s always a good sign.”

Darius’s attention flicks over my shoulder and his smile drops when he spots Nick.

“Darius, this is my… husband, Nick Ryan. Nick, this is Darius. He’s driven for me for a while now.”

Nick puts out his hand. Darius takes his offering, but Nick cringes a little. I suspect Darius’s grip is a little too hard, and I stifle a laugh.

“Still can’t believe you’re married. Especially since you weren’t dating anyone as far as I can tell.” He drops Nick’s hand, and Nick gives it a shake.

“It was sudden, yes.” That’s all I tell him.

“I’m smart enough to know that something’s going on here, but that’s not my business. What is my business is if you hurt her. You understand me?” He raises an eyebrow at Nick, who doesn’t look as though he feels threatened.

“I got you, big guy. Don’t worry, I’m not the one who breaks hearts out of this pair.” Nick motions between us as I walk back to get in the car.

I frown, wondering when the past will stop haunting me.

We’re all pretty quiet on our way into the city. It’s Friday evening, so the roads are busy, but we’re heading in the opposite direction of most people until we get into the downtown core. We arrive at the hotel the event is being held at, and as Nick gets out of the car, I tell Darius I’ll text him when we need a lift home.

“So that’s home now?” he asks me. It’s obvious he doesn’t believe a word of my story, and I’m not surprised.

I give him a meaningful look. “It is for now.”

“You sure about whatever you’re doing here?” he whispers.

I look at him and I suspect he sees the truth. That I’m not sure about anything anymore. That saving everyone at Pembrooke’s jobs might just cost me my own heart.

The more time I spend with Nick, the more I long for the two of us to be in a space like when we were younger. Where friendship, loyalty, and love were the bedrock we stood on. But all the apologies in the world might never get us there.

“I’m sure.” I wink to play off Darius’s concern and turn to find Nick waiting for me with his arm extended.

“Shall we head inside, love?” Nick says in a syrupy-sweet voice.

“Absolutely, schnookums.”

He rolls his eyes while I hook my arm through his. The doorman holds the hotel door open for us, and we make our way to the ballroom.

It’s all so familiar. Back after I’d finished college and before our falling out, Nick was often my date to these events. Sure, I dated other guys, but I was always holding out for Nick and those other guys knew it. I had more than one breakup that resulted from jealousy over mine and Nick’s friendship.

“You ready for this?” I ask, knowing the dread he’s probably feeling.

Nick didn’t like these kinds of events back in the day, never mind when he’s been away from the scene for years. Now he’s entering knowing he won’t just be a topic of conversation, he’ll be the center of attention.

I pull my arm from his.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Without saying a word, I take his hand and interlace our fingers. He doesn’t say anything either, but he does squeeze my hand.

Being with him tonight makes those what-if questions arise again. What would have been if that awful night so long ago hadn’t happened? Would this have been our thousandth one of these as husband and wife, or would it all have turned out exactly how it did anyway?