***
February—Six Months Before Accident
“Would you get out from in front of that mirror?” Lizzy calls from the front room of our rental. “You look freaking gorgeous, and Max is going to think so too.”
I blink at my reflection, as if moistening my eyes could make me see what Lizzy sees, but it’s still me standing here. Me. Chubby. Plain. Trying too hard.
I chose black pants and a black scoop-neck sweater for tonight. No frills to distract from the two features of my outfit I do feel confident about: my cleavage and my sexy red heels.
I grab the curling iron and add a couple of fresh ringlets to hair. Max likes my hair. I said something about cutting it off last week, and he looked horrified. “You have great hair. Why would you cut something so beautiful?”
The ringing of the doorbell pulls me away from the mirror, and by the time I reach the front room, Max is already here, a bunch of red roses in his hands.
Lizzy shakes her head. “I fucking hate this holiday.”
“I told you Sam wanted to take you out tonight,” Max tells her.
Liz snorts. “Sam wanted to fuck me tonight. Pardon me for holding out for something more romantic than a low-budget porno on Valentine’s Day.”
Max laughs. “He would have given you all the romance you could handle.”
“He asked if I was open to a threesome,” Lizzy growls.
I bite back a smile. The relationship between Liz and Sam is a bit of a love-hate situation, and he likes to razz her by asking her for sexual favors.
“You know he really likes you,” Max says. “He’s just doesn’t think you’d take him seriously.”
Liz shakes her head and turns to me with a mischievous smile. “I’m out of here. You two have a nice night.”
Then she leaves, and Max and I are left alone for the Valentine’s Day dinner I cooked for him. I liked the idea of being here and drinking too much wine. Maybe then I could get over myself enough to let him touch me. The high-school-caliber groping we have going on is nice, but I know Max is ready for more.
I take the flowers into the kitchen, where I’ve already set the small table for our dinner.
“It smells amazing in here,” he says. “What are we having?”
“Filet mignon with green beans and a fresh French baguette and then chocolate lava cake for dessert.” I fill a vase with water and arrange the roses in it before setting it on the table. When I turn around, Max is right there, his face inches from mine.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispers. He lowers his mouth to mine in a kiss so sweet my nerves fizzle away. And maybe it’s how good he smells or the fact that I already had a big glass of wine before he got here. Or maybe it’s because I’m standing and don’t feel as self-conscious about my body like this. But when his hands find the hem of my sweater and slide under, I don’t stop him.
He breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against mine, his eyes closed and lips parted a fraction of an inch as he cups my breast in his hand and grazes his thumb over my nipple. The contact makes my knees weak and I have to curl my hands into the thick muscle of his shoulders to keep myself upright.
“So we have the place to ourselves tonight?” he whispers.
Something thick lodges in my throat at his question and nerves flare back to life in my belly. “Yeah.”
“Do you want to have dinner first or can I give you your present?”
“I thought the flowers were my present.”
He grins and points to a gift bag sitting by the door. “I got you something else too.”
“You really didn’t have to.”
He retrieves the bag and watches me carefully as I open it.
“Oh.” It’s pretty much the last thing I’d want him to buy me.
“Do you like it?”
“I…” I force a smile but it hurts when I want to die of mortification. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” And it is. The silky gold material of the lingerie slip is rose-petal soft in my hands and beautiful against my skin.
“I know you’re not ready yet. I don’t want you to think I’m pushing you. But I saw it and I thought of you. You’d look gorgeous in it.”
“Thank you,” I repeat, dropping it back into the bag. I have to turn away from him. I can’t let him know how horrified I am by the idea of him seeing me in that slip. I don’t want him to see the parts of me that would be on display in it or to know how un-sexy a girl like me looks in lingerie.
I go back to the kitchen and busy myself with the steaks.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asks behind me. “Was that too much too soon or…?”
“No,” I assure him. “You’re wonderful. This is perfect.” But the awkward silence as I get our meals on the table speaks volumes to how not-perfect this night is shaping up to be.
“Want me to pour some wine?” he asks as I take our plates to the table.
My shoulders drop in relief. Wine is just the Band-Aid we need here. “That would be wonderful.”
He pours us each a full glass and we sit and stare awkwardly at our food. “I’m sorry about the lingerie. It’s probably too soon for that.”
Shit. I’ve ruined this. I keep reminding myself that I can’t have it both ways. I can’t be with Max in every way I want to and keep hiding my body from him. “I’m kind of…insecure,” I blurt.
Looking up from his plate, he softens. “I noticed.” He isn’t cruel about it. It isn’t an accusation—more of a sympathetic understanding.
“I saw the slip and instantly thought about how much I didn’t want you to see me in it.” God, that’s terrible to admit.
“Hanna…” He exhales heavily. “I don’t know what to say. I wouldn’t have bought it for you if I didn’t want to see you wear it.”
“I’m not like the girls you usually date.”
“Thank God.” He grins. “You’re you. And I happen to like that.” His phone buzzes and he pulls it from his pocket. “Sorry,” he says as he slides his finger over the screen and reads. “Crap.”
“What is it?”
“Meredith thinks she’s going into pre-term labor. She wants me to take her to the hospital.”
“Meredith? The one who bought sperm to get pregnant and let everyone think it was William Bailey’s baby?”
He taps something on his phone before sliding it back into his pocket. I wait for him to respond, but his mind is somewhere else already. “I’m sorry. She doesn’t have anyone else to take her.” He stands, and I’m so shocked I can only gape at him. “I’ll make it up to you, okay?”
I shake my head as if the motion can send my confusion away. What is happening? Is my boyfriend seriously going to spend Valentine’s Day with some pregnant bitch who tried to steal my best friend’s boyfriend?
By the time I can gather my wits to follow him to the door, he’s already in his coat and pulling open the door.
“It’s Valentine’s Day,” I whisper.
He drags a hand through his hair, tousling it in the way that makes him go from handsome to devilishly irresistible. “She doesn’t have anyone.”
“What about her friends? I happen to remember her having a lot of those back when she was letting everyone think William was some jerk who got her knocked up.”
His jaw hardens. “I know Cally’s your friend, but Meredith is mine. You’re going to have to deal with that.”
He pushes out the door and pulls it shut behind him, and I’m left alone with a romantic dinner complete with wine, roses, and lingerie. Alone while he runs to rescue the gorgeous blonde.