“He may not beat you, but it doesn’t always require fists to hurt someone.”
Ashton let the comment hang in the air and took a bite of his chicken. We ate in silence, the cold atmosphere creeping through the room a sharp contrast to our earlier light conversation, and all the while I sat and contemplated what he’d said. A voice in the back of my head, one I hadn’t heard in a long time, started screaming at me that Ashton was right. What Dominic had done, and continued to do to me had nothing to do with love. It was twisted and wrong.
The voice had grown quiet over the years. When we were first married, I wanted to please my new husband, so it was easy to push those thoughts aside; convince myself that I was fulfilling my role. I had to be a good wife, and I couldn’t do that if I let that voice cloud my judgment. But now the voice was back, and with Ashton compounding the very sentiments I’d worked so hard to evade, it was getting harder and harder to ignore.
“Elena?”
I looked up. Ashton was finished, but all I’d managed to do was push the food around my plate. He set his wine glass down and leaned back in his chair.
“Want to talk about it?”
It felt wrong, like speaking to Ashton would be betraying Dominic, so I continued to pick at my food, this time forcing myself to eat some of the meal. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Ashton waiting. Something told me he wouldn’t let it go. Could it really be considered a betrayal when Dominic put me in this situation in the first place?
“Why don’t you take a drink and finish eating. Then we’ll talk.”
It may have sounded like a suggestion, but the way in which Ashton delivered this proposal told me he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. I lifted the glass to my lips and paused. “Since I met you, it seems like you’re always trying to get me to drink.”
Ashton’s eyes widened. “Did you just say something snarky?”
Where did that come from? “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” My hands began to shake so badly I almost dropped the glass.
Ashton rounded the table quickly to take it from me, setting it on the table before saying softly, “Elena, relax. I like it. It’s what you should be doing all the time. It’s called standing up for yourself.”
I stared at the glass, not wanting to meet his eyes. “That’s not how I should behave.”
“This shit again.” He handed me back the glass with a frown. “Drink up.”
To avoid spilling the drink, I slowly brought it to my lips, taking my first sip of the tart red wine, feeling myself start to settle as my stomach warmed from the alcohol. I couldn’t even blame my brazenness on the wine. The thought that I could have ruined everything with one comment had left me feeling panicked—up until Ashton had reassured me. Not being used to speaking my mind, I was shocked that he liked it.
Ashton didn’t try to engage me in conversation and his silence unnerved me, making it harder to get my food down, even though each bite was more delicious than the last. I should be used to silence at the dinner table, except Ashton hadn’t been silent from the moment I met him. When he finally spoke up, I almost sighed in relief.
“Tell me, how did you and Dominic meet?”
“We were high school sweethearts. He was the captain of the football team.”
“What did you do?”
“Me? I was in the choir and band.” I remember thinking how lucky I was that a guy as popular as Dominic wanted to go out with me. He was the captain. He could have had anyone.
Ashton leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “When did you get married?”
“After we both finished college—”
“Wait. You have a college degree?” he said, and the surprise in his voice hurt my feelings a little.
“I do. I majored in musical theater.”
He shook his head. “Then what the hell are you doing working in a diner?”
I shrugged. “Dominic thought it would be a waste of time for me to go to auditions when I could have a full time job with a steady income.”
“Fucker wouldn’t even let you follow your dream.”
His voice was low enough that I knew I wasn’t supposed to have heard what he said. But I did and I sank back in my seat, wanting to defend my husband, but not wishing to upset Ashton any further. “He was right. We needed the money.”
He looked over at me, sighed and reached across the table, taking one of my hands and giving it a gentle squeeze, his thumb running lightly back and forth over my knuckles. “Not at the expense of your dream. I know for a fact he’s been gambling a long time. My guess—he wanted you to have a job to help pay for his extracurricular activities.”
I shook my head emphatically. “He wouldn’t do that to me.”
“Yes he would, Elena, and he did. Don’t kid yourself.”
That hurt worse than I thought it would. The idea that Dominic would make me give up my dream so he could gamble. My stomach was in knots. “I don’t know what to say. We’re married. I wanted to do the best I could for him, especially since we didn’t plan on getting to that point so young.”
He tilted his head to the side. “What do you mean?”
I flinched. “Our wedding wasn’t exactly intentional.”
Ashton released my hand and leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his hands clasped and resting against his mouth.
“Explain.”
I took a deep breath and began . . .
My head feels as if there’s a jacking hammer drilling into my brain. Maybe the surprise trip to Vegas for my graduation wasn’t such a good idea. Opening my eyes slowly, afraid of the light on the other side, I see Dominic, sleeping peacefully next to me. Our clothes from last night are scattered all over the room, including the three dresses I put on when deciding what to wear. Dominic had said he didn’t like any of them and kept asking me to change. One of them was too tight, he said. It made my butt look big. The other two were too revealing; the first showed too much leg, although it was halfway down my thighs; the second too much cleavage, when only last week I wore it to brunch with Mom.
Shaking my head, I smile to myself. Since we’re in Vegas, I can always shop for new clothes. I’ll take Dominic shopping—make sure he likes the stuff before I buy it. Running my hands over my face, I know a shower and food will help to clear the fog. Carefully climbing out of bed, I make my way to the bathroom quietly because Dominic doesn’t like being woken up in the morning. He’ll be nasty for the rest of the day if I disturb him so it’s easier to just be quiet until he gets up so we can go to breakfast.
I turn on the water for the shower. Waiting for it to heat, I reach for my toothbrush and almost scream out loud. There, on the third finger of my left hand, sits a solid gold band.
A wedding band.
Running from the bathroom, I pull back the bed sheet to look at Dominic’s hand, finding a matching band resting just below his knuckle.
Oh God. What happened last night?
With determination, I search through our clothes and bags, looking for something to explain what’s going on. There in the pocket of Dominic’s pants is a receipt from the Chapel O’ Love for his and hers wedding bands, and one ceremony. Stapled to the receipt is a piece of flimsy paper: the official Nevada marriage license.
Holy hell. We got married.
We’re married.
It’s what I’ve been hoping for—even if it’s happened a little earlier than I expected.
For one brief second I think about waking Dominic up, but he probably won’t be happy. It’s probably better to let him sleep before I tell him.
I get into the shower and once out and dressed, I go back into the main room. Dominic is sitting in one of the tub chairs, the license clutched in his hand, the vein in his temple pulsing wildly.