feeder on the other. Finally, Michael reached across the table to cup my fingers in his palm. Warmth zinged from my hand to my heart.
“I meant what I said the other night. I made a huge mistake, Francesca, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am. If you really can’t forgive me, I’ll have to find a way to live with that. But I really hope you’ll reconsider. I know I was wrong. Give me a chance to prove we can make it work. You were this close…” He pinched his thumb and forefinger a hair apart. “…to being my wife. Can you honestly say you now feel that same way about Josh Candolero?”
“Of course not,” I snapped before I thought better of it. There went any hope he’d assume Josh and I were heart-deep in a romantic relationship. Lying had never been my forte. I’d have to lay all my cards on the table. “We’ve only gone on a couple of dates.”
His audible sigh of relief pierced the air between us. “That’s good.”
I arched a brow. “Really? Why?”
“Because it means you’re not serious about him.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. “And that’s your business because…?”
“Because I still love you, and I want us to get back together. I thought I’d made that plain.”
I folded my arms over my chest, determined to remain impenetrable to Michael’s soft words and buttery routine. “What if I don’t want that?”
“Don’t be silly, Francesca,” my mother interrupted, returning to the room. “Of course you do.”
I swerved my attention to the doorway where Mom loitered, a Cheshire cat smile quirking her frosted pink lips. “What happened to the Bundt cake?”
She didn’t even have the good taste to squirm. Waving a hand, Mom regained her seat across from Michael and me. “The last thing you need is extra carbs, especially since you’ll soon be trying to fit into your wedding dress again.”
Slamming my fist on the table, I shot to my feet. “That’s it. I’m done.”
I probably left skid marks in Mom’s driveway when I peeled out less than a minute later.
Chapter 8
Emily
I want a divorce. The words echoed in my head all night. Why? Why had I even dreamed I’d say such a thing? Did I seriously feel that way? Lying in my darkened bedroom, I fought to sleep, but my mind had other plans. Pros and cons stacked up in a mental list.
Pro: He supported me emotionally and backed me up when it came to discipline for the kids. Con: He hadn’t done much of either lately. Pro: I loved him. Con: Didn’t I? Punching my pillow, I rolled to my side and forced my brain to shut down. Eventually, exhaustion won out, but my sleep was restless, at best.
By mid-morning on Sunday, my family had managed to solve their crises without me. Melissa spent the night at Angela’s house so she’d have plenty of hot water for a shower (and the opportunity to dress up for Justin without undergoing my parental scrutiny before she walked out of the house). The idea didn’t thrill me, but having gone to bed while the plans were made, I didn’t get a vote. One of Corey’s friends had gained permission from his parents, who’d planned to watch the scrimmage anyway, to take my son back to their house after the football practice, and allow him to also indulge in a hot shower. Even Roy managed to take the initiative and, using the excuse that we had children under the age of five in the house, persuaded Oxford Fuel Oil to make an emergency Sunday delivery. Okay, we only had one child under the age of five in the house, but they didn’t know that. I didn’t want to think about the surcharge they’d probably tacked on to our bill, so I made a conscious effort to focus on the positive.
Imagine that: my family showing resourcefulness. Without me. I should go to bed early more often. They might actually learn to survive on their own.
Monday’s morning routine went off without a hitch, and once the older kids had gone to school, I took Luke to the library. I dropped off the weekend’s movie
“I meant what I said the other night. I made a huge mistake, Francesca, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am. If you really can’t forgive me, I’ll have to find a way to live with that. But I really hope you’ll reconsider. I know I was wrong. Give me a chance to prove we can make it work. You were this close…” He pinched his thumb and forefinger a hair apart. “…to being my wife. Can you honestly say you now feel that same way about Josh Candolero?”
“Of course not,” I snapped before I thought better of it. There went any hope he’d assume Josh and I were heart-deep in a romantic relationship. Lying had never been my forte. I’d have to lay all my cards on the table. “We’ve only gone on a couple of dates.”
His audible sigh of relief pierced the air between us. “That’s good.”
I arched a brow. “Really? Why?”
“Because it means you’re not serious about him.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. “And that’s your business because…?”
“Because I still love you, and I want us to get back together. I thought I’d made that plain.”
I folded my arms over my chest, determined to remain impenetrable to Michael’s soft words and buttery routine. “What if I don’t want that?”
“Don’t be silly, Francesca,” my mother interrupted, returning to the room. “Of course you do.”
I swerved my attention to the doorway where Mom loitered, a Cheshire cat smile quirking her frosted pink lips. “What happened to the Bundt cake?”
She didn’t even have the good taste to squirm. Waving a hand, Mom regained her seat across from Michael and me. “The last thing you need is extra carbs, especially since you’ll soon be trying to fit into your wedding dress again.”
Slamming my fist on the table, I shot to my feet. “That’s it. I’m done.”
I probably left skid marks in Mom’s driveway when I peeled out less than a minute later.
Chapter 8
Emily
I want a divorce. The words echoed in my head all night. Why? Why had I even dreamed I’d say such a thing? Did I seriously feel that way? Lying in my darkened bedroom, I fought to sleep, but my mind had other plans. Pros and cons stacked up in a mental list.
Pro: He supported me emotionally and backed me up when it came to discipline for the kids. Con: He hadn’t done much of either lately. Pro: I loved him. Con: Didn’t I? Punching my pillow, I rolled to my side and forced my brain to shut down. Eventually, exhaustion won out, but my sleep was restless, at best.
By mid-morning on Sunday, my family had managed to solve their crises without me. Melissa spent the night at Angela’s house so she’d have plenty of hot water for a shower (and the opportunity to dress up for Justin without undergoing my parental scrutiny before she walked out of the house). The idea didn’t thrill me, but having gone to bed while the plans were made, I didn’t get a vote. One of Corey’s friends had gained permission from his parents, who’d planned to watch the scrimmage anyway, to take my son back to their house after the football practice, and allow him to also indulge in a hot shower. Even Roy managed to take the initiative and, using the excuse that we had children under the age of five in the house, persuaded Oxford Fuel Oil to make an emergency Sunday delivery. Okay, we only had one child under the age of five in the house, but they didn’t know that. I didn’t want to think about the surcharge they’d probably tacked on to our bill, so I made a conscious effort to focus on the positive.
Imagine that: my family showing resourcefulness. Without me. I should go to bed early more often. They might actually learn to survive on their own.
Monday’s morning routine went off without a hitch, and once the older kids had gone to school, I took Luke to the library. I dropped off the weekend’s movie
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