Delaney James was wearing Chanel the night her husband told her he didn't love her anymore.
In an instant, her picture-perfect Manhattan life-complete with a brownstone on the Upper East Side, a blossoming career as a fashion journalist, and a devas...
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Eleven Years Ago
"Grey, come on," I whine, as I look out into the ocean and bounce on my toes. "What are you doing?"
"Baby, it's one o'clock in the morning and there's not a soul here. I don't think we're going to have a hard time getting a spot." He shuts the passenger door of his truck and intertwines his fingers with mine as we make our way down the beach, holding my heels in his other hand. "Watch out for jagged rocks, okay?"
"If my dress wasn't so tight, I could just jump on your back."
"Just because I can't put you on my back doesn't mean I can't carry you," he says, wrapping his arm around my back and scooping me up bridal style. "My girl doesn't walk anywhere if she doesn't have to."
Cash Connelly threw his annual Halloween party tonight, and as fun as it was, I'm lucky to have a boyfriend who knows when I tap my nose twice it means I'm ready to go—and loves me enough to follow through. Most guys would make their girlfriends wait through "one more" round of beer pong that turns into five, ending with her holding his hair while he pukes in the sink. Greyson isn't like that. We're solid enough not to be glued together all night, but right now, I just want him to myself.
He gave me the usual grief about costumes—like he does every year—but he knows Halloween is my favorite. After pretending he'd finally put his foot down, he gave in, letting me dress him as a firefighter while I went as his dalmatian. Turnout pants, suspenders, a little fake soot on his face—it was the safest compromise. And okay, maybe seeing him shirtless with those suspenders was a bonus. What I didn't consider was how many girls at school would stare. Ripley "Mrs. Steal-Your-Boy" Payne almost earned herself a black eye tonight.
Now, on the beach, we spread a blanket in the sand—close enough to see dolphins crest the water, far enough to stay dry when the tide rolls in. Greyson shrugs into a long-sleeved shirt, then drapes his South Grove Baseball sweatshirt over my strapless polka-dot dress before tugging me down between his legs. He wraps another blanket around us, the one he stashed in his truck, and I melt back against him, resting my head on his shoulder. His warmth surrounds me like a towel straight from the dryer, and for the first time all night, I close my eyes in complete contentment.
"Thanks for dressing up with me tonight. I know how much you hate it," I say.
"I do, but it helps that you're the sexiest puppy I've ever fucking seen."
I lightly swat him in the chest and snicker. "Shut up, perv."
"You don't need to thank me, baby. I'll do anything for you," he says, wrapping his arms around me tighter. "You know that."
It's quiet—the only sound the steady crash of waves—when Greyson nuzzles into my neck. His lips are warm, but the tip of his nose is chilled from the ocean breeze, and when it brushes across my cheek, I shiver.
"You going to let me marry you someday? Make you mine?" he whispers.
Goosebumps race up my arms, and I giggle as he playfully nibbles beneath my ear. "I'm already yours."
