Sleeping With the Enemy

Chapter Nineteen

Waking up in the hotel suite next to Brandon is incredibly bitter sweet. I halfway hoped this is some kind of dream I will wake up from, but when I open my eyes to his half naked body next to me and a giant rock on my left hand, it's hard to deny. We laid next to each other all night without touching, which is at least an improvement from the night before when he refused to even sleep in the same room as me. It's certainly not how I envisioned my wedding day, but I know I have to lay in the bed I made.

I have no clue what the next few days will hold. Brandon didn't even tell his parents that we got married, but they're the least of my worries. Herrera's reaction is what I'm most concerned about. Brandon swore he'll do whatever he has to do to keep me out of jail, but I can't shake the sinking feeling in my stomach that this is all going to come back to bite me. Now that I gave myself up to Brandon, Herrera will be out for blood, and since I'm just a stepping stone in his bigger vendetta, he won't care in the slightest about what happens to me. The only thing Brandon and I have going for us right now is that Herrera has no clue that I came clean, but I didn't really know what that means in the grand scheme of things. It doesn't change what I did or the evidence Herrera has on me. Not even Brandon is above the law and as far as I know, his connections only reach so far.

When I left Rockaway, I thought about this exact morning so many times. The way it was supposed to go, anyway. Thinking about the plans and dreams Brandon and I conjured up is what kept me going for those first few years, some of them ingrained so deeply in me that it was like I was watching a movie of our lives.

For a while, they were painful to think about, but soon I began to take comfort in them, almost pretending as if it was another life I lived entirely. One where Brandon and I lived out our every fantasy, traveling the world and visiting new places together, raising our children in a great big house on the hill. One where we were untouchable, free from the constraints of the mafia, and all of the expectations of who we were supposed to be. In my dream world, none of the bullshit was between us anymore and we were deliriously happy.

The problem with dreaming, though, is that most of the time, reality never quite measures up. In my dreams, Brandon and I woke up the day after our wedding intertwined in each other in a little bungalow on the beach, crystal clear water in every direction and nauseatingly in love. We would have spent the day before celebrating on a beach with our friends and family, sharing a sideways grin as we made small talk with our guests, both desperate to get to our room where we could finally be alone. The reality is nothing like that, though. Brandon can try to paint it anyway he wants but the reality is that we wouldn't be married if it wasn't our last resort. If I didn't drive him to the absolute edge by even considering working against him. If I had just swallowed my pride and called him from the very beginning. So now here we are, locked in a marriage that is supposed to keep us both out of jail, as good as strangers. I deserve every bit of it, and I will never deny that, but it doesn't make it any easier to stomach.

When he stirs next to me, I snap my eyes shut again, pretending to be asleep. I'm not ready to get up and face the day–to face him–and when he climbs out of bed without a word, I figure he feels the same. Brandon shuts the door to the bathroom quietly and I hear the shower kick on. Three days ago, I would have happily joined him, but today I think better of it. He made it clear that he wants things between us to be real again, but I know he's a long way from that and it isn't fair of me to push it.