Chapter 7
Seventeen Years Earlier
“Hi,” a deep voice rumbles behind me. I put up my hand to dismiss the idiot who will only ruin my buzz. “I just thought we should meet.”
I shake my head, uninterested in whatever he’s selling. “No thanks.”
“Well, considering you’re going to be my wife. It would probably be best that we get the pleasantries out of the way.”
I turn with my mouth agape. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” the stranger says.
“I’m sorry, who the hell are you?” I ask looking him over. The first thing that captures my attention is his eyes. They’re light blue with green swirls, but more than that he looks at me like he knows all my secrets.
We stare at each other for a beat, taking each other in.
My best friend, Laura, starts to laugh.
Neither of us speaks, yet I’ve never felt so in tune with someone. “I said I’m going to marry you one day.” He shrugs as though it’s something you say daily. “Just thought we should meet before the wedding.”
I smirk, and take a sip of my beer. “You’re pretty sure of this, huh?”
“Well, I’m sure that I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you before,” his smile grows, and mine does as well.
“Oh, God,” Laura begins to laugh. She grabs her drink, downs it, and then gets up. “You should sit. I have a feeling you’re only getting started.” She pats him on the back, and heads to the dance floor.
“Well, since we’re apparently getting married, maybe you’d like to tell me your name?” I ask.
“Bryce Peyton. It’s a pleasure to meet you . . .” he trails off. For the first time, I catch a little glimpse of a twang, but it’s not prominent unless you’re listening closely.
“Serenity Adams.”
“That’s a beautiful name.”
I shrug. Truth is, I hate my name. My parents said the minute my mother held me, she had an overwhelming sense of serenity. She also could’ve been smoking pot through her whole pregnancy, but I never understood what she meant until right now. The minute Bryce sat down I felt a sense of calm wash over me. It was like my life suddenly clicked into place. Two halves forming into a whole. He completes me and I don’t even know him.
“So, Bryce Peyton, future husband of mine . . . what are you doing here?” I try to play indifferent, but I can’t stop looking at him. His brown hair hangs slightly into his eyes, and without permission my fingers lift and brush it to the side. I draw my hand back, embarrassed, but Bryce takes my hand in his. “Sorry,” I say, feeling awkward.
“Don’t be.” He squeezes my hand. “Honestly.”
“Is there any valid reason to start our predestined marriage off on a lie?” I reply playfully.
“My roommate needed to study or more like sleep with his girlfriend, so I decided to take a walk. As I passed this bar, I felt the need to come in and see it. Then, I saw you. And I know it makes no sense, but I needed to talk to you.”
“And here you are . . .”
“Here we are.”
My heart sputters as he says ‘we.’
“Yes, we,” I smile. “Let me ask you some questions,” I play along.
“Shoot.”
“Are we going to be happy in our marriage?”
Bryce takes my beer, drinks some, and puts it back in front of me. “I believe we will. You share well and I’m a giving man.”
“Hmm,” I muse. “Do you randomly propose to girls in bars?”
“Never.”
Good to know, I think to myself. “And what’s your major?”
“Architecture.”
“Interesting,” I tap my chin. “I assume you built a lot of Legos?”
He chuckles and I wish I didn’t enjoy the sound of it so much. “Guilty. What about you, future wife, what are your career goals, other than making me deliriously happy?”
He’s smooth. I’ll give him that. I lean back in my chair, taking my beer with me and watching the way he studies me. Bryce’s gaze is intense, but there’s a warmth to it. I don’t know that I’ve ever had this kind of a reaction to a man before.
I’ve been hit on plenty of times at the bar, but never wanted more than a free drink. Just the idea of him getting up and walking away makes me want to ask him to stay. However, I promised myself no boyfriends or anything like that before I graduate. There’s no way I’m screwing up my chances at med school.
Yet, here I am, wondering what it would be like to see him again. I’m clearly nuts if his game is working.
“I’m finishing my undergrad, but then I’ll be going to med school.”
“Wow, a doctor. What year are you in now?”
“Junior,” I yell over the music. “I should be a Senior, but I took a year off.”
“Well, another thing we have in common.”
I raise my brow. Not many kids I know with ambitions like mine take a year off, but my mother was fighting cancer and I wanted to be there to help. Once she was out of treatment, I dove headfirst into school.
“You took a gap year?” I ask.
Bryce grins. “Yeah. Felt I needed another year to figure my goals out. Plus, it’s a lot of schooling, huh?”
I take a sip of my drink. “It sure is, but after is much worse. You know, that means you’ll have to accept that my job is demanding. Do you think you can handle that and still love me eternally?”
I’m having way too much fun with this. It’s a little crazy, but I’m sure I can scare him off with this one.
Bryce leans forward, his fingers tangle with mine, and his deep voice is filled with promise. “I guess we’re going to have to marry each other and find out.”
If it’s possible, I just fell in love with him. I should lay off the alcohol, but instead, we spend the next hour talking and by the end of the night I know without a doubt, this is the man I’m meant to marry.
Chapter 8
I stand outside the door of Westin’s apartment wondering how many more bad decisions I’m going to make today. Instead of going to Allison’s room and telling her the truth, I ended up here.
After Bryce left me standing there, I couldn’t think straight, so I grabbed my coat and rushed out.
I drop my head back and release a deep sigh. I’m a fool. This is the last place I should be.
The door opens. “Ren?” Westin’s voice is full of concern.
“Hey,” I give my best attempt at a smile.
“Why are you standing out here?” He laughs while leaning against the doorjamb.
Good question. Because I was debating how to go home without looking like an idiot. “Just got here,” I lie. I’ve been standing here for more than ten minutes.
“Okay, you coming inside or do you need to go get some sleep?” Wes asks.
He knows me well enough to give me the out. How sad is that? I’m so fucked up in the head that I require loopholes in every part of my relationships. I need some serious therapy.
“No, I’m coming in.” I release a nervous laugh. “I’m so beat, I can’t think straight.”