A Matter of Heart (52 page)

I insist on us walking Cora
back to her apartment before I head home. The truth is, I’m just not quite
ready. I feel . . . fragile. Tired. Worn out. Beaten down.

Cora pulls me aside at the door
to her building, jabbing me in the stomach with a finger. “I expect you to come
to me the moment that thing comes back.” She looks over at Kellan, who is
checking his email on his phone. “I get it now.”

“Huh?”

“Him.” She nods in his
direction.

I give her a blank look.

“Why he is the way he is,”
she says patiently. “I’m impressed.”

“Oh.”

“It takes a lot to impress
me.”

“I know.”

“I used to think he was scum
for wanting his brother’s girlfriend. I couldn’t understand why he’d do that to
his twin, because I figured, it must hurt Jonah a lot. But I get it now. He’s
not scum.”

I’m exasperated. “I’ve told
you that hundreds of times.”

“Yeah.” She grimaces. “But I
get
it now.”

“I’m sure that’ll make all
the difference in the worlds to Kellan.”

He looks up at the sound of
his name. Cora rolls her eyes and kisses me on the cheek. “I have your back.
Remember that. You need my help, I’m here for you. Always.”

“I know,” I tell her, and I
do. Maybe I need to start leaning on my friends to help me get through this.
Maybe I don’t have to suffer in my self-imposed silence.

“You were talking about me?”
Kellan asks as we walk back to my apartment.

“I told her,” I explain. “I
was tired of having to defend me and you to her.”

His eyebrows rise slightly.

I stop in the middle of the
sidewalk. “Why is this a secret?”

He doesn’t answer.

“It’s stupid,” I grind out.
“Did you know that Cora thought you were a jerk because you like me?”

“Love you,” he corrects.

“She thought you were a
jerk.”

“Sorry, but Cora’s opinion
means less than dirt.”

“That’s not the point!” I
stamp a foot like a toddler.

“Then what is?”

“This secret. It’s stupid.
I’m tired of people constantly thinking I’m some sort of whore because I love
you—”

He’s amused. “I highly doubt
anyone thinks you’re a whore.”

“And that you’re some kind
of rakish ass because you like to be around me.”

“Love to,” he corrects. And
then, lips curving, “Rakish?” He shakes his head. “You read too many romance
novels, C.”

“You know what I mean.
Wouldn’t it be easier to just let it be in the open?”

He reaches out and touches
my arm. “No. And you know why.”

“It’s not fair.” Tears blur
my vision.

“No,”
he agrees. “It definitely isn’t.”

Jonah’s waiting by the door
when I come in. Before I can say anything, he’s kissing me, hauling me against
him, lacing one hand in my hair and then splaying the other across my lower
back. He leads me to the couch, tugging me down and rotating so I’m under him.
He continues kissing me until I’m completely and utterly breathless. His hands
are everywhere, making it hard to focus on anything at all but him.

Kissing Jonah is always a
good thing. But tonight, it’s amazing. I think we’re going to finally make
love, but he pulls away from me the moment my hands go to the buttons on his
jeans.

“You need to understand
something.” His voice is quiet against my ear. It’s sort of hard to focus on
his words, since he’s slowly unbuttoning my shirt. “No matter what, I would
never, ever call off our wedding.”

I clamp a hand down over
his, two buttons down, so I can gather my thoughts. “You said
cancel
.”

His breath is so soft and
heavy at the same time against my exposed collarbone. “You didn’t let me
finish, Chloe. You just got up and ran, and I hadn’t even finished what I was
saying, leaving me to wonder what in the hell was happening. What I was in the
process of saying was how we had to cancel all of the reservations we have now
and postpone the date until a little while later. But I never, ever would
cancel it entirely with you. Why would I? You’re everything to me.”

I’ve never been able to
handle seeing Jonah in pain, and I know he is now, so I let it go. Because I
think, for the first time, his cracks are beginning to show, too.

The cracks expand over the
next few days. Jonah doesn’t say anything, but he no longer carries himself in
the normal, calm way that makes him who he is. It’s little things that
highlight his stress—his knuckles, white against whatever he’s happening to be
holding onto when they’re not flexing over and over again, the raw hangnail on
his thumb repeatedly chewed on, his foot tapping every so lightly against the
floor in an irritated pattern, his smile forced and strained, and his eyes,
hooded and distant, when he doesn’t realize I’m watching.

Something is wrong, but he
doesn’t talk to me about it. And because I’m so tired and stressed myself, and
terrified of us fighting further, I selfishly let it pass without pushing the
matter. Oh, that’s not to say I haven’t tried. Halfheartedly, I’ll ask every so
often, “Are you okay?” There’s always a quick affirmation that all is well, but
I know better, because I do the same to him. I feel like crap for not demanding
more truthful answers, but on the other hand, I don’t know if I can handle much
more stress without shattering entirely.

I’m getting ready to go to
bed when Jonah walks into the room, a week after I fled to Hawaii, his hair wet
from a shower. He’s antsy, edgy, almost as if he doesn’t quite know where to
stand or sit. I set the book I’ve been reading down and wait for him to say
something.

“I’ve been thinking we
should get married.”

I smile up at him. “We are
getting married. We just have to pick a new date.”

“No.” His hand is flexing
like crazy. “I mean, we should get married. Now.”

“Now?”

“Tonight.”

I sit straight up. “What?”

Dark smudges mar the skin under
his eyes; I know it’s more than just exhaustion from running so late at night.
“I want to get married. Tonight.”

I’m speechless.

He points a finger at me.
“You were upset because you thought I was canceling.”

“Yes, but then you
explained—”

He talks right over me. “I
don’t want to have to go through that again. Not knowing where you were was
awful
.
And it’s because of a ceremony that’s more for all the guests
than the two people getting married. The ceremony means very little to me,
Chloe. I think you know that.”

He’s right. He’s always been
against big weddings and has never hidden this fact from me.

“I only agreed to a wedding
because I thought it was what you wanted. But now I think we should elope.
That’s the goal anyway, right? To be married?”

He’s got a point.

“So, why don’t we just do
it? Go tonight and get it over and done with. I mean, I already consider myself
married to you in every way possible. This is merely a formality.”

I have to search for my
voice. “Um . . . how? Where?”

“Vegas,” he says firmly.
“They have those little chapels on every street corner.”

“Las Vegas?”

He nods once.

“You want to go,” I say
slowly, “to Las Vegas and get married. Tonight.”

“Yes.”

To say I’m surprised would
be a gross understatement. “Wow. I—”

“Besides.” He comes to stand
next to me. “This’ll be easier on everyone involved.”

“Everyone?”

“My brother.” His arms cross
against his chest.

I swallow hard. “How so?”

“He wasn’t planning on
coming to the wedding, and I assume people would question why. This way, when
we elope, he won’t have to face that sort of scrutiny.”

I feel like a parrot, but
all I can really do is repeat back what he says. “Scrutiny?”

“It’ll be like a Band-Aid,”
he says, fingers drumming against the opposite arm, “ripped off fast to
minimize pain.”

“Band-Aid?”

“This is the way to go,” he
says confidently.

“Vegas.”

“Yes.”

I look down at the comforter
lying across my lap. “I’m in my pajamas.”

“Wear them if you want. I
don’t care.”

“You don’t care if I wear my
pajamas to our wedding?”

He makes it quite clear I
could be naked and he wouldn’t care.

“Jonah, it’s eleven o’clock
at night.”

“Vegas never sleeps.”

I stare up at him, perplexed
at what’s brought this on. On one hand, I absolutely have no problem with this
plan, because it would solve a lot of problems. I’ve never been overly
concerned with an actual ceremony, either. Being married is, as he so
succinctly put it, the goal. But on the other, there’s just something about the
way this appeared out of the blue, on the heels of bizarre behavior from him over
the last few days.

“All you have to do is say
yes. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be Chloe Whitecomb. We can even start
looking for a new apartment within a few days—wouldn’t it be great to have a
much bigger place?”

I don’t know why, but it
seems like he ought to be smiling when he says these things. Happy. Excited.
But he’s none of those things. He’s on edge.

“You don’t think we ought to
tell . . . Kellan?”

His eyes narrow. “I hardly
think we have to ask my brother permission to get married.”

“Yes, that’s true, but—”

“Are you trying to tell me
something?”

My personal shield goes up
faster than it ever has before. “What? No!”

“Maybe,” he says in a very
tight voice, “marrying me isn’t what you want anymore.”

I scramble out of bed. “Of
course I want to get married!”

“Is there any legitimate
reason we should wait?” I’m shocked by the amount of tension radiating from his
body. “Because, to me, this is a no-brainer. You were upset when you thought
the wedding was off. So upset you bolted. I’m offering a perfect solution. We
don’t wait. There will be no postponement, no delays. We get married tonight.
If you want a reception, then that’s fine. We’ll have one whenever you want,
wherever. I don’t care.”

As I stare at him, I’m
reminded that I’ve known this man since I was a little girl. My heart was lost
to him the first moment I saw his eyes. He was my first kiss, the person I’ve
judged all other men against. I fell in love with him long before I ever knew
about the existence of his brother. I’m still in love with him, despite a
Connection to someone else. He’s the first person I want to see in the morning,
the last person at night.

Jonah Whitecomb has been my
constant my entire life.

Suddenly I feel like I’m
faced with a choice—make this man happy, who means everything to me, or hold
off and make him, and his brother, miserable.

Someone is going to be hurt.
In this triangle, someone is always going to be hurt. Right now, all three of
us are hurting. Would it be so wrong to want to lessen that equation? Make it
so only two people are hurting, instead of three?

I look into those cerulean
eyes of his and know that sometimes sacrifices must be made. “Alright,” I tell
him. “Vegas it is.”

He blinks, as if he hadn’t
actually expected me to agree. “Really?”

“Yes.” I move into his arms.
“I love you. Why would you think I’d say no?”

Both of us know there’s one
huge reason to, but no one voices it in this moment.

A smile slides across his
face, the first genuine one I’ve seen in several days. “I love you, you know.”

“I know.” The shield falls
away so he can feel this very real, very valid emotion in me. “It’s quite
mutual.”

He studies my face for a
moment. “You’re tired.”