The wedding was beautiful.
The venue was breathtaking—a countryside manor house with glorious views from all of the huge windows, an impressive library where the ceremony took place, and large grounds which were going to make for some gorgeous photos.
My mom and Max have spent most of the evening wrapped up in each other’s arms on the dance floor under the twinkling lights.
I watch them as I stuff more of the amazing carrot cake my mom had chosen for her wedding cake into my mouth, wishing the restrictive Spanx I’m wearing allowed for more expansion.
I can’t believe my mom is actually married!
She is a hopeless romantic and had been engaged a handful of times over the years, although none of the relationships had ever actually made it to the wedding planning stage, let alone to the altar.
Max seems genuinely nice, and I can tell the love they have for one another is real and strong. I just hope his son is as nice as everyone keeps telling me.
I sigh as I look around the ballroom, the dance floor filled with couples slow dancing, and the empty, lonely feeling I’ve been suppressing all day wells up in my chest, bringing tears to my eyes.
Blinking my tears back, I grab my clutch bag and make my way up to the bedroom my mom had insisted I take.
It’s beautiful, like everything else here, with luxurious William Morris wallpaper adorning the walls and a huge four-poster bed in the center of the room.
But the crowning glory is a free-standing bath which is positioned in a large bay window.
I kick off the uncomfortable high-heeled shoes and shimmy my way out of the tight dress and unforgiving underwear. Soon enough I am neck deep in sweet-smelling bubbles.
It had been a long weekend without my mom or Max in the house. Or the uptight British housekeeper, James. I was still trying to figure out if that was his first or last name…or maybe it was both?
They had gone for a romantic getaway to some exclusive spa, and I’d been making the most of my free rein of the enormous house I now found myself living in.
I’d eaten my weight in junk food from the overstocked kitchen and treated myself to not having to worry about shaving since the day of the wedding—well, if nobody was going to see me, why bother!
The rest of my stuff had been delivered, and Max had graciously allowed me to store some of my bulkier items in the huge garage alongside his four high-end cars.
Fed up with looking at clothes which reminded me of work and the office I no longer worked in, I had dumped them next door in the room which Max’s supposed son occupied.
The room lacked personality. The way Max talked about his son, I imagined I’d at least get some hint of the guy from his childhood bedroom. Embarrassing posters, sports trophies, photos…something!
It was even blander than the other spare bedrooms in this place.
I take my time getting ready: a steaming hot shower, every bit of my skin scrubbed and shaved, hair washed and deep conditioned.
I pull on my favorite sweater dress, the one that skims over all the lumps and bumps I hate and brings out the deeper tones of my green eyes with its cuddly burgundy color.
Raised voices from the imposing office Max keeps down the hall make me pause as I am running the coconut leave-in conditioner through my curly, waist-length hair.
The two deep voices are both full of frustration from what I can pick up, and the slamming of a door makes me jump, pulling me from my eavesdropping.
Heavy footsteps sound rapidly down the hallway, and I turn my head as I hear the door to the room next door being thrown open.
“What the fuck?!” A muffled voice drifts through the closed bathroom door.
There’s a banging and clattering, and then the bathroom door swings open, making me squeal. A good-looking blond guy wearing a fashionable pair of black glasses glares at me, his arms full of my clothes.
“I take it all this shit is yours,” he snarls, chucking my things unceremoniously on the tiled floor, and I jump a little. “Keep your stuff out of my room!”
The door slams shut violently, and I try to catch my breath.
If I wasn’t equal parts scared and pissed off, I would be turned on. The heat in the guy’s bright blue eyes was almost mesmerizing, and men with messy buns always make me swoon.
I blow out a centering breath and with slightly shaky hands finish getting ready.
When I finally make my way downstairs, they are all already sitting at the dining table.
My mom beams at me, and Max gives me a polite nod of his head, but my eyes are on my new stepbrother. Who is currently staring at me like I have two heads.
Surreptitiously, I run a hand over the back of my dress just in case I’d got it caught up in my pantyhose.
“Junior!” Max admonishes his son, whose scowl just deepens, his perfect jawline ticking with barely concealed contempt as he flicks his blue eyes off me and onto his plate.
Somehow, I make it through dinner.
My mom and Max excitedly tell us about their honeymoon, somehow managing to ignore both the death stares Junior gives me for the entirety of the dinner and the fact that I don’t utter a single word for nearly an hour.
As soon as the last of the dishes are cleared, I excuse myself and practically run back upstairs to the shelter of my bedroom. Within two minutes I’m in my flannel pajamas, teeth brushed, and buried under the sheets.
After a few hours of tossing and turning, I finally give up and pad through to the bathroom. A hot bath with my favorite lavender bubble bath will help relax me and hopefully switch off my overactive brain.
I let out a little sigh as I sink into the white mounds of fragrant foam, the little pops of the bubbles the only other sound in the bathroom.
That is until the door leading into Junior’s bedroom flings open and the angry guy blusters in, tugging down his gray sweatpants as he quickly makes his way over to the toilet.
“Um!” I sit up in the tub, splashing water onto the floor as I cover my naked breasts with my arms. “Excuse me?!”
He snaps his head up as his exposed ass touches the toilet seat, his face coloring deep red. “Get out of here!” he shouts.
“I’m...I’m naked here!” I squeal back, feeling my own face burn as I struggle to cover my chest and ensure the bubbles are covering my stomach and crotch area.
“Get the fuck out!” he bellows, his stomach making a gurgling growl.
I jump, and as he groans, clutching his stomach, I lurch from the bath and hightail it back to my bedroom, slamming my door closed, my entire wet body feeling on fire from the humiliation of knowing he’d just seen all of my wobbly body as I’d run from the bathroom.
How will I ever be able to look him in the eye ever again?
I cringe as the sounds of bowels emptying wetly and slightly explosively come from behind the closed door with more deep groans. Although, maybe he won’t want to look me in the eye either.
