Weekend Fling

by Claire Kingsley

  “Really? I guess it hasn’t been all that long since Heather.” She laughs the way only a drunk person can when something isn’t actually funny. “Sorry, I guess I shouldn’t keep talking about his ex with you.”

  I just smile. “It’s no big deal.”

  Finn comes back, brushing his hands together, and I stand up.

  “See you tonight,” Rhonda says.

  “Bye.”

  Finn hurries us away down a gravel path. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t think about the fact that my family would be literally everywhere in this place. It’s probably been pretty overwhelming.”

  I tuck my hand in his arm. “It’s okay. They’re all really nice.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, I guess so. What was Rhonda talking to you about?”

  My breath catches in my throat. Should I tell him I know? It’s pretty obvious he didn’t want me to know about being engaged, otherwise he would have mentioned it. But it feels wrong not to tell him.

  “Well, actually she was talking about Heather.”

  Finn stiffens, but we keep walking down the path. “What did she say?”

  “I feel like maybe I’m not supposed to know this,” I say. “But she said you were engaged to her. And this was where you were going to get married.” It’s hard to get that last word out.

  “Yeah, it was.”

  He doesn’t say anything else, and the longer the silence stretches, the worse it feels.

  “I’m sorry,” I say after a while. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  Finn stops. “No, it’s okay. It isn’t that I was trying to hide anything. I just didn’t want to think about it.”

  “Can I ask what happened?”

  He takes a deep breath and we start walking again. “Heather and I were engaged and yeah, we were planning a wedding here. She decided it wasn’t what she wanted, and called it off.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  He doesn’t say anything for a long moment and I wonder if he’s remembering. “It was at the time.”

  “Wow. It’s awful when you love someone and they do something so brutal.”

  “You know, I really didn’t love her, though,” he says. “That’s what I figured out once I stopped being mad. You know how you told me you realized your ex did you a favor by breaking up with you? Heather did me a favor too. When we were together, I cared about her, and we had some good times. But I didn’t love her.”

  I don’t know why I keep asking questions, but I can’t seem to stop myself. “Then why did you get engaged in the first place?”

  “That’s the crazy part,” he says. “She really pressured me. We’d been dating for a couple years, and she laid it on thick. She pretty much gave me an ultimatum, making it clear it was time for me to shit or get off the pot.”

  “But wait, then she left you?” I ask.

  “Yeah, she did. Not even a week before the wedding. She left me a fucking note.”

  “Oh my god.”

  “It was pretty bad. I came home from work and her stuff was gone and there was a note sitting on the dining table. I left and went to my dad’s and got hammered every day for about a week. Not long after that, I found out she’d moved in with some other guy. She met him at work, I guess. She said he was her soulmate, and she had to follow her heart.”

  “Did you ever see her again?”

  “I did, actually,” he says. “About six months later, she called and wanted to clear the air. I had dinner with her, and I realized what a mistake it would have been to marry her. But I forgave her, too, so in that sense it was good. Closure, you know? I could move on. But I also realized I’d never make that mistake again.”

  “What mistake?”

  “Marriage.”

  That word knocks the breath from my lungs. “So, you mean you’ll never get married?”

  “Not a chance,” he says.

  There’s so much finality in his voice. Is he serious? Never?

  “Why not?”

  He takes a deep breath. “Well, a lot of reasons, and to be fair, it wasn’t just Heather. My dad died not long after that whole thing blew up in my face, and it made me really think about life, and how I want to live mine. I saw what my parents’ divorce did to my dad. He wasted years of his life being miserable after my mom left him. And then he died, way too young. I guess I feel like things can change in so many unexpected ways. We never know what the future holds. Marriage is this attempt at permanence, but there’s really no such thing. Nothing is forever. We’d be better off accepting that and living our lives for today, instead of trying to make guarantees about the future.”

  I swallow hard and try to control my thoughts, but I tumble down the overthinking spiral, hardcore. He never wants to get married? Ever? What does this mean? How did I not realize this sooner? But why would I? We’ve only known each other a little more than a week. I shouldn’t be thinking about marriage. I didn’t even consider the idea with Jacob until we’d been dating for over a year. Isn’t that the normal thing? To date for a long time and let a relationship develop before you worry about marriage?

  But his absolute declaration leaves a knot in my tummy that won’t go away.

  This thing between Finn and me—whatever it is—really isn’t going anywhere. It can’t. He just said so. Because no matter what happens between us after this weekend is over, there would be an expiration date.

  “Wow,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral. “So you wouldn’t even consider it?”

  “Why, do you want to marry me?” he asks, his tone light.

  I know he’s joking, but the question makes my lungs feel like they’re frozen. Fuck! Don’t look at me, Finn. Don’t look. You can’t see my face right now. What do I say to that? Why does my mouth keep wanting to utter the word yes? Fuck.

  Say something, Juliet. Say something sane.

  He nudges me with his arm. “I’m just teasing, don’t freak out.”

  I force a laugh. “I know that.”

  We keep walking, but I don’t have much to say. I was starting to wonder if Finn might be a little too good to be true.

  Turns out, he is.

  21

  Finn

  The wedding starts at four, and I have no intention of being downstairs any earlier than absolutely necessary. I really don’t like weddings. It isn’t only that I was supposed to have one, and didn’t. I just think the whole thing is kind of silly. These people are going to spend a fucking fortune to stand up in front of everyone in fancy clothes and commit to a contract neither of them know if they’ll be able to keep.

  There’s no such thing as forever. Life has taught me that.

  Does that make me a cynic? I don’t think so. I have a perfectly decent life, and I’m happy. Things were hard after my dad died, but they got a lot easier when I started living my life for the present, and not worrying too much about the future.

  Juliet and I grab a couple appetizers in the hotel restaurant before heading back to the room to change. She seems a little quiet. I hope she’s not dreading this wedding as much as I am. If I didn’t think my mother would guilt me to death, I’d skip it and stay in our room all night. I want to be close to Juliet again. I love the way her skin feels. The way she smells. The way she tastes. God, the way she tastes. We’ll go to the ceremony and make an appearance at the reception, and then I’m getting her back up here to the room. After last night, there are a lot more things I’d love to do to her.

  Plus, I have to take her home tomorrow.

  But I’m not going to worry about tomorrow.

  Juliet stands in front of the closet, her hands on her hips, her head tilted to the side.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask.

  Her back straightens and her arms drop, but she doesn’t turn around. “Yeah, why?”

  “Well, I can’t imagine you have too many outfits to choose from,” I say. “You can wear anything, it really doesn’t matter.”

  “No, I guess it doesn’t matter.” Her voice sound
s a little… sad? I’m not sure, but she grabs a dress out of the closet and goes into the bathroom.

  I glance at the clock. I suppose I should get dressed too, so I get out my suit, put on the pants and shirt, and drape the tie around my neck. There’s a mirror on one wall, and I look at myself, rubbing my chin.

  Juliet comes out of the bathroom and stops in the doorway.

  “Should I shave?” I ask, tilting my face to the side as I feel the stubble on my jaw. I keep it trimmed, but it’s been a while since I shaved it off.

  I look over at Juliet, and I have no idea what I was just talking about. She looks stunning in a black spaghetti strap dress that hugs her curves. My mind goes blank.

  “No, don’t,” she says.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Shave. You just said you were wondering if you should. I like your stubble.”

  “Yeah? Where do you like it?”

  She turns away, but I step in and grab her by the wrist, pulling her close. I lean down and scrape my jaw along her cheek.

  “Here?”

  Her hands tighten on my arms, and I rub my jaw along her neck.

  “Here?” I feel her sharp intake of breath and put my mouth next to her ear. “How about on your thighs?”

  She pushes against me and steps back. “We’ll be late.”

  That isn’t the reaction I was expecting, but I guess she’s right. She ducks back into the bathroom and I adjust my dick in my pants before I turn back to the mirror to put on my tie.

  She comes out about fifteen minutes later with her hair in soft waves and a necklace at her throat. I watch her step into her heels and I lick my lips.

  “What?” she asks, looking at me over her shoulder.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  She turns away again.

  I step closer and touch her arm. I’ve been getting a weird vibe from her ever since she found out I was engaged. I don’t understand why that seems to be bothering her so much. I wasn’t lying; I just didn’t want to talk about it. What happened to me in the past doesn’t have anything to do with her. “Are you sure you’re okay? If you don’t want to go to this, we don’t have to.”

  “No, the wedding is fine.” She faces me and smiles. “It’s why we’re here. I’m great.”

  I don’t quite believe her, but she adjusts my tie, pats my chest, and smiles again before heading for the door. We’re cutting it close at this point, so we really should get downstairs.

  I’ll be so glad when this ordeal is over.

  We get to the room where they’re having the ceremony and find seats near the back. Most of the chairs are already full. Soft music plays in the background and a low hum of conversation fills the air. Everything is decorated like a typical wedding: lots of flowers, and an arch at the front where the couple will stand.

  I shift in my seat so I can hold Juliet’s hand, but she has hers clasped in her lap. I’m about to lean in and ask her again if she’s okay, but the music gets louder and everyone turns to look as the bridesmaids start coming up the aisle.

  The ceremony is blessedly short. My cousin Mary walks in on the arm of her dad, a huge smile on her face. They do the customary wedding things, but I’m not paying much attention. Juliet’s body language is suddenly screaming at me. Something isn’t right. Her legs are crossed, her knees tilted away from me, and her hands are in her lap. To anyone else, she probably looks like she’s engrossed in the ceremony, but I feel like she’s trying to not look at me. I don’t know if she’s uncomfortable being at this thing, or if there’s something else wrong. I wish I had coaxed her into talking to me when we were getting dressed.

  I decide to touch her, even though it seems like she doesn’t want me to. I put my arm over the back of her chair and rest my hand on her shoulder. She stiffens, but I caress her skin, running my fingers from her shoulder, up her neck, and down again.

  She seems to relax as I touch her softly. Her hands aren’t clasped so tight in her lap, and eventually she uncrosses her legs and shifts closer to me.

  The ceremony ends and everyone stands, clapping for the new couple. I glance at Juliet and she smiles.

  People start filing out and heading toward the ballroom for the reception. I put my hand on Juliet’s back and we move with the press of people. When we get to the ballroom doors, I pull Juliet aside. She gives me a questioning look, but I lead her farther down the hallway and around a corner.

  She starts to say something—probably to ask what I’m doing—but I push her against the wall, put my fingers through her hair, and cover her mouth with mine. I hold her there, pressing my lips to hers, waiting for her to relax into my kiss. I coax her into it, softening my mouth, slipping my tongue against her lips. I pull back just enough that our lips almost part, then I surge in again, sliding my tongue into her mouth. She opens for me and threads her hands around my waist, pulling me closer.

  I don’t stop kissing her. She’s like the air I need to breathe. There is something about this woman. I haven’t known her very long, but it doesn’t matter. And as I stand here, kissing her in the hallway of a hotel, savoring the feel of her mouth, her tongue tangled with mine, I realize that I’m feeling more than just an intense physical attraction. She’s rooting herself deep inside me, opening up a place I didn’t even realize I’d closed off.

  I pull away and look at her, our faces still close. Her eyes are half closed, her lips swollen and pink. I’m feeling something here, and I wonder if I should tell her. But I’m not sure what it is. It’s hitting me hard, and it came completely out of nowhere. I don’t want to freak her out.

  “Wow,” she says. “What was that for?”

  “I just needed to kiss you.”

  She holds my eyes for a moment, and I wish I knew what she was thinking.

  A couple comes around the corner and walks behind us.

  I step back and take her hand. “I guess we should go back.”

  “Yeah, don’t want you to miss it,” she says.

  I still feel uncertain about everything, but Juliet doesn’t pull her hand away. We head for the reception and the noise of music and people talking and laughing carries through the crack in the double doors.

  The ballroom is decked out with twinkling lights, tables with flowers and candles, and a big buffet filled with food. There’s a dance floor on one side and a set of open doors leading to an outdoor patio. Most of the tables have people seated around them, and a few little kids are running around the dance floor.

  I find us seats at a table near the doors. I want to be able to get out of here without having to traverse across this huge room. There’s a line for the buffet, so we take our seats and I go to the bar to get us a drink.

  “Thanks,” Juliet says as I hand her a glass of red wine. She downs about a third of it in one swallow.

  I can’t really blame her.

  “Careful there, sprinkles.”

  “Sorry,” she says. “This has just been… a long day.”

  I squeeze her shoulder. “I know. You’ve been such a good sport. We’re almost done.”

  Her brow furrows and a spasm of emotion passes over her face. She takes another big drink. “Yeah, I know we are.”

  Someone pulls out the chair next to me, and I look up to see my Uncle Lorenzo. His olive skin is weathered, with deep creases across his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. He’s almost bald, with just a wisp of white hair on top of his head. His suit doesn’t quite fit right, and his tie is a mess. I bet his wife, my aunt Imelda, helped dress him. She’s pretty much blind.

  “Hi, Uncle Lorenzo,” I say.

  “Finn,” he says, patting me on the shoulder. “You’re here.”

  “Yes, I’m here.” At this point, I’m wondering if I should have the DJ make a fucking announcement so everyone can get over their surprise that I showed up.

  “Weren’t you supposed to get married here last year?” he asks.

  Great, he wants to talk about it. “Yes.”

  “I thought so.
I told Imelda you wouldn’t come. What man could face that kind of thing? I certainly wouldn’t have blamed you.”

  “Yeah, it’s not a big deal. I’m fine.”

  “That’s good to hear,” he says. “What a disaster that was. Everyone had their flights booked. When Imelda told me Mary was getting married here, I said we better wait to reserve our room until we were sure she was actually going through with it.”

  I press my lips together and force a smile. “I suppose that was smart.”

  “Never can be sure with you young people these days.” He pats me on the shoulder again and laughs. “But look at you. No worse for the wear, and here with a beautiful new girl. When are you going to marry this one? I bet she’ll stick around.”

  Juliet coughs, almost spitting her wine.

  I just shake my head. Uncle Lorenzo is arguably worse than my aunts when it comes to saying the wrong thing. “Uh, no. Sorry, Uncle, I’m not really the marriage type.” Lorenzo’s eyes widen and he looks like he’s going to keep talking. I stand before he can say more. “Juliet, should we get more wine?”

  “Yes, please.” She stands. “It was nice meeting you, Uncle Lorenzo.”

  Juliet follows me toward the bar.

  “I’m so sorry about that,” I say. “Lorenzo is kind of clueless.”

  “It’s fine, really.”

  We get to the bar and I put my hand on her back. “You know what? Let’s just get out of here. I came, I did what I had to do. But we don’t have to stay.”

  “Of course we can stay,” she says with a big smile. She turns to the bartender. “Red, please.” He hands her a glass of wine and she turns back to me. “The reception is the fun part.” She lifts her glass, like she’s toasting, and takes a big gulp.

  I ask the bartender for a glass of red and take a sip when he gives it to me. “If you’re sure.”

  She looks at me, and her eyes are a little wide, her smile big. “Yeah, I’m sure. Let’s just have fun.”

  22

  Juliet

  I don’t actually want to stay. When Finn said we should leave, I almost ran out the door. But what would we do if we leave? Go upstairs and have sex, obviously. Probably more than once. And as much as my body wants that—really, really wants it—my head is swirling around in overthinking hell way too much for that to be a good idea.