She rolled onto her back and the covers twisted around her, her sweatshirt bunched under her. She yanked it free, fought her way out of the bedding and flopped her head down on the pillow.
Light sliced the darkness as the bedroom door opened. The slice widened and she heard Gavin moving around the room, the rasp of his zipper, the whisper of his clothes as he removed them. He’d likely leave them piled on the chair like he always did. One of those little things she put up with that could be annoying—or could be nothing. It all depended how you wanted it to be. Like the way he always put his dirty socks on top of the hamper instead of in the hamper. She could make a big deal of it, nag him until he changed his habit, but, in the big scheme of things, it wasn’t important enough to be a bitch about.
She swallowed, her throat tight. She loved him. She didn’t want to be a bitch. She didn’t want things to be like this between them. He must know she was upset about the stupid strippers.
Gavin left the bedroom and she heard water running in the bathroom, the toilet flush. Then darkness engulfed the bedroom when he shut off the hall light. The bed dipped beneath his weight, the covers slid off her. She yanked them back and heaved onto her side, her back to Gavin.
She felt him laying there, awake, heard his quiet, even breathing. Say something. Please, say something.
But his breathing deepened and slowed, grew raspier, and she realized he’d gone to sleep. Her lips pushed out and she pressed them together, stubbornly closed her eyes. Once again they’d broken that rule about not going to bed angry. This wasn’t supposed to happen again. And it was all her fault for being so oversensitive and jealous.
“Ah. You’re home tonight.” Gavin said the words in a mild tone, but she could hear the underlying steel.
“Yes. I made dinner.”
She’d seen the remains of last night’s dinner lying in the garbage: chicken nearly black on the outside, raw on the inside, and some strange combination of chopped carrots, green peppers and cabbage coated with something creamy. Eeeew.
She’d stood there for a long moment looking down at the unappetizing food, and her heart had squeezed at the fact that he’d cooked dinner for her. Badly—he didn’t have a clue how to cook. But he’d tried. That was so sweet. Meanwhile, she’d been acting like an immature idiot, hiding from him by sitting all alone in a movie theatre, just to annoy him. Her throat had clogged with tears as she stared at the pathetic meal. They were getting married in less than two weeks. She had to grow up and talk to him about this.
“Thank God,” he said, shrugging out of his suit jacket. “’Cause we’d starve if we had to rely on my cooking.”
The corners of her mouth pushed up into an unwilling smile. “Pasta,” she said, her voice sounding funny to her own ears. “Spaghetti carbonara.”
He made an appreciative noise. He loved anything with bacon in it. “I’ll go change.”
She dished out spaghetti and salad and set their plates on the table while he changed. She even poured glasses of wine for them, a crisp Pinot Grigio she’d picked up on the way home.
“God, that smells good.” Gavin pulled out his chair and sat down. “Hey, even wine.” He looked up at her.
Their eyes met. Melina felt the heat of shame spread over her. She drew in a shaky breath. “Can we talk?”
Chapter Three
Gavin would rather eat than talk. The smoky smell of bacon teased his taste buds and made his mouth water. After his crappy dinner last night, this looked like heaven. And, much as he wanted Melina to tell him what the hell was bothering her, talking about feelings had never been high on his list of fun things to do.
He sighed. “Yeah. We can talk. Tell me what’s going on, Mel.”
She looked down at her plate, poked at her pasta with her fork. “It’s the bachelor party.”
“I knew it.”
Her head lifted. “If you knew it, why didn’t you say something?”
“I’m not the one with the problem, sweet stuff. You are.”
Her eyes lowered again. “Yes. You’re right. I feel like such an idiot.”
“Just tell me what’s bothering you. Tell me what you want me to do.”
She lifted clear blue eyes. “I don’t want you to go to that party.”
He stared at her, his meal forgotten. “But…I have to go.”
“No, you don’t. They’re your friends. If you tell them you don’t want a wild bachelor party, they’ll do whatever you want.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I can’t tell them that now. The party’s in two days. Besides, it isn’t for me as much as it’s for them. They want the wild and crazy bachelor party. I never told them I wanted that. They think it’s the thing to do. And they want to let loose and have fun.”
“Yeah, with other women.” Her voice was as dry and bitter as a crushed aspirin.
“No, Mel. It’s just for fun. You know that. The guys aren’t going to have sex with the strippers, for God’s sake.”
“How do you know?”
“Is that what you’re worried about?”
She pouted and it was so adorable he almost got up, walked around the table and grabbed her to kiss that pout away. “Well…”
“Christ, Mel. I told you. You can trust me.”
“I know.” She whispered the words. “I can’t help it. I just feel so…scared about it. How would you feel if I was going to a…a bachelorette party?”
“You already did,” he reminded her. “Last week.”
“But it wasn’t like that! It was just a bunch of girls going out for dinner. I mean, how would you feel if we’d had guys come to the party and take off all their clothes and…do stuff with us.”
He frowned. “Uh…well, obviously I wouldn’t like it.”
“Exactly.” She sat there, small, shoulders hunched, pretty mouth trembling, and something twisted inside him. He loved her. She was unhappy. That sucked rocks.
“I really don’t care that much about the strippers. But the guys have gone to all the trouble of arranging it. I can’t just bail on it, Mel.”
“What does Kylie think?” Melina frowned.
“I dunno. I guess she’s okay with it. They’ve been married a while, she knows he’s not going to screw around.”
Melina nodded and he wondered if she got his implied message.
She twirled some spaghetti onto her fork and lifted it to her mouth. Hell, he’d do just about anything for her. But not this. He could just hear his friends talking about how whipped he was and he almost groaned.
But it wasn’t whipped when you didn’t mind giving something up for someone you loved. It was all in the perspective. And the truth was, he didn’t care about the damn strippers. Hell, he could go watch women take their clothes off any time. He wanted to get together with his buddies and celebrate his marriage, and while some of them would joke around about it being the end of his freedom, he didn’t see it like that. To him it was the start of his life with Melina. That was what was important.
She was what was important. But hell, she had to trust him.
He leaned forward, hands flat on the table. “Melina, I’m going to the party. You have to trust that I won’t do anything that would hurt you. That’s it. That’s the end of it.”