on November 10, 2015
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“What?” I stared back at him, unblinking.
He moved closer, taking my face in his hands. “I love you, Evie. I look into the future, and the only thing I see clearly is you. Marry me.”
What’s an eighteen-year-old girl who was madly in love with her nineteen-year-old boyfriend say?
Of course, I said yes.
Twenty-four hours later, I married Adam Gunner at a Vegas chapel to the sounds of “Livin’ on a Prayer” by Bon Jovi. Not the best omen. I get that now.
Then, exactly one week later, I left him. I walked out, leaving behind my wedding ring, annulment papers, and my heart, and he never knew why.
I haven’t seen him since. Not in ten long years.
Now, he’s here, standing before me. Looking at me with nothing but hurt and hatred in his eyes, he wants answers.
Answers I can’t give.
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Maybe he won’t want to date me when he finds out that we are polar opposites. Or maybe that’s just a really shitty thing for me to think. I’m guessing he knows I don’t swim in his end of the pool, considering I’m spending my summer working at the Shack.
But poor girl and rich boy? You know what people always think in these scenarios. And I don’t want to be that girl ever. Or quite possibly I’m seriously overthinking this. I mean, we haven’t even been on a date yet.
“So, you’re kind of rich, huh?” I say quietly.
He shifts, like he’s uncomfortable, his eyes still not on me, but off in the distance.
I’m starting to get that being rich isn’t necessarily a good thing for him.
His hands find the pockets of his shorts. Then, his eyes finally come back to mine. The color in them is so vibrant that it momentarily takes my breath away.
“I am. Is that a problem?” he asks, taking my words from before and giving them back to me.
“No.” I shake my head, letting a smile on my lips.
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