“WHEREAS, the parties are presently unmarried and intend to be married to each other within the next year and, in anticipation of such marriage, the parties desire to fix and determine various financial relationships that will apply during their marriage and upon the termination of their marriage whether by death, divorce or otherwise…”

The words stand out starkly on the page under his elbow and as much as Justin is trying to concentrate on the work in front of him he can’t help but let his eyes drift to the legal agreement. This is why he hates working in the office. It’s Amelia’s office, decorated in creams with glass tables, white woods and silk fabrics, nothing masculine about the space at all. But Justin finds that he’s been spending more and more time here over the past several months. It started out small, bringing home a few files from the office one night so he wouldn’t have to deal with them in the morning. He’d sat at the kitchen island and powered through it, having nothing better to do what with Amelia in Paris and Charlotte…well he didn’t want to think about her. He had found he worked better at home, was able to concentrate more easily so he started leaving the complicated stuff for home and the next thing he knew he was bringing things home every night. Amelia had been shocked when she’d gotten back and found him elbow deep in record contracts, telling him she was happy that he was finally really starting to enjoy the business end of things.

Since he’d been bringing home so much work he decided it was only practical to work in the office - those little spindly chairs in the kitchen were killing his back – and so here is where he’s been spending most of his nights. He’ll come home from work, pour himself a glass of wine and get to work, spending hours pouring over documents and demo tapes, then climb the stairs to bed where he’ll slide in behind Amelia, giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek before resting his head on his pillow and trying to sleep.

He doesn’t sleep much these days. Work has been on his mind a lot. He’s been thinking expansion, maybe taking on more artists, maybe opening a studio. He’s been talking a lot with Trace about expanding the clothing line to shoes and swimwear, opening a few more stores around the country, Miami and Chicago maybe. He’d talked to Eytan about maybe opening a Southern Hospitality in LA. There is a lot to do and a lot to think about, money to be made and time to be spent.

He finds that if he keeps himself busy he’s happier. He doesn’t miss his family, doesn’t wish Trace was around more, doesn’t miss the smell of Charlotte’s skin and hair, her smile or her laugh. He shakes his head hard. He’s sure the funk he’s been in is some weird manifestation of cold feet. After all, the wedding is only a month away now. His eyes flick to the legal papers again, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“You know we’re going to have to get you a desk in here, I think.”

Justin cranes his neck, finding Amelia leaning against the doorway, a soft smile gracing her lips. She’s still wearing her work clothes, a soft chiffon blouse ruffled up to the neck, arms bare. A pencil skirt hugs the slight curve of her hips, cinching her waist and giving her legs the allusion that they go on for days, peep toe heels skyrocketing her into the stratosphere. Justin gives her a small smile, looking back down at the papers in front of him, wondering how long she’s been standing there.

“Yeah…” is the only thing he can think of to say and he can hear the dull thud of her heels as they sink into the carpet.

“You’ve been working a lot lately,” she states, reaching to run a hand over the short stubble on his head, “you look tired.”

“Lots to do,” he responds with a careless shrug and he feels her hand drop to his shoulder giving him a squeeze before reaching down and tugging the packet of papers from under his elbow.

“Have you signed these yet?” she asks disinterestedly, flicking through and he leans farther forward shaking his head as he scribbles a note in the margin of his page.

“Still reading through them,” he replies absently and he hears her sigh as she sets them back down on top of the pile and it’s like the rest of his life is staring him straight in the face.

“Both our lawyers put them together, Justin,” Amelia says softly and he can feel his shoulders tense. “And I have more money than you anyway.”

There’s a teasing lilt to her voice that causes the corner of his mouth to twitch up, a ghost of a laugh coughing from his lungs. “True.”

She pats his shoulder again. “Come to bed. It’s late.”

She doesn’t even wait for him to respond, just turns to leave and he watches her over his shoulder as she sashays out of the room, the keyhole in the back of her blouse giving him a peek at her golden skin. Justin looks back down at the work in front of him and he knows he should stay up just a little later even though his body is aching from fatigue. He glances up at the clock and finds it to be only ten-thirty, sighing as he reaches up to rub his burning eyes. He really doesn’t want to get in bed yet, doesn’t want to bear the disappointment of his fatigue giving way to insomnia quite so early.

He sighs settling on a compromise, snatching up the prenuptial agreement and hooking it under his arm before flicking off the light and trudging his way upstairs. Amelia is sitting at her vanity, going through her nightly ritual as he tosses the papers on the bed, retreating into the closet to change, dropping his suit in the hamper and pulling on his pajamas, the silk slick against his skin. He goes into the bathroom, taking out his contacts and washing his face, cringing at the sallowness of his skin, the dull gray of his eyes. He really needs to get more sleep. He shuffles back out into the bedroom, grabbing the papers from the end of the bed as he rounds to his side, crawling up so that he lies on cool sheets, the comforter rolled down to the end of the bed. He grabs his glasses from the bedside table, slipping them on his face before settling in to read.

“WHEREAS, information about each of the parties' assets, liabilities and approximate current income has been exchanged prior to entering into this agreement and summations of said information for each party is contained herein as Schedule A;”

“I went shopping today,” Amelia states simply, but her voice is a dull hum in the back of his consciousness.

“That’s nice,” he responds, flipping a page and continuing to read.

“Saks had a sale and I picked you up a new shirt at Barneys. It’s long sleeved but you could wear it if we go out at night,” she goes on and he nods absently, not even really hearing what she said.

“Thanks I’m sure I’ll love it,” he mumbles.

“I stopped by Calvin Klein as well and got you some more underwear…” she says, her voice trailing and he vaguely acknowledges the rustling of fabric which he assumes is her standing from the vanity. “And I picked some things up for myself as well…” He hums not really listening. She sighs annoyed. “Justin!” she snaps and only then does he look up bewildered by her sudden hostility.

“What?” he snaps back before he can stop himself and blinks slowly at the sight of her standing at the end of the bed in nothing but a sheer tanktop and panties.

He closes his eyes and opens them again and sure enough she’s still standing there, the seductive stretch of what upon closer inspection appears to be a corset of some kind, opaque around the waist with a wide strip of sheer lace vertically exposing the center of her abdomen from where the cups of the bustier meet to the hem but the cups of the bra are solid, the lace trim moving with every breath she takes. The panties are simple opaque black with sheer lace lining the waist, exposing the lowest part of her stomach, teasing him. His eyes meet hers and he finds a look of expectation there.

“Do you like it?” she prompts finally when he doesn’t say anything and he blinks slowly, looking from her to the papers in his hands.

WHEREAS, each party has had the opportunity to fully examine the full disclosures of the other party as summarized in Schedule A;

“Um yeah,” he says, flipping the page again. “Yeah, you look good baby.”

He hears her scoff, indignant. “What is wrong with you?”

He looks up at her again, blinking slowly and he’s suddenly very tired, feels like he could sleep for weeks. “What are you-”

“You’ve been moping around here for weeks!” she goes on, throwing a hand in the air. “Ever since I got back from Paris all you do is work, you’re not sleeping. I swear to god between you and Charlotte-”

“I’m fine okay,” Justin cuts her off abruptly, the sound of Charlotte’s name driving a steel spike through his chest. “And who are you to complain about me working? You were always bitching that I never took my job seriously.”

“Don’t curse,” she warns and Justin’s fingers curl around the papers in his hands. “And I’m not saying,” she says her voice going lofty as she crawls onto the bed next to him, “that you working is a bad thing.” She trails a finger down his chest. “I’m just saying that you seem…” she pauses and he looks up at her, his face tired and worn, “sad.”

Justin snorts, biting back a retort that she never seemed to care before. Instead he responds, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” she says softly, her hand flattening against his chest and sliding down. “Which is why I figured…” he sucks in his breath as her hand cups him between his legs, giving a gentle squeeze. “that we better have sex before you fall into some kind of depression.”

Justin is so shocked he can’t even begin to process her words. If he had known “moping around” would get her to try and seduce him he would have started dragging his feet around and sighing listlessly years ago. Had he really been moping? He doesn’t think he has been. Sure he hasn’t been as animated lately but he figures that’s from the sleeplessness and doesn’t really have anything to do with the fact that Charlotte doesn’t come around much anymore.

He sucks in a quick breath, trying to concentrate on the way Amelia’s lips are smudging along his jaw, her fingers kneading him slowly, swallowing hard as he feels the tug in his groin. He chuckles softly in disbelief as she nuzzles under his ear, shifting awkwardly under her and he’s slightly horrified to realize that he doesn’t really want to do this.

“Is something wrong?” Amelia asks, her voice tickling his ear and he notices then that her hand has stopped its movement, just holding him gently.

“No…no of course not I’m just…” he trails watching as her fingers begin to work over the crotch of his pajamas again feeling himself begin to heat up as he concentrates on the friction.

Thankfully she doesn’t prompt him to finish his sentence, her mouth busy against his neck and he lays back, staring up at the ceiling and wondering why he’s not more excited about this. It’s been nearly – his eyes widen – eight months since he and Amelia have had sex. Something quiet in the back of his mind whispers it’s been two since he’s been with Charlotte but he shoves that away quickly, turning his face to Amelia and catching her somewhat off guard as his lips capture hers.

Her hand leaves him, smoothing up his chest as she swings a leg over him, settling against his lap and the pressure makes him moan quietly, finally getting used to the idea and to be honest if he turned Amelia down he’d never hear the end of it. She kisses him softly, the feeling familiar and foreign all at the same time as her fingers work open the buttons of his pajama shirt. It’s been a long time since she’s kissed him like this, the prolonged pressure of her lips awakening something inside him and he lets his hands thread back into her hair, the shortness of the locks startling him slightly but then he remembers she isn’t the one with long hair. He tries to shake the thought away, his tongue swiping at her bottom lip as the softness of her palms spread over his chest, parting his shirt and his tongue surges past her lips.

“Mmmm,” she hums, worming herself away from him, “Justin!” she exclaims softly, pouting down at him, her nose wrinkled.

He pants blinking up at her confused. “What?” he questions, the drumming of his pulse causing her to vibrate in front of his eyes.

“You know I don’t like that,” she scolds softly, sitting up straight, her hips pressing down on him again and it takes him a minute to process her words.

“You…you don’t?” he questions confused and she looks at him as if he were being ridiculous, shaking her head slowly before dipping down and nuzzling his jaw, her hands sliding down his sides.

He stares at the ceiling, confused again and that’s when he remembers it wasn’t Amelia that would always tease his tongue out of his mouth, moan against him when he slid his against hers. He shivers at the memory of her sucking lightly on his tongue as his fingers slipped between her legs, moaning at the feel of her flooded center, ready for him, wanting him so badly.

His body jerks and Amelia chuckles against his throat, kissing his Adam’s apple as it bobs, breaking out into a thin sweat. He shouldn’t be thinking about that, shouldn’t even let it cross his mind, not when he has Amelia right here on top of him. His fingers reach around her, nails clawing at the hooks of the corset, trying to get it open and she huffs.

“You’re going to rip it,” she scolds softly, sitting back and reaching behind her, wiggling and twisting in his lap, trying to get it undone.

“I want it off you,” he replies lowly and she looks down at him, a satisfied smirk pulling at her lips, preening a little under his anxious gaze.

“I’m sure you do,” she teases, grinning slyly as the fabric loosens around her torso and she brings her arms forward, letting it fall down slowly.

Justin bites his lip, the creamy expanse of her skin glittering in the dimness of the room and he’d never really realized before how boney she is. He can see the line of her rib cage from where it dips into her stomach, her hipbones pressing sharply against her skin, bellybutton pulled into a taut line. Her breasts round perfectly up from her rib cage, sitting as if suspended eerily in midair, nipples puckered and pink.

“You can do more than stare,” Amelia says lowly, doing a poor job of hiding the smugness in her voice, sticking her chest out a little more and tossing her head to shake her hair out of her eyes.

Justin brings his hands up dumbly, almost shocked by the warmth of her skin. For some reason he’d expected her to be cold. He shakes the thought away, his hands smoothing up her sides effortlessly, her skin satin soft and she’s all taut muscle and hard bone instead of plush curves.

His hand smoothes around the back of Amelia’s neck, tugging her down and he misses the soft weight of hair against the back of his hand, getting his hands tangled in it as he brings his hands to cup Amelia’s face. He can’t think this way, his mind screams, kissing Amelia hard as his hands slide down her back feeling the notches of her spine before his thumbs reach to hook in her panties. He just needs to be in the moment, stop thinking about the past and feel this with Amelia, his fiancé, the woman he loves.

He somehow manages to get her underwear down her legs and she even surprises him by pulling off his pajama pants and boxers. He’s usually the one doing all the work when it comes to sex, all the undressing and the seduction and he takes a moment to appreciate her, watching her press soft kisses against his stomach, forcing the thought of Charlotte’s mouth wrapped around him to the back of his mind. Amelia is trying, reaching out to him and trying to make him feel loved. She’d said herself that she was doing this for him, to bring him out of his funk and for the first time in a long time he understands that she loves him, cares about him and really wants him to be happy.

“Hey,” he says softly, reaching down to run a hand through her hair and she looks up at him, her blue eyes glittering like topaz in the semi-darkness. “Come here.”

His hand cups the back of her head as she crawls over him, her skin sliding against his and he kisses her, really kisses her, lips sucking and pulling at hers drawing a hard shiver from her. She’s panting against his mouth, her hands planted against his chest and he lets his hands slide down over her shoulders, fingers curling around her arms as they drag down to her waist and he grips her hips. He gasps as he pulls her down against him, her center warm and damp causing him to twitch hard. Grabbing handfuls of her ass he moans against her mouth, situating her so that he presses against her entrance.

“Justin,” she says breathlessly, pushing at his chest, her movements slightly frantic. “The condom.”

It’s like a cold slap in the face the way she scrambles up to hover over his lower belly, keeping away from his dick at what seems like all costs. Anger burns hot inside him, his head flopping back against the pillows and he sighs.

“ Amelia... we're fucking engaged,” he spits before he can think to stop himself and winces as her nails curl in sharply against his chest.

“Justin you know how irritated I get down there when you get it on me,” she complains exasperatedly and he brings a hand up, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “It’s never been a problem before.”

“No,” he says with a sigh, “no I guess it hasn’t.”

“Well…” she says after a moment and he looks up at her, finding her looking at him expectantly.

Of course, he should have known, he thinks twisting his body as he tries to reach for the bedside drawer. It seems her seduction only goes as far as not having any skin to skin contact below his navel. He tears the condom open, tossing the wrapper aside and ignoring her frown as the foil square falls to the floor. He gives her hip a soft nudge and she scoots back to sit on his thighs, watching as he slides the sheath down his shaft, pinching the tip.

“You know it wouldn’t kill you to do this every once in awhile,” he says before he can stop himself and her eyes meet his, narrowing slightly before she crawls to hover over his lap once again.

“But you’re so much better at it than me,” she teases and it wouldn’t piss him off so bad if he didn’t know she was patronizing him.

“What because you don’t have a dick you can’t put on a condom,” he pushes and her mouth falls open before snapping shut and he’s somewhat amused at her attempt to control her temper.

“Are we gonna do this,” she asks, leaning over him and bringing her hips down so that the tip of him nestles in her folds, “or do you want to argue with me some more?”

He looks up at her, fighting the roll of his eyes as he nods shortly, hands moving to her hips to guide her as she begins her descent down. Her chest rumbles softly, her eyelids fluttering closed at pleasure he can’t feel. The feeling of skin on skin had spoiled him, nothing between them and the pleasure had been so intense, feeling warm wet heat squeezing at him.

He grits his teeth against the memory, fingernails digging into Amelia’s skin and he pulls her hips down the rest of the way, her body settling flush against his. She cries out, face twisting in pain and she leans forward to alleviate some of the pressure from her pelvis allowing him to slip out.

“Careful,” she chides, her fingernails digging half moons into his shoulders and he nods, squeezing her hip apologetically as the other hand goes between them to guide him back in.

Memories flicker through his mind in flashes, the past and present blurring as pleasure flutters through his groin, eyes hazily watching as Amelia lifts and lowers her body over him, her arms locked against his chest. He craves the widening of her legs, wanting her to dip down low and take him deeper and deeper until he hits her spot. He wants her thighs to tremble, her hips to roll against him hard as her body sucks at his begging for his release through her own. She hums softly, her hips searching for a comfortable rhythm and he just lets his hands smooth up and down her thighs, trying to concentrate on her, forcing himself to focus so his mind doesn’t wander.

Amelia’s skin is flawless, an even golden brown not a freckle or stray hair to be found. Her lips are full and soft, her tongue snaking out to wet them, the ultimate seduction, her face delicate, her body proportioned and tight. She is every man’s fantasy, a body like hers, a face like hers… so watching her bring a hand from her neck down to cup her breast, rolling her nipple between her fingers should drive him right to the edge. But he wants her hands all over him, fingers grappling for his skin. He wants her to gently guide his hands where she wants them, not the pushy way she’s pulling his hand from her thigh and placing it on the heavy globe of her breast. He wants her hands to go to his face when he gets it right and he wants her head to tip back in a sigh or a moan, the ultimate kind of positive reinforcement.

“Justin!” Amelia exclaims and the harshness of her tone startles him. “Did you hear me?”

“Huh?” he says, shaking his head in a daze and Amelia’s hips stop, reminding him that he actually was getting some amount of friction.

“What is wrong with you?” she asks, her breath slightly labored and she looks down at him, her brow furrowed and he has that odd feeling of being x-rayed.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, blinking hard as his hands smooth up her sides. “Don’t stop baby.”

She eyes him skeptically, letting her nails drag sharply down his chest in warning before resuming her slow rocking, a soft hum pulling from her lips. Justin lets his hands run all over her, down her arms and up again, fingers wrapping around the back of his neck. He keeps his eyes open even when the pleasure sinks in enough to cause them to want to close, holding her face in the forefront of his mind even though the memories are crawling at the edges. Her hips are jerking quicker now, the friction finally building enough against the latex so that his breathing is becoming uneven.

Amelia hums again, her palm pressing flat against his chest for more leverage and his hand covers hers over his heart, wanting so badly for this to be better, wishing that there was something he could do but he’s at a loss, watching her head tip back, a gasp pulling from her throat and the muscles of her stomach clench and release as her orgasm washes through her. Her hips slow and his body is stuck between wanting release and just being thankful it’s almost over. What the hell is wrong with him?

“Are you close?” she asks in a way that makes Justin mentally cringe, her voice slightly strained, her hips still moving slow and there’s no way he’s going to get there with the pace she’s setting.

He hums, a noncommittal sound and reaches for her hips, listening to her gasp as he pulls her under him, tugging her legs to wrap around his waist. She wiggles trying to settle but he doesn’t give her the chance, hips beginning a steady rhythm that makes his eyelids flutter. She’s hissing underneath him, pushing at his shoulders trying to get comfortable and he grits his teeth, slowing his pace and after a moment she sighs, arms snaking around his neck. She’s into it now, heels pressing into the backs of his thighs and he can’t remember the last time she gave him the opportunity to give her two but his orgasm has slipped under the surface again and he’s exhausted over the idea of striving for it again.

Amelia’s nails drag down his back before gripping his biceps, the pads of her fingers pressing hard into his flesh and he watches as she arches her back, her mouth falling open. She gives the tiniest of squeaks, her orgasm making her shudder and go limp, her body stretching languidly as her arms drape over his shoulders in that way that lets him know she’s completely spent. So he does the only thing he can think of, knowing this is over. He presses his face into her neck and moans, his hips giving one final shove and he lays still over her, forcing breath in and out of his lungs in a labored way that he hopes is convincing.

It must be because Amelia sighs against his ear, her hands sliding down to grip his shoulders for a moment before smoothing them down his chest as he pulls back from her a little, trying not to look guilty. She smiles up at him, a hand cupping his face and his eyes close, shame and remorse weighing on him like lead.

“Feel better now?” she questions softly and Justin can’t help the chuckle that pulls from his throat.

“Uh…yeah babe,” he replies and he’s taken off guard when she nuzzles her nose against his sweetly, her lips brushing his before kissing him gently.

“Good,” she says with a sigh and then pats his shoulders and that’s his cue, rolling off of her, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, his feet dangling over the side. He jumps when she runs a hand down his back.

“I’m just gonna go clean up,” he mumbles pushing himself up off the bed and hurrying into the bathroom, doing his best to hide his still raging hard-on.

He pushes the door closed behind him, running his hands over his head in frustration as he leans back against it. He rests his head against the cool wood of the door, staring up at the ceiling and marveling at the turn of events. Amelia actually seduced him, let the sex last longer than ten minutes and he couldn’t even get there. Had she done any one of those things not even six months ago he would have lost his shit in two thrusts.

He growls in frustration, reaching down to rip the condom off and tosses it in the trashcan violently, wanting very badly to hit something but the thud would most likely just draw unwanted questions. He glances at himself in the large mirror over the sinks and he barely recognizes the person staring back at him. His body is hard and lean from rigorous weight training and protein diets all for the wedding and he has to admit this is the best he’s looked in years, maybe ever. But his face is drawn and careworn, lines drawn deep around his mouth and across his forehead. His skin is sallow and his eyes are dull and he doesn’t want to know this man that’s standing in front of him and he certainly doesn’t want to be him. He wants to be the man that can make love to his fiancé without incident and unfettered with thoughts of other women. Well, it wasn’t women plural he consoles himself. It was just one.

He rests his hands against the edge of the counter, his head hanging low and his dick seems to stare right back at him, reminding him that things like this just don’t go away by themselves. He grinds his teeth, stepping over in front of the toilet and is almost embarrassed as he takes himself in his hand. He gives a slow stroke, testing the waters and sighs as a dull ripple of pleasure pulls through him. His hand moves faster as his mind wanders, the pull in his groin coming sharp as he summons his last memory of him and Charlotte, her head thrown back in pleasure, the cords in her neck pulling taut as she somehow found a way to keep herself from screaming as she clenched around him over and over.

His hand flies out, supporting himself against the wall when his knees weaken, mouth falling open in a silent moan as he comes in short bursts, turning the bowl water milky in places. He feels disgusted with himself as he flushes, stepping to the sink to wash his hands and a feeling of deflated hollowness seeps deep into his bones, much the same feeling he had two months ago when he’d told Charlotte no for the first time. The look on her face had quickly gone from shock to understanding and with one look they’d both decided that it wasn’t going to happen again.

And it hasn’t.

And he hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep since.

He shakes his head, drying his hands and slipping back into the bedroom. Amelia is lying on her side facing him as he enters the room, the blankets pulled up to her chest, her lashes fanning out perfectly against her cheekbones and she looks peaceful and sated, as beautiful as always. He ducks his head, hurrying around to his side of the bed where he finds his pajamas and a clean pair of underwear folded for him, his heart breaking slightly as he picks them up and puts them on. He flicks out the light, climbing in behind Amelia, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek before retreating back to his side of the bed where he rests his head on his pillow and prays for sleep to come.

***

“Baby I just can’t tell you how happy I am to have you home,” Lynn says, practically beaming as she sets a steaming plate of scrambled eggs in front of her son.

Justin looks up at her, giving her a smile that can only best be described as weak and picks up his fork slowly, nudging at his food. This was a bad idea. How could he have possibly thought that flying home two weeks before the wedding would be a good idea? He must have lost his mind. Sane people don’t roll out of their beds at two o’clock in the morning, pack as quietly as possible so as not to wake their sleeping fiancé and take a redeye to their hometown. He needs to get more sleep, that’s all he needs. He’d think more clearly if he could just fucking sleep.

“Are you sure you don’t want pancakes too? Or toast?” Lynn presses, sitting next to him at the table and Justin hears the rustle of his father’s newspaper trying to mask him as he clears his throat and Lynn sits straighter.

“I’m fine Mom,” Justin says, taking a bite of his eggs, burning his mouth slightly but he swallows anyway.

“It wouldn’t be any trouble-”

“I can’t eat pancakes,” he says dully, reaching for the salt and shaking some onto his eggs even though he doesn’t really care how they taste. “I’ll throw off my training.”

“Well,” Lynn says, placing a hand on his arm and glancing from him to his father and then whispering. “I think you’ll be fine. One stack of pancakes can’t hurt.”

“Really,” Justin insists, forcing another smile as he shovels eggs into his mouth. “I’m fine.”

He’s chewing slowly, nudging the remainder of his food around on his plate so he misses the look that Lynn shoots at Paul who is regarding him curiously around the side of his newspaper. They are both wondering what their son is doing in their house at nine a.m. on a Thursday, looking haggard and worn, lines drawn deeply into his handsome face. Lynn pulls her eyes from her husband’s to regard Justin, reaching up to run her hand through the short fuzz of his hair, trying to curl even though it’s far too short.

“I know your grandparents will be happy to see you,” Lynn says, her voice a little strained as she studies him carefully. “Although you came when it was just about time to cut the grass.”

Justin groans letting his head fall back and Lynn smiles. He’d made that deal with his grandmother nearly three years ago, a few of her recipes in exchange for him cutting the grass when he was home to do it. He’d managed to avoid it for the most part, coming in winter or early spring but it seems now he would have to make good on his promise.

“You must be really busy with the wedding,” his mother says, forcing a smile into her voice and she thinks she sees him cringe. “It’s nice you found the time to come home.”

“I always make time for you Momma,” he says, forking more food into his mouth and Lynn smiles even though he’s placating her, years of watching him schmooze on interviews having trained him well.

“Is…is everything alright?” she asks him softly and he nods, still shoving more food in his mouth. “Did something happen with…” she pauses chancing a look at Paul whose brow furrows in displeasure. “the wedding.”

“No,” Justin says simply, picking up a piece of bacon and biting into it. “Everything’s fine. Operation wedding has gone into hyperdrive.” He chuckles quickly before clearing his throat to mask the hollowness of the sound.

“You just…” Lynn starts, looking at him with drawn brows and pursed lips. She sighs folding her arms on the table. “You just seem really sad.”

Justin laughs, looking at his mother and shaking his head, looking down quickly because he can’t stand the worry in her eyes. “You sound just like Amelia.”

Because he’s busy pushing his food around on his plate, Justin fails to notice the indignation on his mother’s face when he says these words. “You look tired, baby,” she says softly, reaching up to brush her fingers through his hair again, noting the gray coming in at his temples. “You’re too thin.”

“Mother I’m fine,” he snaps finally, looking up at her and she can see the annoyance in his eyes and something else, panic maybe? Helplessness? “I’m sorry,” he apologizes looking down and sighing. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” he admits finally and simply saying the words lifts a weight from his chest. “I think it’s just all this wedding hoopla.” He waves his fork disinterestedly.

“Yeah the big day is coming up,” Lynn says with forced enthusiasm and she watches him swallow hard, sighing as she gives another longing look at Paul who only looks sternly back at her. She looks back at Justin helplessly. “Has…has Amelia had her final fitting?” Justin nods, his shoulders tensing as he chews his food slowly. “I never saw her final choice. Did she change it since the one that was in the papers?”

“Yeah,” Justin says, tugging at the neck of his t-shirt, wriggling his shoulders. “Its some ballroom thing now. Big, lots of beading.”

“I’m sure it’s beautiful,” Lynn says and Justin nods. “Did she confirm that band you had wanted for the reception?”

Justin shifts. “No…no we’re going with an orchestra instead.”

Lynn frowns. “Oh…I thought you’d really wanted that band. You were so excited about it on the phone-”

“I was,” Justin cuts her off sharply and then takes a deep breath. “But the orchestra will be better.”

“It will?” Lynn asks confused. “How so?”

“I don’t know Mother it just will,” Justin snaps and he hears Paul’s paper rustle down.

“Watch your tone son,” he warns before disappearing behind it again and Justin nods, looking at his mother apologetically.

“Amelia wanted the orchestra,” he says softly, shoveling more food into his mouth, hoping that all those times his mother had chided him on not speaking with his mouth full will stop her from asking questions.

“Well what about what you want?” Lynn asks softly, reaching to hold his wrist and he lets his head fall back, swallowing.

“It doesn’t matter,” he grumbles, wishing for once that his mother would take the hint and stop prodding.

“It does too matter,” Lynn says, her voice indignant and he looks up to see fire in her eyes. “This is as much your wedding as it is hers!”

“Mom,” Justin says and then sighs, his eyes flicking to his father as he tries to get his tone in check. “Its too late okay. Everything is already set up. I’m stuck with it okay?” he winces at his poor choice of words. “It’s going to be beautiful,” he says, drudging up his most winning smile. “That’s all that matters.”

“No that’s not all that matters,” Lynn insists and Paul ruffles his newspaper again but she ignores him. “It needs to be what you want son.”

“It is what I want!” Justin exclaims in frustration and ducks his head quickly before Paul even has a chance to glance around his paper. “Sorry…” he clears his throat and saying more softly, “It is what I want.”

“Justin…” she says and pauses, debating.

She watches him nudge the remainder of his food around his plate, his fingernails ragged and bit down to the quick. He has deep black circles pitted under his eyes and his cheekbones press sharply against his sallow skin. She’s tired of seeing him this way, sick of watching him get beaten down over and over again. She raised him to be the kind of man that honored his commitments, drilling it into him from a very young age that you don’t walk out and you don’t give up when things get hard. She didn’t want him to be like his father, the sperm donor as she had spent Justin’s whole life calling him. She never dreamed that it would come to something like this. So it’s guilt as much as love that causes her to reach for his arm, holding it until he looks up at her and she softly says:

 “Honey you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Justin looks at her guardedly, shaking his head at her and he doesn’t want to talk about it; he never has. His relationship with Amelia had always been a mystery to Lynn probably because she’d always assumed that she was just a fling, a little fun to be had for a while until Justin found a better match. She’d never dreamed that her son could be tamed by a New York princess, but not only did she tame him, she put him on a leash so short he never left the porch.

“If you’re having doubts or anything at all Justin you just tell me,” she pushes unable to stop herself, looking fervently into his face but all she sees is him ratcheting tighter and tighter. “You tell your mama and we will call this whole thing off-”

“Lynn,” Paul says gruffly as Justin’s fork falls to his plate with a clatter, resting the palms of his hands against the edge of the table and for a minute they both think he’s going to get up and leave. But all he does is take a deep breath and shake his head, picking up his fork again and resuming eating.

“I will,” Lynn insists looking at her husband. She turns back to Justin. “Baby you just say the word and I will call up there and-”

“Mom!” Justin exclaims, his voice echoing harshly off the walls and his mother’s mouth snaps shut. “You’re being ridiculous just stop.”

“Justin you are a good man. Calling this off isn’t going to change that,” Lynn insists, reaching up to touch his face and he jerks away from her touch, the action cutting her to the bone.

“I know that. I said I was fine,” he spits before setting his fork down and shoving his plate away, his stomach suddenly rolling.

“Lynn leave the boy alone,” Paul says, looking at her exasperatedly over the top of his newspaper and Lynn glares back at him before reaching for Justin’s hand sitting on the table, covering it with hers.

“You can’t do this if it doesn’t feel right, Justin,” Lynn says softly, leaning towards him and he snatches his hand away from hers, his shoulder twitching hard, trying to mask it by rolling his neck and looking out the window over the backyard. “You can’t…” she trails not even finishing as she takes in the set of his jaw, the blankness of his face. He’s shut down.

Tears fill her eyes and she pushes back from the table, sniffling as she stands and Justin’s eyes close at the sound, trying to block it out. He never could handle seeing his mother cry. It was as if their tear ducts were hard wired together and if she started so did he and the other way around. And because of this very fact she hurries from the room, leaving a deafening silence in her wake.

“I do love her,” Justin says, almost impulsively and he glances over at his father who is lowering his newspaper, setting it on the table. “I do.”

“I never said you didn’t,” Paul replies, eyes still roaming over the page but Justin knows he has his full attention. It’s been this way ever since he was a teenager, when talking about personal things got harder for him because of everyone always striving to know everything about him. Giving the allusion that Justin was merely talking aloud to himself was the greatest thing Paul could have ever done for his son.

“I love her I just…” he trails, Charlotte’s face crawling into his consciousness and he shakes it away, reaching up to rub his burning eyes.

“Just what?” Paul asks and Justin wishes he had just shut up.

“It’s just cold feet,” Justin says, falling back on the old standby and Paul smiles nodding his head knowingly. “It’s gonna be fine. It’s okay.”

“I never said it wasn’t,” he says shake out his paper. “Happens to the best of us.”

Justin eyes him for a second. “Were you nervous when you married Mom?” he asks quietly and Paul glances at him before nodding.

“I was,” he states simply and then glancing at his son he adds, “It was a lot to take on. Not only was I marrying your mother but I was adopting a son too.” A smile tugs at Justin’s lips. “You can’t take something like that lightly and heavy decisions like that are bound to make any man nervous. But I knew I loved your mother and I knew I loved you. There was no one else could fathom myself with.”

“Me either,” Justin replies somewhat spastically and Paul’s eyes pull from his paper to regard his son curiously, skeptically and Justin does his best to hold his eyes, feeling even worse for lying to his father.

Except he isn’t technically lying because he wouldn’t rather be with Charlotte. At least he doesn’t think so. The wall around his heart trembles and now he knows coming here was the worst thing he could have done. He’s packed all this away, boxed it up and put it in the back of his mind where he was content to keep it. Charlotte is now nothing but Amelia’s assistant and his colleague, a friend he would tentatively say but only tentatively because he can’t allow any of those old feelings to escape their boxes.

“How’s Charlotte?” Paul asks nonchalantly and Justin swallows hard.

“I dunno,” he says and the honesty hurts him. He really doesn’t know.

“You don’t see her anymore?”

A fleeting memory of her passing him in the lobby of Amelia’s office building, her dark hair swinging as she meandered through the crowd, how he’d stopped dead in his tracks for a full ten seconds.

“No,” he says simply, even though the misery in his voice is evident to his father.

“Why not?” Paul asks turning the page in his newspaper.

It’s amazing how easy it is to avoid each other when you’re both working at it.

“We’ve both been busy,” he says, fingers picking at a loose string on the placemat beside him, biting on his bottom lip slowly. “I mean she’s Amelia’s assistant, not mine.”

“What’s she been up to?” his father asks and Justin cringes, the sutchers in his heart tearing at the seams and he doesn’t want to be having this conversation.

“I dunno, taking online classes, hanging out with Felicity,” Justin says waving a hand before crossing his arms over his chest and Paul looks up at him.

“Felicity? That little redheaded girl that works for you?” Paul asks and Justin nods, watching his father’s eyebrows raise before coughing out a laugh. “They don’t exactly seem the types to run in the same crowd.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at Justin’s lips, the feeling foreign to him. “Yeah, I guess it seemed odd to me too but…” Justin sighs, his memory drudging up all of the idle chatter he’d tried to ignore, Felicity’s face lighting up as she gave the blow by blow of the weekends events, including the information that Charlotte is a very good dancer. “They seemed to hit it off. Surprisingly they have a lot in common.” They must; Charlotte has been going out with Fee and her friends every weekend for over a month now.

“Like what?” Paul asks evenly and Justin winces, his heart tearing a little more as he remembers everything he’d tried to ignore.

“Shopping, lunch,” Justin says dismissively and as he examines his fingernails he mumbles, “out to the bars, you know…s-single girl stuff.”

“Hmmm,” Paul hums and Justin looks up at his father, finding his face set in a look of contemplative curiosity.

“What?” Justin asks, his heartbeat increasing for reasons he doesn’t quite understand until Paul looks at him and says:

“So she’s still single then?”

Justin looks down into his lap, his teeth grinding slightly as he crushes one hand in the other and utters the words that have been killing him for over a month now. “I don’t know.”

His father heaves a sigh. “Justin, if Charlotte is the o-”

“Dad I really don’t wanna talk about all this okay?” he says, shaking his head. “I came here because…because I just wanna get my head on straight,” he swallows hard looking down into his lap again. “I’m not saying that I’m having doubts,” he adds quickly. “I just…this…this is a huge thing that’s happening in a couple weeks. I mean…fuck I’m getting married,” he says and Paul bites back everything he was going to say because the look on his son’s face is nothing short of absolute terror.

“You just need some time to think,” Paul says and Justin looks up at his father, his eyes helpless and scared and he nods, a reluctant movement of his head.

The last thing he needs is time to think, he broods but he can’t help but wonder if that was the point of this whole trip all along. He’d been sleepwalking through the last several months, plowing through daily life in an effort just to get it all over with and he hasn’t been happy. Not in a long time. So sitting here with his father at the kitchen table he grew up at he finally allows himself to ponder just what it might mean if he were to choose something different, to choose…someone different.

And just like that every moment with Charlotte comes flooding back, the dam he’d constructed around the memories breaking and he’s drowning in it. The day they’d met, that cute giggle at one of his lame ass jokes. That first business lunch together when she’d given him support and encouragement. When he’d broken down in front of her about Amelia, told her everything and confided in her and she’d tried to help him through it, again encouraging and guiding him. How beautiful she’d looked at his birthday party and the aftermath of that. Their first kiss in the stairwell, her mouth soft and warm against his and that first time in his office and then every time after that. It all crashes over him and he puts his elbows on the table, putting his head in his hands and tries to breathe. He’s getting married in two weeks and he chooses now to wonder if he may be with the wrong person. There has got to be a cure for this kind of terminal idiocy.

“Son,” Paul says softly but Justin doesn’t look up at him, afraid that he may have some kind of breakdown if he does. “I’m not gonna harp on you okay? You have to be patient with your mother, she’s just worried. And so am I which is why I’m going to say this and it’s the only time I‘m gonna say it.”

He pauses and Justin waits, staring down at the wood grain of the table, shifting restlessly in his chair. He hears his father sigh.

“Someday someone will walk into your life and you'll realize why it never worked out with anyone else,” Paul says softly and Justin’s eyes close as tears prick at him hard. “Sometimes you have to lose something to get something better.”

Justin’s brows furrow, looking up at his father who is staring at him steadily, meaningfully now and he thinks he understands, his chest lightening considerably. Sometimes you have to lose something to get something better. Maybe he’s been so miserable because he hasn’t really let go of this thing with Charlotte yet. And now that he’s being honest with himself he really hasn’t let her go. Avoiding every thought of her and avoiding every chance encounter isn’t letting go, its just being a coward. He winces. No, if he’s going to make this thing work with Amelia he needs to really let go and that’s what he’s going to do.