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Cold Feet

Viola I'm in love with love and I love couples who are in love. They are my bread and butter after all but that's not why I love them. I love it so much that I became a wedding planner. Watching couples young and old committing their lives to each other is something that's just so special. I never get tired of seeing couples stare lovingly into each other's eyes as they plan, prepare and execute their wedding ceremony pledging their undying love to one another for the rest of their lives. I haven't got there yet myself but watching other couples keeps my dream of finding Mr. Right alive. But life doesn't always see things the way we do. It sure didn't see it my way when he crossed my path. Rick I don't believe in love. If it really exists why are there so many broken relationships and people in the world? Not that I care… about the broken relationships I mean. After all, they are my bread and butter. People lay the foundation for the demise of their marriage before they're married with prenups designed to protect their assets. Marriage gives couples the right to punish each other when they don't want to be together anymore for whatever reason. So, when anyone tells you that it starts with a wedding, they're wrong. It starts with a lawyer. And if it ends… well, it ends with a lawyer too. Funny that. Often the people that I work for before their wedding, come knocking on my door a few years down the line. Repeat business. So, love is great and it is for me but just not for me if you get what I mean. When I met the wedding planner she was incensed at the thought that we might collaborate. Other planners have no issue with it. Why she should have, I have no idea. Normally I would just walk away but the universe seems to have other plans…

Gratitude · Urban
Not enough ratings
40 Chs

Chapter 34

RICK

I look at Viola on the other side of the room.

“What happened?” I ask.

“I can’t… we can’t do this. Please go,” she says. Then, as if realizing for the first time that she’s topless, she covers herself with her arm and moves back to the sofa where she snags her top off the floor and pulls it over her head. I watch her as she lifts her hands over her head to put her top on. The movement lifts her breasts and accentuates them and then she’s dressed again.

“Please go,” she says again.

Viola, c’mon. Let’s talk…”

“Get out!” she shouts.

I get up and make my way to the entrance hall. I open the door and let myself out. She follows me at a distance still covering her breasts even though she’s wearing her top again. I look back at her once I’m outside the apartment.

“Let’s just talk,” I say in a calm voice.