dinner, so I can hardly wait. I think having this, one weekend where itâs just us, will do wonders for my insecurities and silliness. I never should have let it get to this point. I recognize that Iâm at fault for not communicating better with Tate, for not telling him of my unhappiness. But this weekend, when itâs just the two of us and our focus is solely on us, I absolutely plan to talk to him about . . . everything.â
Kylie and Joss both wore identical looks of relief.
âThatâs wonderful, sweetie,â Joss said.
âIâm so glad youâre taking this step,â Kylie said. âI agree with you. A weekend with just the two of you is probably exactly what you need to feel better about everything. And talking to him and opening up about the way youâve been feeling is a huge step in the right direction. I canât imagine Tate not moving heaven and earth to make you happy again. But as you said yourself, he has to know about the problem if heâs going to be able to fix it.â
Chessy smiled, her heart lightening and some of the ache slipping away as she soaked in the healing balm of her girlfriendsâ unfettered, unconditional love. God only knew Chessy was usually the one freely dispensing advice and threatening to kick Joss and Kylieâs asses over certain matters when it came to their happiness. It made her a flaming hypocrite that she wasnât taking a dose of the same medicine she dished out to her friends. And that she was quick to tell them what they should do but then shrugged off their advice.
Sound
advice to boot.
Ah well, no more. She was resolving to have the best anniversary weekend ever. She and Tate would rediscover the love she knew they still shared. Theyâd spend a wonderful weekend together loving and laughing and she would talk to him about her growing unhappiness. It was time for her to stop being a spineless guppy and take a stand when it came to her own life and relationship with a man she loved with all her heart and soul.
TWO
THAT Friday, Chessy sat at the table Tate had reserved at the restaurant for their anniversary dinner, resisting the urge to look at her watch. There were a million reasons Tate could be late. Traffic. Difficulty in breaking free from work. She didnât mind any of it as long as he showed up and their weekend began, just as heâd promised her.
In the beginning of their five-year marriage, Tate had always gone the extra mile to make it a special day for her. One year, theyâd eaten here and then heâd taken her home, told her to pack a bag, that they were going to the Bora Bora for an entire week.
She still smiled over the memory of that. Her bubbly excitement over Tate arranging such a wonderful surprise for her. Heâd taken her on a reenactment of their honeymoon. Same bungalow set out over the water. Same honeymoon bed. Theyâd spent most of that entire week in bed, only venturing out to eat or to play in the water.
But in the last two years thereâd been no time for such frivolities. They still ate at the same restaurant, but on Monday morning it had been off to work for him as usual.
She glanced at her watch again, breathing a small sigh of relief. He wasnât late. She was merely a few minutes early. Deciding sheâd take a quick trip to the ladies room to double check her appearance, she rose and hurried to the bathroom.
Sheâd paid extra attention to her makeup and hair and had donned a sexy, slinky dress she knew would get a rise out of Tate. With any luck he wouldnât be able to take his eyes off her during the entire meal and his gaze would smolder with all the things heâd do to her once they arrived home.
She shivered in delight as she retouched her lip gloss and patted her upswept hair. Little curly tendrils floated carelessly down her neck and against her cheek. She knew without false modesty that she looked her absolute best.
Hoping