The Life You've Imagined Read Online Free PDF Page A

getting out of this shack for a few hours. So I slip my wallet into my pants pocket and head for the door, checking the hallway out of habit, though I know he already left.

Chapter 6
    Amy
    W hen I see Paul’s reflection behind me in my full-length mirror, I snatch my robe off the bed and cover myself.
    And he does the most infuriating thing ever. He laughs.
    “Oh, baby, are you worried about your virtue?” He strides up behind me, moves my hair aside and grabs a mouthful of my neck. “Let’s ruin your virtue again before the party.”
    I sigh and lean into him for a moment, until he tries to take my arms away from my robe. I tighten up my grip. “Paul! Not now, I’m trying to get ready.”
    I meet his eyes in the mirror and they look downturned, like he’s wearing a tragedy mask. Oh, what a crybaby. Trust men to go all weepy about not getting sex. So I smile at him. “I’m sorry, sweetie. There will be lots of time for that later. I promise you can ruin my virtue all night long.”
    I turn around in his arms and kiss him for a long time, and finally he leaves me alone, seeming to be slightly mollified. Goodness, it’s so much work, protecting a man’s ego.
    I slide my dress over my head and turn back to the mirror once it’s safely in place. Oh, I love it. It’s a silk georgette with a floral pattern in a spring green that perfectly complements my current shade of blonde. I do an experimental twirl. When I’m standing still, the dress falls to the knee, and I’d have to pirouette like a child’s top to get it to swirl up high enough to show the stretch marks.
    I add my new necklace. Head of the class, Amy Rickart. Amy Rickart-Becker, that is.
    Paul is reading the newspaper when I come out. He doesn’t move the paper when I stand right in front of him, left hand on my hip so the engagement ring catches the eye.
    “Ahem,” I say, and he’s still reading.
    I go for coquettish and cute and bat the newspaper down, kissing him lightly on the lips before I twirl—carefully—in front of him. “You like?”
    “It’s nice,” he says, rising and patting his pockets, then searching the end table for his keys.
    “Nice? I spend forty-five minutes getting ready and ‘nice’ is all you’ve got?” I try to smile bigger, as if I’m only joking, still flirting.
    He kisses me hard and without chivalry on the lips. “You look ravishing, stunning, beautiful beyond measure. Can we go now?”
    “Well, gee, I’m overwhelmed.” I look away from him to pretend to search for my handbag, though I actually know right where it is.
    “I tried to appreciate your beauty in there and you wouldn’t have it.”
    “It’s just timing! We can’t be late for our own party.” I swallow down the next things I want to say, because we really are going to be late if we get into it now.
    He’s tossing his keys lightly in one hand, his other hand hooked into his pocket. He looks like a Land’s End catalog page. “Who cares about the clock, Aims? Or convenience, whatever.”
    I toss my hair and smirk at him, because I’ve got him now. “Really? What if I’d climbed into your lap this afternoon during your game, at the bottom of the inning when the bases were loaded?”
    “I wouldn’t know. You’ve never tried anything not written in your daily planner.” He turns on his heel and calls over his shoulder. “I’ll bring the car around so you don’t have to trek across the parking lot in those heels.”
    “Very thoughtful of you,” I mumble, but I don’t think he’s heard me.
    A s it happens, traffic is backed up on Shoreline Drive and we’re late anyway, but maybe that’s not so bad. As we walk up the long grassy slope from the circle drive to the garden gate, the party is in full swing and everyone looks so delighted to see us that I feel like a celebrity. I’m waving, grabbing hands, accepting kisses on the cheek. Paul is pulled away almost immediately by some guys, but I don’t care; I have him all the rest of