Her jaw slipped open. “You’re joking.”
“Nope. It’s part of the whole honeymoon retreat experience.” He held his mug wide in mock enthusiasm. Therapy sounded about as much fun as ripping out his own toenails with a salad fork.
She gave him a look that would wither a lesser man’s balls.
He ignored it. Not like he was particularly looking forward to dodging questions in a group setting, but if they didn’t show up it might raise questions. The group sessions were part of the entire Twin Lakes honeymoon experience. “It won’t be that bad. We’ll tell them we’re private people.”
“You think that’s going to work?”
He didn’t have a lot of experience with therapists, but he had a feeling there was no way in hell his plan was going to work. “Nope.”
“We should get our stories straight then. I told Sarah you’re a landscaper and I’m your receptionist.” She kept her eyes on her coffee.
Landscaper? He couldn’t keep a potted plant alive. He had, however, once managed to keep a cactus from decomposing for about six months. “You told her I’m a landscaper?”
“You know, lawn installation and stuff.” She shrugged. The neck of her T-shirt slipped down her shoulder the barest of centimeters. Still, it was enough to make his pulse beat louder in his ears.
“Luce, I know what a landscaper does. Why on earth wouldn’t you tell her I’m a businessman?”
She bit at her bottom lip, her teeth dipping into the flesh there. “I was working on the fly. We really should’ve discussed this before we got here.”
He placed his mug on the table. “First rule of telling lies, keep them as close to the truth as possible. That way they’re easier to keep track of. But, for now, fine. I’m a landscaper. You’re my receptionist. How many pretend future kids do you want?”
She gave him some serious side eye. “Uh…none.”
“None? At all?” His foot dropped to the floor. The small thud matching the way his heart plunked to the bottom of his ribs.
“Nope.”
“That’s not going to work for me. We’ve got to have at least one.”
“Fine. I’ll have one pretend child with you.”
“You sure you don’t want two? Being an only pretend kid isn’t any fun.”
She thinned her lips and shook her head. “I’m putting my pretend foot down.”
“Alrighty then. We have professions. Family aspirations. Anything else?”
“How long have we known each other?” she asked.
“Five years.” Seemed like a reasonable amount of time. Not that he had much of a track record to go from.
“That’s kind of a long time.” Her forehead pinched, and his fingertips itched to smooth those lines.
“Five months?” he countered.
She grimaced. “You think that’s long enough?”
“If we tell them five months then at least it’ll make sense when we don’t know anything about each other,” he pointed out, scooting his chair closer to hers so their knees nearly bumped.
“Five months ago, you hired me at your landscaping business.”
“And then you were all over me.”
She sat taller and crossed her legs, bumping his knee with her own and quickly pulling back. “I was not.”
“Okay. I was all over you. It was love at first sight.” Not far from the truth—not that he was in love with her. Serious lust, maybe.
She trailed her finger around the edge of her mug. “You can’t believe in that.”
“Lust at first sight then?” he asked.
“Seriously, Will? Fine. Love at pretend first sight.”
“Fair enough. We figured, why wait? Our whirlwind romance led to us getting married and ending up here at Twin Lakes.”
She pulled out a thin reporter’s notebook and began scribbling. Why did he find that charming? Maybe he did need to get his head examined. “Where are we from?”
“Confluence.”
Her pen stalled. “Confluence is too close. What if one of the other guests is also from Confluence? Then they’ll know we’re lying.”
“Fine. Nebraska.”
“Nebraska?”
“Yeah.”
“Why Nebraska?”
He took a sip from his cup. “Why not?”
“It’s just that if we’re going to keep this as ‘real’ as possible—so we can keep things straight—we should probably pick a place we’ve both been.”
“Good call. Maryland?”
“Nope. California?”
“Not since I was a kid.”
“I suppose Nebraska it is, then.” She tossed him a smile that didn’t quite make it to her eyes. “Hopefully, someone will steal something, and we’ll get a video. I’d hate for this whole thing to be a waste.”
His resolve not to pursue her weakened. Dancing, making out, and waking up next to her? Not a waste.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” she asked.
A warning bell clanged in his mind. “Confession time is over, but I suppose it depends on the question. Shoot.”
“Why is confession time over? Shouldn’t it always be confession time?” She tilted her head to the side slightly.
Funny, she hadn’t been gung-ho to play Confessions the other night.
“Last I checked, I’m a reporter, not a priest. This means confession time has limits. What do you want to ask?”
“What’s in the envelope on the nightstand?”
Oh. He’d forgotten to take it with him.
“Don’t answer. None of my business.” She shook her head and poured more coffee for herself. “I was just curious because I’ve seen you mess with it a few times.”
“Okay, I’ll play. But you agree to match the confession, yeah? What’re you putting on the line?”
“I already agreed to have pretend children, isn’t that enough for one day?”
He leaned forward, so they sat knee to knee, and spoke slowly. “I confess in the envelope is a…letter.”
She pulled her knees against her chest. “Right, Sherlock. I got that part. Who is the letter from?”
He backed away from her. “My mother.”
Shock registered on her face. “Seriously?” she whispered.
“Seriously. Got it at the reading of her will.” He crossed his ankle over his knee and shifted in the chair. “I keep it with me. Keeps me grounded.”
“What’s it say? The letter, I mean.”
“As you pointed out, it’s unopened. Which indicates, Watson, that I don’t know what it says.”
She glanced up then. “Why haven’t you opened it?”
“Don’t want to know what it says.” He leaned back, dangling his arm across the back of the chair on the other side of him.
“Why?” Her brown eyes were genuinely curious.
“Doesn’t matter what the letter says. Most likely it’s a final diatribe of how I screwed up my life. Mom kicked me out, and I didn’t see her for over a year before she passed. The last thing she said to me on the phone was that I needed to quit pissing my life away. Not in those exact words, but you get the idea. The conversation involved a lot of yelling. I don’t need a written reminder of how disappointing I was to her.”
“Why do you keep it with you?” Those eyes. Hell.
“That’s a good question. It’s also the third part to your original one-part question, which you didn’t declare when you originally asked,” he deflected.
“You answering it?”
“I’ll answer if I get the next question. And you actually have to answer. No dodging this time.”
She nodded.
He shrugged. “I confess it says what I need it to say.”
She scrunched up her nose. “Huh?”
“I keep the letter with me so when something happens, and I can use some advice, the letter says whatever I need it to say. It stays with me, so she stays with me. I didn’t get to say goodbye, and I don’t want to. The letter keeps things open.”
“She’s gone. She said all she needed to say when she was alive. Some things are best left alone. I was a disappointment as a son, and I don’t need that in my life now. I’ve worked hard to put that guy behind me.”
“You should open it,” she insisted.
“Let it go. You wanted to know. Now you know.”
“You were never a bad person.” She was doing the quiet thing again.
“You’ll never know who I was. Thank God for that.”
Her face changed. It was soft before, but it gentled further, and she opened her mouth to say something.
He, however, was done with this conversation. “My turn. Why’d you disappear at the barn last night?”
Her gaze drifted to her coffee. “I confess…I needed air.”
He rested his elbows on his knees. “That’s the best you can come up with?”
“We got separated, and I needed air.”
He locked his gaze on hers. “Seriously, that’s the best you can come up with?”
“Stop saying that.” She tucked a hunk of hair behind her ear.
“Stop lying.” His words came out harsher than he meant.
Her expression turned to ice. “I’m not lying.”
He leaned even closer into her space. “Being untruthful breaks the bond of Confessions. You don’t kiss someone like that and then vanish.”
“I thought we agreed it didn’t happen?” she reminded him.
She had him there.
“For the next few minutes, it happened. Then it can go back to not happening.”
“I needed air,” she repeated.
“Sticking with that?”
She tossed her hands up, a splash of coffee sloshing over the side of her mug. “You’re impossible.”
“Mm-hmm.” He handed her a napkin.
“You kissed me, not the other way around.”
“I did kiss you. What you forget is you kissed me back. Then you disappeared,” he pointed out.
“You stepped back. Last night.” Hurt filled her eyes. “Maybe we should both step back this time.”
She landed a direct blow by agreeing with him. A perfect way out. No risk of failure for either of them. Except. A way out was the last thing he wanted. He could split his time between work and Lucy. Hell, having her on his team sounded pretty great right about now. They’d had a connection from the moment he helped her at the gas station. Pursuing her might not be the best idea, but he couldn’t help being drawn to her. Until that kiss, he figured they’d just enjoy whatever they had until it burned out. It always burned out.
Even the couple of times he’d felt like things might progress into something, the spark always faded.
This time was different.
“What if I said I want to see where this takes us?” He rose from his chair, scooted it back with his foot, and crouched in front of her. He took her hands in his. They trembled, but she didn’t move away. He pressed his forehead gently against hers so their breaths mingled.
“Not for pretend?” she asked.
Risk everything and hope it didn’t end with him alone—he was going to do this. “Nothing I’m feeling right now is pretend.”
He was a bastard because she deserved more than him. But he didn’t care. “You’re scared. I’m giving you time to get to know me, see that you’re into me as much as I’m into you. Today that involves a pretend couple’s therapy session. When you’re ready, it involves a whole hell of a lot more.” He ran the back of his knuckles along the apple of her cheek.
“You stepped back.” Her fingers lay limp against his.
“Won’t happen again.” He traced a thumb across her jaw and then rested his lips against her forehead.
Then he let her go.
Chapter Thirteen
Lucy’s existence was already complicated. Now William was into her? What did that even mean? The best course of action would be to pretend his declaration never happened and move ahead. To couple’s counseling.
William’s palm grazed the back of her shirt when they walked through to the therapy room—apparently also used for spin classes, given the bikes along the mirrored wall, and yoga, given the mats laid out in a semi-circle. The room had the same rustic feel as the rest of the lodge, but huge amounts of mountain sunshine speared through the high windows.
“Hello!” A woman dressed in black khakis and a polo shirt with Twin Lakes embroidered across the pocket emerged from the small equipment closet.
Lucy jolted.
Rebecca.
Her massage therapist.
Damn. Damn. Dammit.
“Lucy, it’s so good to see you.” Rebecca’s cheeks must’ve hurt from smiling so wide. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Hi.” Instinct took over and Lucy stepped backward—directly into William.
His hand settled just above Lucy’s waistband. The nerve endings there warmed in response. Little traitors. He must’ve known her intent to run because he smoothly scooted her forward toward Rebecca.
“This must be your husband?” Rebecca gestured to William.
“William.” He dropped his hand to shake Rebecca’s.
“Rebecca. It’s so nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.” She did the wide cheek smile thing again.
Heat spread through Lucy. William was going to find out what she’d said, then he’d kill her in the middle of the woods where there would be no witnesses. He’d probably shove her off a cliff or something.
And she deserved it.
If he wouldn’t even go to the Beach Nights Reunion show because he couldn’t stand the possibility of embarrassment, he was definitely going to hate this.
Her throat started to close. She swallowed hard. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m the leader of the couples counseling and group therapy.” Rebecca waved toward the yoga mats scattered over the floor. “Since you’re first, pick any mat you’d like.”
“But you’re a massage therapist.” Lucy’s feet seemed to have planted themselves on the hardwood floor and sprouted roots. They would not move.
“I do it all.” Rebecca laughed—the sound something like wind chimes would make on a breezy day. “I don’t even have to change my nametag.”
Lucy’s eyes shifted to the tag above the Twin Lakes writing. Sure enough, it read Rebecca, Therapist.
“Your other friend signed up, too.” Rebecca unrolled her own mat and plopped down in the center, crisscross-applesauce.
William took a step toward one of the mats, reaching for Lucy and tugging her along. Reluctantly, she followed. He settled down on the thin rubber mat and pulled her along with him so her back settled against his front.
“In any case, I’m glad you’re here a little early so we can chat. I’ve been thinking about your little issue.” Rebecca made air quotes with her fingers around the word—making it seem much bigger than it needed to be.
Oh no. Discussion of that issue was a horrible idea. Epically bad.
“You said Sarah is coming?” Lucy deflected and eyed the door, willing the others to come through.
“What issue?” William asked, his breath against the back of Lucy’s neck.
“I know you probably don’t want to talk about it in front of everyone, but there are quite a few things you can do that don’t involve actual intercourse.” Rebecca made those damn air quotes again.
Lucy glanced to the door, gauging how quickly she could get up and out of the room before William tackled her.
He cleared his throat a tad too loud. “Come again?”
“It’s okay. There’s no need to be embarrassed. I know many couples in your situation.”
“Situation?” He squeezed Lucy in his arms and whispered the question directly against her earlobe.
She squirmed in reply.
“Lucy, I’m so glad you’re here.” Sarah saved the moment, bustling into the ro
om.
Rebecca winked at Lucy like they were conspirators in international espionage. “We’ll just chat about this after.”
“What situation, Luce?” William asked again.
She turned her head so her cheek was near his lips. “Ignore. I made it up as I went along the other day. Nothing you need to worry about.”
Max trailed in after Sarah, and another couple Lucy hadn’t seen before followed him.
“Everyone pick a mat. We’ll go ahead and get started. We’ve got a lot to cover this morning.” Rebecca took her place back on her mat. “I call this the ‘honesty hour.’ You have to promise your partner complete honesty for this type of therapy to be effective. And, trust me, it’s harder than it seems.”
Lucy just bet it was. She squirmed again with the unfortunate side effect of her bottom rubbing against Will’s—you know what? She’d just scoot forward a smidge.
“If everyone could turn and face their partner.” Rebecca waved her hand in a circle to illustrate.
Lucy moved around so she faced William. Unfortunately, this meant she could see him—something that severely cracked her resolve to flee. It was the dimples, she was certain.
“Now scooch together a little closer and hold hands.”
Lucy studied a scuff on the floor behind her fake husband and offered her hands.
“Look into your partner’s eyes and say the first thing that comes to mind.”
Lucy shifted her gaze to meet William’s and her mind went blank. Totally and utterly blank. Nothing. Nada.
“I’m glad it’s you that came with me,” he said low enough that no one else would hear.
Her heart did a little fist pump.
“Your turn.” The little divots of his dimples flashed uncertain.
“I like your cheeks,” she heard herself say.
His forehead pinched together as if to say, “the hell?”
“The dimples, I mean,” she clarified.
Oh Lord.
“Thank you,” he replied as though it were the most normal thing in the world for her to have said.
The room melted away and it was just the two of them again.
“Fantastic,” Rebecca cut through their moment. “Now we’re going to talk about intimacy. I’d like you to share with your partner some of your favorite things about being alone together. I’m not just talking about intercourse”—She paused too long on that word, letting it just hang in the air like an unwelcome rash—“I mean all of the little things that make your relationship special.”
The Honeymoon Trap Page 11
