by Hart, Hanna
By the time six in the morning rolled around, Willow was still awake. She'd been through a gauntlet of sleep distractions. She knew she had fallen asleep at some point, but it was the kind of shallow rest that was so slight, she may as well not have slept at all.
With a long exhale, Willow reached for her phone on her nightstand and pulled it so hard that the charging cable went flying to the floor.
“Hello?” came Richard's groggy voice, practically croaking through the
“I hate you,” she said, not sounding the least bit tired.
It took Richard a second to realize who was calling him, but when he did, he began to laugh.
“So, you'll do it?” he asked.
With a reluctant sigh, Willow relented, “Sign me up, Sarge.”
She just couldn't stay away. The allure of seeing Ryder Prescott again was just too strong.
Chapter Five
Ryder
As per his mother's request, Ryder was to attend his parents’ beachfront mansion for a traditional Sunday dinner. Of course, nothing about this dinner could be traditional anymore. Traditional went out the window the day he got divorced.
It used to be that he and Miranda would join his parents every Sunday for a big Greek feast. Occasionally his father would take over and there would be proper island fare—crab with a variety of flavored butters for dipping or a sticky marinated tuna. He couldn't complain about either, honestly.
But, his mother tended to make a bigger deal out of her Greek night. And when Sheila was happy, everyone was happy. There would be kitschy old-world Greek instrumentals playing on a record player in the background.
Ryder, Miranda, his parents, and Isaac would all talk about their weeks and finish off the night with a scotch and a perfect slice of whatever dessert Miranda had brought for the occasion. Usually a tropical cheesecake of some sort.
But tonight, it was just Ryder, his parents, and a mystery guest.
He pulled up to the navy blue and beige home with its floor to ceiling windows and wrap-around balcony that overlooked the ocean and his father's expansive personal marina. He could already hear the music coming from inside.
Ryder saw a car service in the driveway, implying that his date did not drive herself to the residence. He could already feel himself zoning out. A date arranged by his parents, and probably Roy, who would have taken an interest in a publicity angle.
Or, perhaps there wasn't going to be a date at all. Maybe his parents had simply lured him here to yell at him about his failures or remind him how much he was embarrassing the family.
Ryder stood in front of the massive porch and heaved in a sigh. He held a large bottle of red wine in his hand and began to ascend the step before taking backing away from the door.
“Don't hide from me,” his father said with a laugh.
Ryder jumped at the sudden voice and yelped, “You scared me!”
“Language!” his father said.
“I didn't swear,” Ryder laughed.
“No, but you were about to,” his father said, extending a finger to his son.
He was right, but Ryder wouldn't admit that in anything more than a grin.
Ryder walked up the front step and took a familiar spot on the coral chair across from the porch loveseat his father sat on. He could hear his mother engaged in wild chatter inside the house. He tilted his head in an attempt to peer in but saw no sign of his mother or the mystery guest.
“So, what am I in for, pops?” he asked tiredly. “Be honest with me. Is she... remotely tolerable? It's not one of ma's friend's daughters or that Peggy girl from the mainland markets? Please.”
“What's wrong with Peggy?” his father asked with an amused chuckle. “She's cute.”
“I'm not looking for cute.”
“Well, sorry,” his father mocked. “If we thought you were looking for ugly, we would have chosen differently.”
“Ha-ha,” Ryder said flatly.
“What are you looking for?” Tag asked.
“I'm not looking for anything,” Ryder complained. “And I've told you guys this a thousand times now. I'm through with it. Women are trouble.”
“Amen,” his father said, raising a glass of wine into the air. “But,” he cautioned, “if you were looking…”
“I'm not,” Ryder said.
“Son,” Tag said with a sigh. “Humor me. If you were looking... what would you be looking for, in a wife specifically?”
“I don't know,” he shrugged. “Smart, fun, pretty. All the obvious stuff. I guess I want someone who challenges me, who brings me out of my shell.” Ryder brushed his arm awkwardly and nearly cringed. “Come on, pa. You don't want to hear this.”
Again, his father chuckled. “I don't want to hear what makes my son happy?”
“You know what I mean,” Ryder waved him off.
“Well,” his father said in summary, “if that is your perfect girl, then I think we've found just the one for you.”
“Is that right?” Ryder dared his father.
“That's right, but look, kid,” his father began, and then he trailed off uncomfortably, needling his fingers together. “We don't want any theatrics.”
“Why would there be theatrics?” he asked, swallowing nervously. “It's not Miranda, is it?” he teased.
“Far, far from it,” he said. Then his father inhaled a sharp breath and held it.
“Pops, what is it?”
“Roy thinks that you're killing the campaign,” he said bluntly.
Ryder's brows shot up, and he felt a tinge of irritation burning in his stomach.
“All these antics of Miranda, now your brother,” his father said. Tag then balled his fist against his heart and then spread his fingers wide as if miming his heart exploding. “They're killing us. You're sinking us. Me, my chance to win this thing.”
Ryder couldn't pretend his words didn't sting. More than a little. He already had a tough year with the divorce, and now his father was blaming him for his failing political career?
“How's that?” Ryder asked through clenched teeth.
“Miranda is spreading all these stories about you, about our whole family. She's saying I'm stealing money, that you were cruel and uncaring, that our close-knit family is a farce.”
“Imagine that,” Ryder snorted.
“I don't want to hear that smart mouth tonight,” his father warned and ran a hand along his crooner-styled hair.
His father was a Clark Gable type. Slicked back hair, mustache, smooth skin and masculine features. His old-world charm was part of the reason he was so well liked by the public.
“Roy wants to set up a marriage,” his father said evenly.
“A marriage?” Ryder asked, leaning far over in his chair so that his arms rested on his thighs and his fingers were pulled into a steeple. “What, with me?” He asked in surprise.
Ryder watched his father carefully. The man raised both brows as if to say, 'It's not such a crazy idea' and leaned back in his chair. His father crossed his legs, and Ryder's mouth fell open.
“Are you kidding me right now?”
“I am not,” his father said.
“You know, this was bad enough when I thought it was a date,” he said, his voice beginning to rise. HIs father immediately put up a hand to hush him, and Ryder lowered his voice as he continued furiously, “But you're setting me up for a fake marriage? To what end, pops? Why?”
“Remember Albert Finch?” his father asked calmly.
Ryder narrowed his brows, wondering what the significance of Albert Finch was. “Yeah,” he said. The man was practically an uncle to Ryder. He had been his father's best friend since Ryder was a child.
“He runs a lot of newspapers,” his father said. Then he clarified, “He owns a lot of the news networks in the USA.”
“Yeah?” Ryder was practically speechless. “So?”
“So, we want a good name in the news. We want someone we can trust, who is on our side. Someone who is likable and looks goo
d in the public. We want a love story.”
“You are setting me up for a fake marriage to clean up my reputation?” Ryder's jaw hung open.
“Do you know what the public think of you now, Ry?” his father reasoned. “You used to be one of the happiest kids in the world. People loved seeing you and Miranda out. Now they think you're an abusive, uncaring drunk. They're painting your brother as Miranda's hero! Her knight in shining armor, taking her away from your abusive ways and saving the nation from my underhanded thieving. Can you imagine?” His father's words became more intense as the sentence went on, reminding Ryder just how furious his father could get sometimes. “So, you will do this. For two years.”
“You want me to marry a girl. Some random girl, for two years, to put on a happy public persona for you?” Ryder wanted to laugh, but he was too angry. “No.”
“Remember who supports you,” his father warned.
Ryder blinked. “You're blackmailing me right now?”
“I'm steering you in the right direction,” he said.
“I'm not going to be your PR monkey,” Ryder scoffed.
“We'll see,” his father said smoothly. “And as far as marrying a stranger goes…”
“What?” he asked.
Tag shrugged. “Well, not quite a stranger.”
He could feel his pulse speed up at the mention of his mystery date. If it wasn't a stranger, then this situation was about to get a lot worse. The deck went eerily silent, save for the crashing waves out against the surf. He looked skyward at the planked ceiling of the porch and tried hard to listen beyond his mother's laughter and the classical music playing in the background to recognize who could possibly be coming to dinner. His father didn't speak, and Ryder didn't try to initiate more conversation or object.
It wasn't until the record died down and began to change songs that he heard her voice clear as day.
Willow Watkins. His high school girlfriend.
Her voice was undeniable. It was about three decibels too high. Her laugh flowed smoothly out her throat like a bell, and he felt his stomach drop out from underneath him.
Ryder set his jaw and widened his eyes at his father in a panic.
'Willow?' he mouthed to his father and Tag nodded, a beaming smile crossing over his face.
“Are you kidding me right now?” he whispered, pacing the deck nervously, throwing his hands into the air. “Out of all the people in the world, you want to humiliate me by calling Willow? And she agreed to this? Does she even know that you're trying to marry her off like a goat?”
“Technically, we're trying to marry you off like a goat,” he said. “She knows.”
“And she said yes?” Ryder asked.
His father gave a single, knowing nod and smiled.
Ryder swallowed and felt his nerves kick in. His hands were sweating profusely and he could feel a tremor flowing all the way from his palms right down to his legs.
Willow knew, and she still said yes?
This had to be some kind of joke.
Ryder hadn't seen Willow in almost eight years, and this certainly wouldn't have been the circumstance he would want to see her under. He would want to have his life together, for a start. He wouldn't meet her under the pretense of hiring her to be his fake wife. And to top it all off, he definitely would have showered if he knew he was going to see her.
The 'I told you so' look on his father's face annoyed him to no end, but he had no time to deal with his smug father at the moment. He was past the point of being furious and had moved right into full-blown panic.
The last time he saw Willow, well, they were breaking up. She had been the love of his life back then, and he left her without a second thought.
“We can hear you whispering out there!” his mother called from the foyer.
Ryder cringed thinking that his mother had been talking to Willow this whole time and he was none-the-wiser. Did Willow think he was in on this? That he'd asked for her specifically to be his faux-bride? If so, what a mess this night was going to turn out to be.
“Well,” his mother said, widening her eyes in excitement to Ryder as she leaned against the doorframe. “Don't be rude,” she cautioned. “Come say hello to our guest!”
As his mother stepped out onto the porch, Willow came into sight. She looked exactly the way he remembered her, minus her crazy, curly hair.
Willow was part Indian, giving her perfectly tanned skin and impossibly big brown eyes. Her thick mane had been tamed into a sleek bob that was longer in the front than in the back. She wore a black and white floral skirt that hugged her curves and a bright yellow button down.
“Hey, you,” came Willow’s overly-familiar greeting as she ran up and hugged him.
Ryder eyed his mother accusingly and gave Willow a single pat on the back in return.
“Nice to see you,” he said coldly, pulling away from her. “Ma, can I speak with you for a second?”
“Nonsense,” his mother said. “We have a guest and dinner is getting cold. We'll talk later. Come on now, let's eat.”
They made their way into the dining room where his mother had pulled out a new set of handmade china she'd bought from her last trip to Monaco.
She had made a spread worthy of a king and was prattling on to Willow about what each dish was, and Willow returned the chatter, telling her how much she missed her cooking and how she couldn't believe that Tag became a president.
“Why not?” Ryder said, humorless. “He's always had the ego of one.”
The jab filled the air with an awkward silence.
Willow rested her chin in her hand, elbow propped up on the counter. She tilted her head to the side and said, “And what about you, Ryder? I heard you became an almighty investment banker.”
“He helps clients raise capital to finance activities and grow their business,” his mother said proudly.
Ryder had been nothing but proud of his financial and business pursuits up until this point, yet somehow the way Willow had asked about it made him feel like he should be embarrassed.
“I can speak for myself, ma,” he said but didn't elaborate on his career.
“Oh, well,” Willow said, somewhat uncomfortably. “Sounds like you got what you wanted. So, that's great. I've heard you've done well for yourself.”
“Yeah, that's why I'm sitting here letting my parents propose a fake marriage to my high school girlfriend, right?” he snapped.
Tag set down his utensils and glared at Ryder. “I said we didn't want any drama tonight, Ryder. Now, you're putting this poor girl through a mess of a dinner.”
“It's okay,” Willow said with a polite smile. “It's a little weird, I'll admit. I was a little surprised at the offer from my boss. But then again, when you think about it, people do a lot of strange things these days. People eat bugs on reality shows and compete against thirty other people just for the chance to date some player. So, when you think about two people who used to know each other pretty well coming together to improve a sad situation, it doesn't sound that strange.”
Ryder cringed, but his parents seemed absolutely thrilled. He couldn't believe that Willow was buying into this farce. He felt like such a charity case.
“So, how's this supposed to work?” he asked irritably. “We get married and then what?”
“From my understanding,” Willow began, “we give the public what they want.”
“A new target on my back?” he scoffed.
“No,” she said, drawing out her vowel. “A love story.”
Ryder cocked a brow. “Of you and me.”
“Well, don't sound so repulsed!” Willow laughed—a heavenly sound. “Yes, with us! We're high school sweethearts, back together after years of dating the wrong people. This way people have something sweet and fluffy to focus on, instead of drawing fire toward your father. Everyone loves a wedding.”
Something passed between Willow and Ryder at that moment. Brief eye contact of something unspoken from their past.
E
veryone loves a wedding.
His parents were oblivious to the spike of pain that had suddenly enveloped the air.
“Exactly!” his mother cheered. “It would be a one-year contract. You'll be married this month on the island, and we'll have everyone there. Willow's family, ya-ya, friends, colleagues, press outlets.”
“Isaac?” Ryder asked pointedly.
“No!” his father said. “Not Isaac, of course not. I don't want that betrayer anywhere near our celebration.”
“Our fake celebration,” Ryder mocked.
“You don't appreciate what we're doing for you, do you?” his mother asked, a growing look of concern overwhelming her face.
“For me?” Ryder scoffed. “Don't patronize me or anyone else at this table. You're not doing this for me; you're doing it for yourselves. For dad and his precious career.”
“We are doing this for the family,” his father said firmly. “And you are part of this family.”
“And so we're married for a year and then what happens?” Ryder snipped. “We get a divorce?”
His mother nodded and looked between Ryder and Willow.
Tag stood from the table and walked over to an antique secretary at the far end of the dining room. He opened the drawer and pulled out a piece of paper with chicken-scratch writing on it. Sitting back down, he passed the note over to Sheila.
“This is what Roy proposed,” his father said evenly before returning to his dinner.
“You spend one year rebuilding your public persona,” his mother began to read aloud. “We wait until Tag gets reelected and we deal with the fallout from Isaac's loss. Then after that, Willow will be free to move back to New York. We would ideally prefer you to stay separated for one year more so the public can get used to the idea of them being separated. Willow will be asked to sign a non-disclosure agreement and a prenup. She will be compensated one million dollars for her participation and her silence,” his mother said, and Willow's eyes went wide.
“Wow,” Willow said breathlessly.
