by Nicole Snow
Her eyes narrow, suddenly suspicious. “Why's that, Noah? Why the hurry? Are you already married?”
3
Hoodwinked (Mindy)
It’s been a full minute at least since I’d asked him if he was already married and he still hasn’t answered.
Holy hell. I know, I know, it's none of my business.
Just like I know I'm asking for trouble, even asking the question.
But if I've been sucked into some stupid, reckless tug of war with another woman, I swear I'm hanging him out to dry. After Charlie, my sympathy for cheaters is negative.
Ugh, why won't he get this over with? Just answer.
My heart thuds wildly in my ears, drumming the beat like a melodramatic movie where everyone already knows what’s going to happen next, but the music keeps going just to amp up the anticipation anyway.
I can’t take the silence any longer. “It’s an easy answer,” I tell him. “Yes or no. Are you married or not?”
“Fuck no.” He holds a hand up in the air, defensive and brooding. “I’m just trying to figure out how to get out of this. Up till last night, marriage was so low on my priorities, I still can't believe it happened.”
Twisting my lips, I don't know what to believe.
“Well, getting out, that’s easy,” I say. “An annulment. Divorce.”
He runs a hand through his thick black hair. “Bull, Lucky. Ever heard how getting married's a hell of a lot easier than getting un-married?”
I smile. There's something funny about how he mashes together words to reconstruct a saying I'm sure isn't real.
Damn, he’s good-looking. And sure, he's right in his own ham-fisted way.
Of course, divorces don't come easy. That's why I found my big girl panties and broke it off with Charlie.
Before things had a chance to get more complicated.
Before I wound up with a flock of kids, chained to a white picket fence. As much as I don’t want to admit it, there’s a teensy-tiny part of me that’s feeling sorry for this bewildered storm of a man – Hercules – and for me.
This whole fiasco is one big cluster.
“Why are you here, anyway?” He waves a hand around the room. “In Reno, staying in an old-lady apartment?”
I shrug. I’ve already told him about Charlie and the engagement, so the rest doesn’t really matter, I guess.
Crossing the room, I head into the small kitchen and pull two ice-cold water bottles out of the fridge.
Carrying them back into the living room, I answer, “In order to work up the courage to tell my family I broke it off with Charlie.”
“Thanks.” He takes the water, opens it, and gulps down half the bottle. “Why the nerves? Won’t they be happy you've given him the boot?”
I sit down, set my water on the coffee table, and gesture for him to take a seat as well. “Not quite.”
The frustration I’ve felt for half my life weighs heavier than a boulder. “Charlie and me, we've got history. Our moms are best friends. Have been for years and years. Ever since they were little girls. Charlie’s two years older than me, and when he was in high school, his mother, Carol, called mine because he didn’t have a date for prom. Mom said I’d go with him – bless her soul – and the rest is history.”
A ghost of a smile pulls at his lips “This place is rubbing off on you, Lucky. Bless her soul? You're talking like a granny, too.”
I barely have time to scowl before he asks, “When you say history, you mean –”
“History. As in the past. Over. Done. Nothing can be done about it.” I take a swig of water in order to wash down the bile burning my throat. “From then on, both our families had us married and raising kids together in a house with a white picket fence.”
“That’s not what you want?”
“Not really. Never has been. I let myself get shoehorned in. But Charlie’s an only child from a rich family. Whatever Charlie wants, Charlie gets.”
“What about you?”
“I have two younger sisters.” I plant the false smile I’ve perfected over the years on my lips. “As the oldest, I have to set a good example. Give my sisters a shining example to follow, or so Mom hopes. That's what makes this so difficult, I suppose. Family.”
He sets his empty water bottle on the table, his face going strangely tight. “Not what I meant, darlin'. What about what you want?”
“Isn’t marriage, children, a home, what every girl wants?” Yes, I sound sarcastic, because I am.
“You don’t. Your voice is flat.”
I lean back and huff out a breath. “It's not...look, to be honest, I don’t know if I want that or not. I’ve never had the opportunity to decide. Not for myself.” I can’t believe I’m telling all this to a perfect stranger, but it feels good to say it to someone besides myself.
Besides, we're not really married. Having Noah, my fake husband, up close and personal feels like every anxiety I've ever had wrapped up in one neat, handsome package, with just the right distance.
Still, I can't decide what shames me more: telling him about my near-arranged marriage, or the fact that it even existed.
“Actually, I think I'd love to get married. Someday. To someone who matters. To have a couple kids and a nice home. I'd skip the white picket fence, though.” I glance around the room. “Seems out of style. About as appealing as doilies, flowered furniture, and yellowing wallpaper.”
His eyes dart around the room as he nods. “It's retro, I’ll give you that.”
There's a hint of a grin on his lips. I’d seen it before and found it weirdly encouraging. I get the impression seeing this man smile is a rare, beautiful thing.
“To be fair,” I say, waiting for him to meet my eyes, “you don’t have a lot of room to talk. I’ve seen your place, Noah. Did you know there's a whole spectrum of colors besides white?”
His not-grin turns into an authentic smile and he nods slightly before saying, “Never gave it much thought. Don’t do much except sleep there.”
I want to ask him what he does do, along with a hundred other questions. But I tell myself we need to focus on how to get out of the mess we’re in, not play twenty questions.
“Sounds like you spent way too long attached to only-child Charlie.” He's giving me that look again, his blue eyes dancing flames. He's got me. “What changed your mind?”
I shake my head. “It wasn’t sudden, exactly. I’d been looking for a way out for years, but I'd wimped out too many times. A few weeks ago, I finally found it.”
Noah crosses his arms, drawing my gaze to the very powerful bulge of his muscles, waiting for me to finish.
God, he might really be Hercules reincarnated, with those looks and this freaky ability to loosen my tongue.
“This sounds stupid but...it was the prenup. The one he wanted me to sign.”
“You don’t believe in prenups?”
I shrug. “In theory, they're fine. No problem. In fact, the prenup was my idea, hoping it'd get him off his high horse and finally propose over a year ago, back when I thought we had a chance. It’s what he wanted to put in it.”
He lifts a brow. “What? You'd get nothing?”
I’m close to laughing. “Charlie doesn’t have anything I want. Never has. I'm not a gold digger.”
For some reason, I glance at the emerald ring on my finger.
It’s gorgeous and so different from the ritzy, designer ring Charlie gave me. That one had diamonds in it. Modest ones, but that wasn’t the problem.
Charlie’s ring had been, well, normal.
Dull. Like him.
Noah's is unique. It makes a statement without trying.
Then Hercules clears his throat, and I nearly jump out of my skin. Blood rushes to my cheeks. He had to have caught me admiring his drunken gifts.
“Finish your story, Lucky.”
Oh. Right.
Half regretting all the things about last night that I can’t remember, yet knowing I should be glad, I pull the rings off
my finger and set them on the table. No more distractions.
“Whenever I do get married – really, truly hitched – it'll be forever. Not for money or family friends or my sisters or anybody else. It'll be for me. Just me and my husband.” Bitterness rises up inside me. “That’s the part of Charlie’s prenup I couldn't get past. He had a clause in there that extramarital affairs, on his part, wouldn't be cause for divorce.”
His eyes widen. “You'd better be shitting me.”
“I wish.” Once again, I plant my false smile on my lips. “Because he’s been having an affair with Debbie for months. Maybe longer. He won’t admit it, but I know. The detective turned up proof. And I know that's why he never wanted to do anything, all these years, except on Friday nights.”
Noah's stunned look, like someone just blindsided him, sends heat to my cheeks.
“Fuck,” he whispers, scratching at his five o'clock shadow. Even such a simple, rough gesture seems sexy on his frame.
If only I felt like I matched.
Had I really just told him how boring my sex life is? Was, I should say.
I'm starting to regret his magic. Whatever it is that's taken this conversation too far. Besides, Charlie has nothing to do with why we're in this mess, or how we'll get out of it.
I lean forward, grabbing my phone.
“So, back to business, what are we going to do?” I swipe my screen and point to one of our wedding pictures. The one where we're climbing in the limo. Actually, it looks like I’m falling on his lap in the backseat of the limo.
“Who took all those pictures?” he asks, shaking his head.
Oddly, I hope it's just regret with the situation. Not with me.
“Your friends, I'm assuming.”
“Friends?” He rubs the side of his face again, sending me a sideways look. “What friends? It was just you and me, as I recall.”
I can’t remember much, but I’m pretty certain the man and woman were at the blackjack table with him when I sat down there. “The couple you were playing blackjack with? Younger couple?”
He shakes his head. “I'd barely gone a few rounds. No time to chat up anybody. There was another couple there when you sat down, yeah, but I sure as hell didn’t know them.”
Awesome. Another mystery we don't need.
I scratch the top of my head where it’s tingling, like something biting at my scalp. “Well, I can’t remember for sure, but I think they were with us all night. I know they were at the table when I sat down and when –”
“You went in for at least five hundred and got a perfect twenty-one. Then bought a round of drinks for everyone,” he finishes for me.
“Yes.” I search my mind, getting bits and pieces of the couple. “I’m sure of it.”
Am I, though? Nothing seems clear. Still questioning the fog that comes with any memories of last night, I add, “Pretty sure.”
“I’m completely sure, Lucky. Sure I don’t know them.”
“You don’t? Weird. You seemed so happy...they followed us around...the bar...the walk down the strip...the chapel?” He shakes his head again. Now, I’m totally confused. “Jesus. What the hell happened last night?”
“Glad you're sitting down. I've got a theory.” He casts a look my way that says, stay.
And I do. Like I could do anything else with my heart racing the instant the words are out of his mouth.
“We were hoodwinked,” he says. “Someone got us blackout drunk and then set us up. Don’t know why, or the culprit, but you'd better believe I’m gonna find out.”
Holy hell. Set...up?
What, what, and what?
I blink numbly. “I'd like to know, too. I think.”
His blue eyes sharpen on me, and then I shake my head, working through the shock.
“No, you're right. We have to figure this out. I’ve been hoodwinked, as you call it, my entire life, and I’m done with all that. So done. Poke a fork in me and shut off the oven.”
“Can I see those pics again?”
I hand him the phone. “We can get an annulment or something, can’t we?”
“I’m sure we can, but it’s Saturday. Nothing’s open till Monday. Legal system moves like molasses and takes weekends off. I do know a couple lawyers. I’ll have them look at what needs to be done.”
“I’ll pay my share.”
He tries to hide a grin, but I can still see it, even though he’s looking down, swiping through the pictures on my phone.
“With your winnings from last night?”
I nod, then realizing he’s not looking at me, I say, “Yes.”
There’s about five-thousand dollars in my purse. Surely a simple annulment won't cost more?”
“How long do you plan on being in town?”
“A month.” For no particular reason that makes sense, I add, “Martha Walsh, the woman who's loaning me this place, is in Washington – state not D.C. – and –”
“Her granddaughter had a kid, and she’s helping her,” he once again finishes my sentence.
“That’s right,” I say. “You talked to my mother.”
“Yeah, Lucky. Good memory.”
Ignoring his not-quite-sarcastic comment, I look him over. His expression and tone tell me he got an earful while talking to her, too.
A shiver grips my spine. “You didn’t tell her about last night, did you?”
“If I’d have told her about last night, she wouldn’t have called you.” He sets my phone on the table again. “She’d be on her way to Reno.”
I have to chuckle. He’s right. “You've got her pegged.”
“I know the type. Told her somebody turned your phone into the police, and the easiest way for me to find the owner was to call the name labeled Mom. Also told her maybe you should think about putting a real password on your lock screen.”
I roll my eyes. “Like you could've figured it out if you'd actually had my phone.”
I've used Camelback as my password for years, named after my favorite Phoenix landmark.
Suddenly, I'm second guessing. It's not that common, is it? Could he have cracked the password for real? Hell, what does this man do for a living? But before I can even ask, he's talking again.
“She means well, your ma. That's special.”
I'm rolling my eyes harder. He's so right, and so wrong.
“And she bought your story hook, line, and sinker, didn't she? Even though I’ve never lost a cellphone in my life.” A wave of frustration ripples through my stomach. “That wouldn't be setting a good example for my younger sisters.” Seriousness comes next and I look him straight in the eye. “Neither would getting married to a total stranger on my first week in Reno.”
Another faint smile quirks his lips. Then he leans forward and holds out a hand. “Noah Bernard. Figure you finally deserve a proper handshake after all that.”
A giggle tickles my throat at the pointlessness of an introduction, yet I take his hand anyway. “Mindy Austin.”
“Nice to meet you, Mindy.”
I laugh loudly. “Whatever, Noah. You, too.”
His name rolls off my tongue easily. It's easy to remember when he looks the part: a hardened, kind volcano of a man who looks like he's been through a world-ending storm or two. If only it were easier to see what's underneath the good looks.
The hard part is trying to pull my eyes away from his.
I can’t.
Not with the way he’s looking at me. Those midnight blue eyes twinkle like he isn't just screwing around.
Like he's truly happy to meet me, and it means something, instead of being a huge nuisance.
They’d shined like that last night when he’d winked at me. Right before his kiss swept me up in front of Preacher Elvis and the whole ridiculous universe.
A jolt of sorts, like an electric shock, shoots through me. Just the memory flooding back, probably.
I pull my eyes off his and let my hand slip away.
An onslaught of nerves strikes hard and I jump to my f
eet. “What's the plan? You’re going to call a lawyer, you said, and, I...I...oh, let me get you some cash.”
He stands. “No. Don't need your cash, Lucky.”
Another shock rolls through me. I open my mouth to protest, but he's too fast. Too firm. Too intense.
“Keep it. I make a good living, and I'm the asshole who got us into this, drunk or not.” He reaches for my hand again, giving it another quick squeeze. “Besides, if I let you waste your winnings on this bull, I'd have to start calling you something else.”
I'm laughing without even knowing it. He's so attached to that Lucky nickname, which seems more ironic than accurate.
Searching for something, anything to do, I grab the rings off the table. “At least take these. They couldn't have been cheap. Get your money back.”
He glances at the rings and then at me. “Nah. That money would've been spent one way or another. Keep 'em.”
“Are you...whoa, no way. I can't.” He's completely serious and possibly crazy. “They’re yours, Noah. They must have cost a small fortune.”
“My second mistake last night: the receipt says no exchanges or returns. And I don't have time to screw around with pawn shops.” In one swift movement, both his huge hands cup mine, closing my palm with the rings still inside. “Yours, darlin'. End of discussion.”
Who is this man, really? This strange, scary, walking enigma?
I'm still busy wondering when I realize he's got his back turned.
He’s walking to the door, and I search for something to say, something that might stop him from leaving, keep him here a little longer. I can't explain why I don't want to be alone right now. Or why I'm suddenly nervous I might not see him again.
“Do you want my number? In case the lawyer needs it or something?”
“Your mother gave it to me,” he says while opening the door. “Told her she had to tell me in order to prove the phone was yours.”
Noah turns. The full-blown radiant smile on his face nearly knocks me for a loop.
So does the wink he gives me right before he closes the door behind him.
That is why I’d married him.
