Dirty Little Midlife Mess: A Fake Relationship Romantic Comedy (Heart’s Cove Hotties Book 2)

by Lilian Monroe

  “After what happened at your birthday party, you’re really asking me that? All the work we’ve done with the therapist talking about trust and responsibility and communication? Did none of that matter to you?”

  “Da-ad.” She stretches the word to two syllables. “I just… I wanted to go.”

  Grant looks like he’s ready to explode. I need to cut in.

  “What happened?” I look at Simone, thinking she might release this mounting tension.

  Simone takes a deep breath. “Clancy called me.”

  “Why you?” Fiona snaps.

  “Maybe because she knew you’d react like this.”

  Wrong thing to say, Simone. I want to drop my head in my hands and groan, but all I do is sit still.

  Simone glances at the girls. “They called me around midnight. They told me they got a ride to the party but got stranded when their designated driver started drinking, so they called me to pick them up. I was going to bring them home, but they begged me not to. I told them they could stay at my place on the condition that they told you everything in the morning, which they obviously didn’t.”

  “And you didn’t think to follow up?” Fiona asks.

  “I’ve had other things on my mind, Fi.”

  “Like what? Your new boyfriend?” She snorts. “Really? Is that really more important than my kid?”

  I clear my throat. “Maybe we should shelve this discussion for now. We can have a nice meal and deal with this later.” I look at Allie, making sure to sink a lot of menace in my gaze. She knows she’s in trouble.

  “Fine,” Grant says through clenched teeth.

  “Great,” Simone replies.

  Fiona says nothing.

  My sister takes a big gulp of wine, eyes sparkling across the table.

  Utensils clink on plates until Eli finally clears his throat. “That’s a beautiful brooch, Dorothy. Where on earth did you find it?”

  “Oh, this old thing?” Dorothy smiles, her fingers brushing the brooch almost sensually. “One of my many treasures, Eli. I’m like a magpie. I love shiny things.”

  “It’s gorgeous. Just like its owner.”

  I glance at Rudy, who arches a brow and nods, impressed. He looks like he wants to take notes as Dorothy’s face flushes pink, a delicate laugh falling from her lips.

  From then on, conversation is stilted, but eventually starts up again. Sean and Alina tell us about their plans for a new sporting goods store, and Sean does a good job talking about himself until everyone nearly recovers from the earlier drama.

  Once the plates are cleared, Fiona and Grant make their excuses, grab Clancy, and head for the door. Simone, Wes, and Wes’s family aren’t far behind. Allie gets sent to her room with a few stern words.

  “Well. That was awkward.” Jen shudders, putting the last of the dishes in the dishwasher. “I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d known that would happen.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “I know. I still wouldn’t have said anything, though.”

  Fallon dries the roasting pan, puts it away, and snaps the lid on a plastic container full of leftovers before sliding it into the fridge. “The conversation was a disaster, but the food was good.” His lips curl at the corners and he wraps me in a big bear hug. “You can’t win ‘em all.”

  He moves to hug Jen, but she just glares. Her gaze swings to me, pinched lips and all. “You want us to leave so you can go ground Allie for the rest of her life?”

  I snort. “Sure.”

  I close the door behind them and turn to see Rudy sliding his jacket over his shoulders. His blue eyes are soft, lush blond hair curling around his ears and neck. He pushes a rogue strand off his forehead and winks at me. “I had a great time, even with all the dramatic revelations.”

  “You have to promise not to tell your grandmother what happened.”

  “I’ll leave that for Dorothy to do.” He grins as he buttons his jacket, then leans toward me. For a terrifying moment I think he’s going to kiss me, and panic rips through my body. But his lips just brush my cheek as he squeezes my arm, then he gives me a quick nod before disappearing through the door.

  I lean against the wall, letting out a long sigh. It’s too soon. I can’t handle whatever’s going on with Rudy. It’s way too soon.

  “He’s hot,” my sister says behind me. I turn to see a wine glass dangling from her fingers. “You should definitely go there.”

  I shake my head. “I have to go deal with Allie.”

  “I’ll be here with a bucket of wine for when you’re done.”

  I squeeze Iliana’s arm and take a deep breath. With frown lines marring my forehead, I trudge up the stairs to talk to my daughter. Times like these, I wish Paul were here. He would’ve known how to save the dinner and how to make Allie understand that what she did was wrong. My husband was always better at talking to her, at understanding her.

  But he died, and it’s my job to pick up the pieces. I stand in front of my daughter’s bedroom door and take a deep breath before knocking and listening to her quiet voice telling me to come in.

  15

  Fiona

  It’s almost too cold out to sit on the back porch, but I know I need to give Grant and Clancy some space. When we walked into the house, he asked me if he could handle this on his own and I was all too happy to let him. He and Clancy sat down in the front living room, too far away for me to hear anything.

  I hope he’s not too harsh with her. Grant and Clancy have been going to counseling together and he thought they’d been making progress. Her lying about this party must feel like a betrayal. Still, the girl needs unconditional love from us. She grew up in an unstable household with a mother who wasn’t always there for her. I hope Grant can see that.

  I boil the kettle and make myself a mug of tea, then wrap a big blanket around myself and settle into one of the Adirondack chairs at the back of the big farmhouse. This is my nightly ritual since the first day I came to this house.

  I’ve been in Heart’s Cove seven or eight months now, but it feels like so much longer. As soon as I sit down and hold my steaming mug between my fingers, looking out on the lawn, the ocean, the trees lining Grant’s property, I feel the tension in my body unwind.

  I’m not mad at Simone. I was angry at dinner, but that feeling has faded as quickly as it appeared. Clancy obviously felt she could trust Simone to come help her in the middle of the night, and Simone was a good enough friend and decent enough person to go pick up two little girls who aren’t even her responsibility. Simone did the right thing.

  Guilt worms through my stomach as I let the sound of the crickets and distant waves soothe me. I was rude to my best friend. I snapped at her—on Thanksgiving, no less—and gave her no opportunity to explain herself. Of course I would have liked if she told me about picking Clancy and Allie up, but she trusted the girls to come clean to us. She actually wanted to give Clancy a chance to step up and be responsible for herself.

  The French doors open and Grant slips through like a silent shadow, his own mug steaming with a hot cup of tea. He sits beside me in the second Adirondack chair, stretching his long legs as he releases a sigh.

  “How did it go?” I ask after a pause.

  He shrugs a broad shoulder and shakes his head. “I sent her to bed. Took her phone and said she was grounded for the foreseeable future. She wouldn’t speak to me, so I said we’d try again tomorrow when we’ve both had a chance to think and sleep on it.”

  His hand is warm when I slide my fingers over it, curling them around his broad palm. “She’s a good kid, Grant.”

  “She lied to me.”

  “Kids will do things we don’t like. Clancy, especially, is probably used to having no boundaries whatsoever. Who knows how her mother disciplined her, if at all? We knew there would be an adjustment period to her living under our roof.”

  Our roof. This relationship is new, but it warms every bit of my heart to say those words. It feels…like we’ve been a team si
nce the very beginning.

  Grant leans his head back in the chair, staring out across the ocean. Under my blanket, I can already feel the chill of the night, but Grant seems unbothered. He sips his tea and ruminates, his mind far, far away from me.

  I need to bring him back.

  Taking both our cups, I set them on the ground and slide into his lap. I hook my arms around his neck and lean my forehead against his, inhaling the scent of him as the night grows darker around us. “You’re doing really well, Grant. There will be hiccups, and the important thing is how we react to them. Clancy obviously didn’t feel comfortable calling either of us when she was in trouble, which is something we should address.”

  “Why would she call Simone? Why wouldn’t Simone tell us?”

  My head nestles into the crook between his shoulder and his neck. I close my eyes, nuzzling into him. “If you were a kid in Heart’s Cove and you did something you knew was wrong, would you call your parents, or someone like Dorothy?”

  “My parents.”

  “Really? What if Dorothy was like an aunt to you? What if she treated you like a grown-up and listened when you spoke? What if your own parents were a little overprotective and a little too quick to anger?”

  “You think I’m wrong to be mad.” His voice rumbles in his chest, barely contained emotion. But his fingers find my waist and start drawing small circles on my skin.

  I shake my head. “You’re completely justified in being mad. I’m just saying, maybe we need to handle Clancy differently. We only know the broad strokes of her childhood. She’s as mature as a teenager can be, and she craves independence. Maybe we need to give it to her.”

  “She lied, Fiona. How am I supposed to give her more freedom if she does shit like this? I specifically told her she couldn’t go to this party and she still did it. I don’t want her to go anywhere near Simone if she’s going to hide things from us, too.”

  Sitting up, I run my fingers over Grant’s temples. My strong, sensitive man. He was a rock in the middle of the ocean for so long. All alone, weathering the waves that battered him year after year. Now he’s got not only me to think about, but Clancy, too.

  “Grant,” I say softly. “I’ve known Simone for the better part of twenty-seven years. Let me talk to her. She dropped everything and went to pick up Allie and Clancy in the middle of the night. She trusted them to speak to us and gave Clancy an opportunity to own up to her mistake. She thought she was doing the right thing. Of course I wish she’d told me, I wish she’d followed up with me, but that’s not the issue here. Please don’t blame her for this.”

  There’s one thing I don’t tell Grant—in almost three decades, Simone has told me everything about her love life. If she went on a date with a new man, I got a play-by-play. If she started seeing someone, she’d show me pictures and ask for my opinion. She wouldn’t always tell me all the gritty details of her sex life, and if a relationship became more serious, she’d grow more private, but she’d tell me.

  She didn’t tell me about Wesley. One day everything was normal, and the next she was bringing flowers and candles and new sheets to his house. Then she shows up at Thanksgiving dinner with him and his family. It’s too quick. Too serious, too fast. Something’s going on with them—something odd. I don’t want Simone to drift away from me because of this thing with Clancy.

  Finally, finally, Grant meets my gaze. His grey eyes are dark, full of pain. He lets out a long breath and tightens his hold on my waist. “I don’t know how to handle all this. I don’t know how to be a dad or how to be a good partner to you. I feel like I’m screwing everything up.”

  My lips curl into a smile. “You’re not.”

  His shoulders seem to relax, then, and he closes his eyes. I press my lips to his and wait for his mouth to open, for him to let me in. He kisses me softly, tenderly, sending heat rolling through my body as my toes curl in my slippers.

  “Let’s go to bed.” His voice takes on a sharper edge. “I need you right now, Fiona.”

  Heat washes over me as my need for him grows in response. I nod, pressing my lips to his. “I’m here.”

  16

  Wesley

  I don’t know if it’s the turkey, the pain meds, or the high-emotion dinner, but as soon as I got home, I collapsed onto the couch. Simone sat beside me for a while, then got up and mumbled something about going for a walk.

  I wanted to go with her, but crutches in the forest at night is never a good idea.

  We met when she came stumbling out of the forest after sundown, lost and alone. I know she likes walking at night, and this place is as safe as any, but I still wish I could be there with her. That kind of protectiveness is odd for me, but I’m too tired to think about it. Too tired to brush it aside. So I just sit here and think of her. Worry about her.

  Now, I’m drifting in and out of sleep in front of the television, unsure how much time has passed. Fifteen minutes? An hour? Two?

  Sean is snoring in the armchair to my left, and Alina is nowhere to be seen. Probably in bed. My crutches are leaning against the arm of the sofa, and the trip from here to my room upstairs seems like an impossible task. I could just fall asleep here…

  With an almost inhuman effort, I sit up and rub my eyes with the heels of my hands. If I sleep on the couch, I’ll be sore as all hell tomorrow. Bed will be nicer. I need to get upstairs. Simone will climb in, then, and I’ll be able to put my arms around her and fall asleep.

  My crutches clatter against each other, but Sean doesn’t wake up. I swing my way to the steps, then slide both crutches under one arm and use my other hand to hold the bannister. Then it’s one step at a time, all the way up to the second floor.

  Everything aches. My ankle is throbbing. My armpit is sore. I need sleep.

  There was a time when I could stay up late and wake up early, go for a run, do a workout, and feel like a million bucks. These days, not so much. A broken ankle is kicking the shit out of me. Where I used to be able to shake off a hangover with a hot shower and a greasy breakfast, now three or four beers has me in bed the entire next day.

  I’m getting older.

  Gritting my teeth, I make it up the last three steps and finally stop on the second floor landing. I’m sucking air, a thin sheen of sweat covering me from head to toe. Fitting my crutches under my arms, I start down the hallway—and stop.

  A thin strip of light is shining from under my parents’ bedroom door.

  I stare at the yellow light spilling onto the hallway carpet, frowning. The light is on. That means someone’s in there. Who the hell would go in my parents’ room?

  Hobbling over to the door, I turn the knob. The door opens on silent hinges, and I find my ex-fiancée standing in my parents’ old closet, looking at my mother’s clothes.

  What the actual fuck?

  “Alina?” My voice is a rasp. A growl.

  She turns, eyes wide. “Wes! Hi.”

  “What are you doing?” I take a step inside the room. My chest tightens. The smell in here… It still smells like them. A book my mother was reading is still sitting on her side of the bed, bookmark sticking out where she left it. All their clothes are in the closet, Mom’s jewelry collecting dust on top of the vanity. It’s all still here, just like it was when they were alive. Emotion balls in my throat, and I shift my gaze to Alina.

  She hangs one of my mother’s dresses back in the closet and brushes her palms down her sides. “I’m sorry, Wes. I just came up here to…”

  “To what?”

  She arches her brows, giving me a puppy-dog look that used to work so well on me. “I was curious.”

  “You were curious about my dead parents?”

  “Sean told me this was a three-bedroom house, and I’d never been up here.”

  “So you thought you could just waltz in and make yourself at home?” Ice crackles in my voice. My whole body grows colder by the second. “Is this because you think you’re going to get this place? I wasn’t good enough to provide for you, but
you’ll still snatch my inheritance out from under me?”

  This isn’t hot rage. It’s not anger that makes my blood boil while fire flares in my eyes.

  No, this is cold, black fury.

  My ex-fiancée—who broke up with me when I was at my lowest, when it became obvious I wouldn’t make her a candidate for a Real Housewives show, who turned around and latched onto my rich uncle—is desecrating the one space in this house that I said was off-limits. She just made her way up the stairs and into the last space that belongs to my parents without care or respect for anything I asked.

  How did I date this woman for so long? How did I consider marrying her?

  She’s selfish, egotistical, manipulative, and cruel. I must have been blind, out of my damn mind.

  “Get out.” I hobble over one more step to give her space to leave.

  “Wes, please.” She walks toward me. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

  “Leave.” My voice is like a whip lashing toward her. I want to hurt her. I want my words to sting, because she has no right to be here. No right to glide her way back into my life and make me feel this way.

  “I loved your parents—”

  “Oh, fuck off. You thought my parents had no ambition. You sneered at their café, at their life. I don’t owe you anything. I welcomed you into my home out of respect for my uncle. I fielded your questions about this house and tolerated you sniffing around every corner because… I don’t know why. Because I’m a fucking chump, I guess. Because even after you ripped my heart out of my chest, I still can’t manage to tell you to leave me the fuck alone.”

  Alina’s eyes grow wide, but I’m too far gone to care.

  I point a crutch at the door. “Get the fuck out of this room. You didn’t love my parents. You didn’t love me. You probably don’t love my uncle. If I catch you or Sean in here again, I won’t hesitate to throw you out. Oh, and congratu-fucking-lations on the engagement, Alina. I’m glad you finally found someone with a big enough bank account to suit your needs.”