Undeniable: A Cloverleigh Farms Standalone

by Melanie Harlow

  He stood taller. “I have my pride, okay?”

  “No. It’s not okay. We could have gone to the bank.”

  “If we had to wait for the bank to approve a loan, we’d have lost the land. We need the money in a hurry. All I wanted was to get that farm.”

  I shook my head. “Bullshit. All you wanted was to trick me. Make me fall for you so I’d say yes to your stupid plan and then you’d leave me, just like before.”

  “You’re wrong,” he said forcefully.

  I couldn’t even talk for a moment. Little pieces of the puzzle were snapping into place, and the big picture wasn’t pretty. Had I been a fool for him again? Was I just a pawn in his game? Did he care about me at all, or was I simply the shortest route from him to his big fat inheritance?

  “Christ,” I said, fighting back sobs. “I’m such an easy mark. You knew the whole time. You knew when you approached my father last month. You knew driving up here. You knew I’d fall for you again and you used it against me. You said it once before—I’m so fucking predictable.”

  “That’s not true! I had no idea you and I would pick up where we left off.”

  I swiped at my eyes. “You wouldn’t know the truth if it came up and bit you. And we didn’t leave off, Oliver, you left me. You tricked me into believing you were someone else in Chicago, someone who actually cared about me, and then you disappeared. You did it then, and you’re doing it now.”

  “I’m not! Chloe, please. Think of all the plans we’ve made over the last few days. We’ve had this dream for a long time, and it’s within our reach. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get there. Aren’t you?”

  We heard noise in the hallway as the family made their way into the dining room. I knew we’d have to make an appearance shortly, but I felt like I might have to vomit first.

  “I feel sick, Oliver. What are we supposed to do? Go out there and pretend to be in love?”

  “Well … yes.” He let his arms fall.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

  “Can you try? Please?”

  “And then what? I’m not going through with this ridiculous charade engagement, Oliver. You don’t love me. You don’t want to marry me. You just wanted your money.”

  “It isn’t like that, Chloe, I promise. I do love you.” He went to take me in his arms but I put my hands out to stop him.

  “Your promises mean nothing to me now. And you don’t love anyone but yourself. You never have.” Taking a step back, I gave myself a few deep breaths, refusing to acknowledge the devastated look on his face. It was probably fake, anyway.

  “I’ll go out there and get through dinner, but that’s it. Tomorrow, I’m leaving with my parents and you’re going to come clean to your family.”

  “But what about the money? What about the land and the rye? What about our dream?”

  Sobs threatened again, but I swallowed them back and stood taller. “My self-respect is more important. You’ll have to find another way to get your money. I’m out.”

  I spun around and pushed the swinging door open, praying for the strength to get through the next hour and a half.

  Before going to the dinner table, I darted up the stairs to my room to fix my face a little. There was no way to hide the fact that I’d been crying, but I figured a few tears were normal after getting engaged. I did what I could and headed down to the dining room.

  “There she is,” Gran crooned when I walked in.

  Oliver was already seated at the table, which was set for thirteen but could easily have seated twenty. The only empty place was between Oliver and Charlotte, and I did my best to put a smile on my face as I moved toward it. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “That’s okay.” Oliver jumped up and pulled out my chair.

  Ever the gentleman. All part of his act.

  But I sat down and let him push me closer to the table, holding my breath as he took his place beside me. I didn’t want to catch his scent for fear I’d burst into tears. As it was, I had to avoid looking at my left hand, where that beautiful ring circled my finger, reminding me what an idiot I’d been.

  Right away, my parents wanted to know how we’d pulled off our secret relationship. Over a first course of Waldorf salad, I attempted to explain, grateful for the summer theater camps I’d done as a kid when my parents needed a safe place for me to release energy.

  “It was tricky,” I said. “We didn’t see each other very often, and I had no idea he was talking to Dad about my distillery plans.”

  “I like to keep her on her toes,” Oliver said.

  “And I like to make sure he doesn’t take it for granted that I’ll go along with what he says,” I shot back.

  Uncle Soapy laughed heartily. “Sounding like an old married couple already, aren’t they? I’d say you’ve met your match, Oliver.”

  “I’d say so too, Dad.” Oliver peeked at me, and I tried to take some of the murder out of my gaze.

  It wasn’t easy.

  Over lobster, corn, green beans, and fresh bread, I managed to answer everyone’s questions with what I hoped was convincing ease, laugh at Oliver’s jokes, say a few nice things about him, and even look at him adoringly a few times. I might not have been the actor he was, but by the time we ate cake and ice cream, I was pretty sure no one suspected the engagement was just a scheme. Even Gran managed to last through the entire meal, smiling benevolently in our direction the whole time.

  The food was delicious, but I barely touched it. All I could think of was how we were lying to everyone we loved—for money.

  When the dessert plates were cleared, Lisa took the boys up to bed, Gran retired to her room, and the other adults moved into the family room to play cards. I followed them, but I didn’t want to stay.

  “What do you say, Chloe? Feel like some bridge or euchre?” Oliver asked.

  “No, thanks. I’m actually not feeling very well. I think I’ll go to bed. Thanks for dinner, Aunt Nell. It was delicious.”

  “You’re welcome, dear. Get some rest.” She came over and kissed my cheek. “Maybe tomorrow while the boys are golfing, your mom and you and I can sit down and talk wedding planning.”

  “Oh, yes, let’s!” said my mother from her place at the card table. “I can’t believe I have two daughters to plan weddings for now.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t retire this year, John,” teased Uncle Soapy. “With two weddings to pay for and all.”

  My father groaned. “I might have to sell the farm.”

  “Don’t worry, Dad,” I assured him. “You’ll be all right. Goodnight, everyone.”

  “I’ll go up with you,” Oliver said, following me out of the room.

  I wanted to argue but held my tongue until we were going up the stairs. “You don’t have to babysit me. I won’t give away your secret. I’ll leave that for you after I’m gone.”

  “Chloe, please. Can’t we talk about this some more?” he whispered as we went down the hall.

  “No.”

  “This whole thing was a shock, I know. But doesn’t your therapist want you to think things over before acting too rashly?”

  I stopped to face him, giving him a look of pure disbelief. “You cannot be serious. My therapist is trying to keep me from making horrible mistakes, like jumping into bed with you. Like trusting you. Like falling for your act and thinking you’ve changed.”

  “I have changed, Chloe.”

  Shaking my head, I continued moving down the hall. “I will never believe another word you say.”

  He followed me into the bedroom and silently shut the door behind him. “Can you at least just take the night to think it through?”

  “I don’t need the night.” I pulled off the ring and laid it on the dresser before slipping my shoes off. “And you’re not sleeping in this bed with me.”

  “Where am I supposed to sleep? All the bedrooms are taken.”

  I shrugged as I walked over to my bag, where I began hunting for my pajamas. “Fig
ure something out. I don’t want you in here.”

  “Chloe.” He walked toward me slowly. “Look at me, please.”

  I didn’t want to. I had a tender spot for him and he knew it. “Leave me alone, Oliver.”

  “Give me another chance.”

  I forced myself to meet his eyes. They appeared to reflect contrition and remorse, but I no longer trusted my assessment of his feelings. He was too good at the game. “You don’t deserve another chance.”

  He sighed heavily. Nodded once.

  In a moment, I was going to break down, but for now I steeled myself. “I’m going to the bathroom to change. When I come back, I want you gone. And take that ring with you—put it somewhere safe so you can give it back to your grandmother after I leave.”

  He said nothing as I walked into the bathroom and shut the door.

  Once I was alone, I gripped the sink and let the tears flow as silently as I could. I didn’t want him to hear me crying. I didn’t want him to know how badly he’d hurt me. I didn’t want him to know how much I’d miss his arms around me for the rest of my life or how devastated I was that all the plans we’d made would never see the light of day.

  God, how could I have been so stupid?

  Angrily, I grabbed a tissue from the box on the back of the toilet and blew my nose. Hadn’t I known before all this started that he could not be trusted? His entire life, when had he ever demonstrated that he cared about anyone other than himself? He’d never once stuck around long enough to develop real feelings for anyone, least of all me. He was a cad and a player and a con man who got through life on his lies and his charm, and he was never going to change. I’d known it all along.

  So this was on me, I thought, as I looked at my mascara-streaked face in the mirror with its red nose and bloodshot eyes. Once again, I’d shown what shitty judgment I had. I’d jumped into something without considering the big picture. I’d let myself be swept away by pretty words and dreams because it felt good. It was like teenage me all over again. Had I learned nothing?

  I wasn’t fit to be CEO of Cloverleigh or my own business. I was a terrible judge of character and had no idea how to control my impulses. No matter how much therapy I had or how much growing up I did or how strongly I felt things in my gut, I could not be trusted to do the right thing.

  The realization hit me hard and brought on fresh tears that wrenched sobs from my chest. I sat down on the edge of the tub and cried hard for myself, for my crushed dreams, for my broken heart.

  I couldn’t sleep.

  I lay there alone in Oliver’s old bed in the dark for hours. Awake. Empty. Aching.

  I missed him. I missed the excited feeling I’d woken up with this morning. I mourned the dreams we’d shared.

  What if I never got over him? What if I never met anyone else who pushed my buttons the way he did? What if no one else ever got to me the way he did? Was I destined to live alone, cursing him and his stupidity for the rest of my life? Was he?

  Relationships were fucking hard, and I’d never been able to make it work with someone, never known that feeling of contentment and security. I’d never let myself be as vulnerable as I’d been over the last few days—and I never would again. It hurt too much to know it had been a mistake.

  God, Oliver. We came so close.

  The old house was creaky in the wind, and more than once I heard strange noises that made my eyes pop wide open and my heart beat faster. I’d never liked being alone in the dark.

  When I heard rain begin to drum against the windowpane, I got up and turned the bathroom light on, leaving the door partway open just to give me a little bit of light. On my way back to bed, I caught sight of something shiny on the dresser.

  The ring.

  I hadn’t noticed it before, when I’d fallen into bed exhausted and cried out. Why hadn’t he taken it with him when he’d left, like I’d asked?

  I walked over to the dresser, the old wood floor creaking under my bare feet. Picking up the ring, I stared at it for a moment before slipping it onto my finger again. Then I examined it on my hand, fingers outstretched.

  Oliver, I thought, my broken heart sinking deeper. You bastard.

  I would have said yes.

  That’s what killed me. I knew myself. And I knew how I felt about him. If I was honest, I had to admit that if there had been no games, no scheme to get the money, no betrayal of my trust, and Oliver had said to me last night, maybe as he held me in his arms or moved inside me or kissed me goodnight, I’ve always loved you, spend the rest of your life with me … I would have said yes. It would have been crazy and fast and impulsive, but it was the truth.

  I climbed back in bed and wept into my pillow.

  I would have said yes.

  22

  Oliver

  NOW

  I heard her crying in the bathroom, and it damn near broke me.

  The moment she shut the door, I heard the gut-wrenching gasps, and I immediately rushed in her direction.

  But I stopped with my hand on the knob.

  She doesn’t want you. You’ll only make things worse.

  My hand fell, and I backed away.

  What was I going to say to her that I hadn’t already said? How was I going to make this better? Which words were the ones to make her see that I hadn’t lied to her, that I wanted to be with her, that I’d made a mistake, yes—but I was human and still figuring shit out.

  I loved her. I’d never loved anyone the way I loved her. Shouldn’t that count for something?

  I felt like it should, but I also felt like she was right—I didn’t deserve another chance.

  Backing away from the door, I glanced at the ring on the dresser. She’d told me to take it with me when I left.

  I walked over to it and picked it up, recalling the cringe-worthy proposal and the clumsy way I’d struggled to get the ring on her finger.

  Fuck. What had I been thinking? She deserved so much better.

  A better proposal. A better love story. A better man.

  I replaced the ring on the dresser and left the room. In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to take it. Maybe she wouldn’t wear it on her finger, but I wasn’t sorry I’d given it to her. And maybe if I left it here, she’d know that I’d meant what I said.

  She’d always been the only one for me.

  When I went downstairs, I avoided the family room where the card games were going on and instead went into the library. Shutting the door behind me, I turned off the light and lay down on the leather couch in front of the fireplace. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, but at least this was a quiet place to think.

  With one hand behind my head, I stretched out on my back and let the memories of my friendship with her unspool. I saw us as kids jumping off that roof. I saw us as teenagers at the prom. I saw her sitting on my dorm room bed asking me to have sex with her, telling me she wanted me to take her virginity but not call her afterward—even then, she didn’t trust me with her heart.

  She’d been right.

  I saw her devastated expression the following Christmas, when I’d lied to her, saying that I’d only done it because I’d pitied her. I’d wanted to hurt her because she didn’t want me the way I wanted her, and I was too young and stupid to see that I should have been honest with her instead of playing games.

  I saw her laughing and rosy-cheeked as we got tipsy on scotch between two twin beds at Hughie’s graduation party. I saw her standing above me, a leg over my shoulder, as I buried my tongue inside her. I saw her back as she angrily stomped away from me down the hall after realizing I’d timed her orgasm.

  That memory actually brought a smile.

  I saw her standing at the bar in a gorgeous gown at a hospital fundraiser, I saw her hesitate before getting onto that elevator with me, I saw her naked and sweaty and shameless against a hotel room door.

  I remembered a cab ride to the airport after we said goodbye in Chicago, hating myself for being too immature and unworthy of her.

  I s
aw her give me the finger at a Cloverleigh Christmas party. I felt the sting of her palm across my cheek. I heard the hurt and anger in her voice as she accused me of betraying her with Brown Eyed Girl.

  I saw the wary suspicion in her eyes as I persuaded her to give me one week to convince her to partner with me. I heard her say, Some things don’t change. Some people don’t change.

  Maybe she was right. Maybe I was the same selfish asshole I’d been all those years. I’d fucked up so many times. How many chances did one man deserve?

  And what could I say to get her to give me another?

  I wasn’t sure how long I lay there in the dark, but eventually I heard everyone else go up to bed, and a while later, I heard the rain begin. It drummed against the library windowpanes, the wind pressing against the glass. When lightning flashed and thunder began to rumble in the distance, I thought of Chloe alone upstairs and wondered if she was nervous. I knew she didn’t like storms or the dark. Imagining her up there alone and scared made my chest tight.

  Leave her be. She doesn’t want you.

  But eventually I couldn’t stand it anymore.

  I got up from the couch and hurried quietly from the library, up the stairs, and down the hall. When I reached my old bedroom door, I hesitated for just a second, but then opened it.

  I saw right away that she’d left the bathroom light on and the door ajar, and it wrenched my heart. Lightning illuminated the room for a moment, and I saw that she was asleep, lying on her side with her left hand on the pillow next to her face.

  There was something shiny on her finger.

  Had it been a trick of the light, or was she wearing the ring? Hoping she wouldn’t wake up and catch me lurking over her in bed like a stalker, I moved closer, my stomach muscles tight.

  Sure enough, my grandmother’s engagement ring was back on her finger. She must have put it on after I left the room. My heartbeat quickened. Did that mean she didn’t hate me? That she still cared? That she might be willing to listen to me?

  But what the hell would I say?