“I lied,” I tell her. “I’m not sorry.”
And with that, I turn and start walking to my car. I don’t turn around, just get in and speed off.
The ride home so far has been tense and silent. I’m not sure what to say, and Brock is brooding. His hands are clutching the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. I can’t believe the ugly turn the evening has taken, and I can’t believe I let him kiss me. I’m wearing some of Gigi’s clothes since my dress was completely soaked. Although they are way too fancy and a couple sizes too big, I was grateful for the hot shower and change of clothes. I was horrified when I looked in the mirror and saw the drowned cat look I was sporting. Brock wanted to leave as soon as I was dressed and dried my hair, and I think that’s the last time he spoke. The scenery is flashing by at a rapid pace, and I’ve been watching road signs the entire ride. When we hit Interstate 278, I know we are getting closer to home. When I sneak another peek from the corner of my eye, I notice Brock’s right eye is swollen and is starting to turn black and blue. Ashton really did sock him a good one.
The mere thought of him makes my lips tingle. Guilt washes over me; I enjoyed that kiss. I enjoyed it way more than I imagined I would. It blew me away. Being kissed like that happens in the movies or in those cheesy romance books. They don’t happen to girls like me. I haven’t been able to stop obsessing over it since the second his lips left mine. At the same time, I am so disgusted with myself. I’ve completely betrayed Brock. I don’t blame him for being this angry, and I am sure he is reconsidering our deal. Who could blame him? I messed up, royally so.
“I’m so sorry,” I blurt out. “I know you are mad at me, but I—”
“Why you I be mad at you?” Brock interrupts.
“Well, with what happened with your brother and the fact that you haven’t spoken to me since we got in the car.”
“What Ashton did wasn’t your fault, M. He just did what he does when he gets angry; he lashed out. He’s never actually punched me before—that one is new—but he has never been a graceful loser. I’m just sorry you got in the middle of that, especially since you were trying to look out for him. I appreciate that you tried to talk some sense into him. I think he kissed you to try and hurt me, and I am sorry he did that to you.”
A small pang of pain hits my chest when he says that last part. But he’s probably right, I think to myself. Brock reaches over and grabs my hand. Ashton’s last words spring to mind. He said he wasn’t sorry, but what wasn’t he sorry about? Kissing me? I’m probably making this too complicated. I’m sure Brock is right; after all, he knows his brother better than me or anyone else.
“M, tonight I got everything I’ve ever wanted, and it is all thanks to you. Ash will come around eventually. He usually does. He’s not my favorite person right now, but he is my twin brother, and I love him.”
I squeeze his hand.
“How’s the eye?”
“Hurts like hell, which is mainly why I’ve been so quiet. I’ve been trying to focus on the road with one eye.”
From the angle I’m at, I can see the swelling but didn’t realize it was actually swollen shut. To be fair, I was only sneaking peeks from the corner of my eye. Still, I can’t believe the thought to check it hadn’t crossed my mind.
“Oh my God, Brock. I’m so sorry. I haven’t driven a vehicle in like seven years, but if you want to pull over, I can try and get us home.”
Brock chuckles.
“I think I’ll take my chances driving us myself. Your speech wasn’t very…um...you know, comforting.”
“Listen buddy, I can totally give you a matching black eye. Not to brag or anything, but I’ve been known to slap the crap out of some meat.”
The two of us burst out in laughter, and the tension I felt earlier has evaporated.
“So, what now?” I ask.
“Now we open up the restaurant, and I get groomed for CEO. We both get everything we have been dreaming about,” Brock says.
He’s right, the restaurant is everything I have ever dreamed about. I should be ecstatic, so why don’t I feel that way?
The kitchen is my church. The place I go to wrap my mind around just about anything. When I’m cooking, I feel alive. Creating dishes that people enjoy brings joy to me. If there is a problem in my life, I find the solution while I create magic in the kitchen. At least, usually. Today I can’t seem to focus at all. My mind keeps drifting to what happened at the family dinner a couple of days ago. No matter what I do, I can’t get that kiss out of my mind. I’ve never been kissed like that before, and even though the rational part of me knows he kissed me to spite Brock, I still can’t deny that it was the most incredible kiss I’ve ever had. I can still feel his lips on mine every time I close my eyes. It has affected me in ways I can’t even comprehend. I’m trying to cook up some lunch as I wait for Mikaela to show. We are going over the last details of the opening party this coming Friday night. The oven bell rings, indicating that it has reached the right temperature, so I slide in the pan of lasagna and set the timer.
“Mmm, it’s smells amazing in here.”
I look up to find Brock standing in my kitchen, and I smile at the sight of him. Poor Brock. The swelling has gone down quite a bit, and the color is somewhat fading, but he still looks a sight.
“Hello there, hubby. Are we playing hooky?”
Brock chuckles and points to his eye.
“Well duh. Can’t you see that I am the bad boy?”
“Which is clearly why I am choosing to marry you.”
“Really? I thought it was my good looks.”
I chuckle.
“Well, that’s just icing on the cake.”
I wash my hands before we walk to my office and take a seat in there.
“I’m actually here for a reason.”
“Oh? Not just to tell me how good-looking you are?”
Brock throws his head back and laughs.
“Well, not just that. Although clearly, it needs to be thrown into conversation more often,” he says as he wiggles his brows.
I laugh.
“I came by to give you this.”
Brock hands me a manila folder. I open it up and browse the content.
“I’ve had my lawyer draw up everything we have discussed. You should look it over and have your lawyer look it over, too.”
It all seems very standard. I will be running the restaurant as mine, and official ownership will be turned over to me on our wedding day. It also says we will keep our assets separate and that any profit made by the restaurant is mine. Of course, it also says that I agree to have no claim on Walker Inc. or its profits. I open my desk drawer and fish out a pen.
“You need to have your lawyer look at it, M,” Brock protests.
“No need. You kept your end of the bargain. I have no intention of staking claim in anything else but the restaurant. You have been more than generous, and I get that you have to protect your assets.”
I sign the contract and initial in the indicated places before handing it back to him.
“You have to keep this copy for yourself,” he says as he hands me the duplicate.
I laugh.
“Clearly, your future wife needs education on contract negotiations,” I joke.
He smiles.
“Thank you.”
“Why on earth are you thanking me? I’m pretty sure I should be thanking you. I feel like I am the only one getting something out of this.”
He shakes his head.
“I want to thank you for understanding. I was worried it might have hurt your feelings.”
“Brock, just because our marriage isn’t traditional and I’m not in love with you, doesn’t mean I don’t care for you. In fact, I care a great deal about you, and I am very protective of those I love,” I tell him, looking him straight in the eye so he can see that I mean it. “And I will protect you from anyone. Even from me,” I add with a wink.
He gets up and rounds the desk. I s
tand as he reaches me and pulls me in for a hug.
“We do make a good team, don’t we?” he says.
“We do,” I concur.
There’s a knock on the door even though it’s wide open; it’s Amber informing me that Mikaela is here.
“I would love to join you girls, but I have to run back to the office.”
Brock gives me a peck on the cheek and turns to leave. I watch him walk out with genuine affection in my smile. I’m so happy he got what he wanted; he has worked so hard. Still, I can’t help but feel bad for Ashton.
I love being around Mikaela Kingsley. We have become fast friends, and it isn’t hard to see why. She is easygoing and a lot of fun, but she’s also one of the hardest-working women I know. I know for a fact she doesn’t have to work for her money—I mean shoot, the Kingsley’s are loaded! Mik has been a huge help to me during this whole process, and while she was initially only supposed to help me with design, she offered to help me with the opening party. In my opinion, she really needs to start a PR company since she knows how to present a business and knows the right people to make things happen. All she wants in return for her help is my promise to bake her some of my banana cream puffs and strawberry shortcake. The girl loves her sweets. I will bake that woman desserts free for life because the party she has put together for me will put my restaurant on the map. I made some of the cream puffs earlier this morning, making sure I made enough for the event, as well as for her to take home with her. We are knee-deep in party plans when the door to the restaurant swings open, nearly giving us both a heart attack. We look up and see what I assume to be a delivery man walk in with an enormous bouquet of long-stemmed red roses. He looks at me and then at Mikaela, trying to decide who to talk to, I’m guessing.
“Mackenzie Hart?” the guy asks Mikaela as he longingly looks at her.
I roll my eyes. The woman is stunning, and she doesn’t even know it.
“Nope,” she says with a smile that nearly knocks the poor guy over. “That would be her.”
He smiles at me sheepishly.
“Sorry, the guy said the hot blonde…” His voice trails off, apparently recognizing that he probably shouldn’t have said that.
I’m not sure if I should find this insulting or incredibly hilarious, but I opt for the second.
“Ouch,” I say as I burst out laughing.
“Apparently, I don’t fit that bill?”
The delivery guy’s face turns fire engine red, so I decide to have mercy on him.
“What guy are you talking about?” I ask.
He fiddles with the lapels on his jacket and doesn’t directly look at me when he speaks, clearly still embarrassed.
“He didn’t say his name. He said you would know when you read the card.”
“Ooooh, that’s intriguing,” Mikaela says as she claps her hands enthusiastically.
He hands me the flowers, and I inhale deeply as the delicious fragrance caresses my nostrils. I feel like I have just taken a deep breath of fresh spring air. I notice the small envelope tucked between the flowers and pluck it out. The guy is looking at me now, and I cock my head. It’s then I realize that he’s probably expecting a tip.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, let me grab my purse from the office,” I tell him.
“No tip necessary. It’s taken care of.”
“Okay. Great. Thank you.”
He still doesn’t make an attempt to leave.
“Was there something else that I can do for you?”
“I’m sorry, I’m just dying to know if you know who they’re from. He was so adamant that you would know. I just didn’t believe him, and the message on that card…”
“You read the message on my card?”
I didn’t think it was possible, but his face is even redder now.
“I…the thing is…I was standing right next to him when he wrote it and—” he stutters.
I hold up my hand to stop him from speaking. I have to put the poor guy out of his misery. “It’s fine, I’ll open the card,” I say, shaking my head.
Mikaela is standing behind him, covering her mouth, and it looks like she is trying her damnedest not to laugh out loud.
I take the card out of the envelope. It reads:
#SorryNOTSorry
X
A.
I gasp, and my eyes dart over to Mikaela. She looks at me with a worried expression.
What the heck is this supposed to mean?
“So? Do you know who it is?” the delivery guy asks excitedly.
I nod my head.
“They’re from Ashton,” I say, more to Mik than to him.
“Wow,” he says, impressed. “That’s awesome.”
“Okay then, thanks for the delivery,” I say, hoping he gets the hint.
Luckily, he does. He mutters a goodbye and dashes out of here.
“I want to know EVERYTHING,” Mikaela demands.
My hands cover my face. I shake my head and groan loudly.
“Just so you know, I am not leaving here until I do.”
A nervous chuckle climbs out of my throat. Mik raises a brow as she throws me a “you know I mean business” look.
I sigh.
“Okay, fine. But let me feed you first because we are going to need some drinks.”
So, we do just that. We eat first, sharing a beautiful meal. The lasagna came out perfectly, and we pair it with homemade braided garlic bread and a tossed salad. By the time I serve dessert, we are two bottles of wine in and have just cracked bottle number three. I think it’s the combination of alcohol and the fact that Mik is so easy to talk to that I tell her everything. Well, mostly everything. I don’t tell her I’m fake engaged and definitely not why. I can’t betray Brock’s secret like that, not to anyone, but I tell her the version of us we have been telling people about. I tell her about meeting Ashton and covering for Faye. I tell her about how Brock surprised me at dinner and how I found out Ashton was the mystery guy that night. I tell her about the winery, about the almost kiss. Mikaela hangs on to my every word, and when I tell her about the kiss in the rain outside of his grandparents’ house, I think she’s ready to fall off her chair.
“So how do you feel about Ashton?”
“It doesn’t really matter how I feel about him. Besides the fact that he is only doing this to spite Brock, I’m engaged. I’ve made a commitment.”
“Okay, let’s tackle this one bullshit statement at a time,” Mik says as she throws me a scrutinizing look. “I didn’t hear you say that you love Brock.”
“I do. I love him.”
I’m not sure if she believes me, but she doesn’t argue.
“And you think that Ashton is just doing this to spite Brock?”
I nod.
“Why do you think that?”
I shrug.
“Brock thinks so, and he knows him better than anyone. Besides, I am far from his type. In the pictures I’ve seen when I googled him, he likes brunettes. Exotic beauties. Nothing like me.”
Mikaela raises her brow.
“You googled him?”
“Well, Amber googled him. I looked over her shoulder.”
She purses her lips and throws me a look that says she doesn’t believe me.
“Fine,” I admit. “I made her google him.”
She chuckles.
“I thought so,” she says with a pleased smirk on her face.
I can’t help but giggle. Suddenly, her expression turns serious.
“Hey, M?”
“What?”
“Are you sure you are marrying the right brother?”
I look at her, not sure what to say.
“I realize that this friendship is pretty new, and I promise you, I am not trying to overstep my bounds. But honestly, maybe you should decide what your answer to that is before you get married.”
I pour some wine in our glasses, emptying bottle number three and deciding that she is right.
I have been doing a lot of thinking since the n
ight Mikaela and I talked. Unfortunately, for me, most of that thinking has been late at night while lying alone in bed. I’m so tired of being at odds with myself, and I hate that my feelings for Ashton are in direct conflict with my commitment to Brock. Now if I could only get that kiss out of my mind, then maybe I could stop my brain from constantly repeating it inside my head. Sleep has been eluding me for the last few days. I’ve been tossing and turning every night, and now I’m so tired that I’m walking around in a grumpy mood. Heck, if I am honest with myself, I have not been sleeping well since this whole mess started. My mood isn’t the only thing suffering, either. My memory is blown to heck; if I don’t write it down, it won’t get done.
The restaurant is officially opening its doors in two days, and I don’t feel anywhere near ready. I feel like there isn’t enough of me to go around. Sure, Amber and Mikaela both have taken a load off me so I can focus on the cooking and have the kitchen running smoothly. We are close to nearly having every duck lined up. All the staff is hired, all of the wine and whiskey has arrived, the last of the renovations have been completed, and all the invitations have gone out. The press has been invited, and Mikaela has assured me that everything for the opening night event has been checked off. Unfortunately, it doesn’t change the fact that I am an enormous bundle of nerves. Besides the nerves I have about the opening night not running smoothly, I am also dealing with my personal drama. I’ve been receiving flowers daily; all of them beautiful, all of them humongous, all of them different. Today I got sunflowers and yesterday tulips, but all of them come with the same message:
The Beard (Haylee Thorne) Page 9
