Single Dad's Hostage: A Fake Marriage Romance

by Penelope Bloom

  “All you did was leave,” says Selene. “And I know it isn’t fun to hear, but when he and his friends teamed up on Dean, he probably felt like he won. There’s nothing to worry about. He already got his little bit of revenge. It’s over, okay?” she says.

  “Yeah. I hope so.”

  A strange, clattering sound makes me turn my head back toward the house. I frown. “Was that… bowling pins?” I ask.

  “You haven’t seen the bowling alley?” asks Selene. “Damn, Cammy. I know he’s hot and all, but you really need to get out of the bedroom once in awhile and check this place out. There’s a lazy river that runs all through this insane basement grotto. Tanner and I fu--”

  “Oookay,” I say quickly. “I think I’m going to go check out this bowling alley.”

  I leave Selene, who is still grinning, over the memory of whatever she and Tanner did in the pool. I don’t quite see her interest in him. Yes, he has a cute enough face, but he’s too tall and lanky for my liking. I’ve always felt like there’s a perfect height for a guy somewhere around six foot three, which is exactly around where I’d guess Dean to be. Anything more than that just becomes impractical, especially given that I’m not the tallest cookie myself.

  I find a door to what I assumed to be a bedroom not far from Dean’s room. The sound of pins is loudest when I’m next to it though, so I cautiously open it. I’m greeted by an elevator.

  I step inside and press the button labeled “Basement.”

  The doors slide open with a ding a few seconds later to reveal a vision of excessive wealth, even by the standards I’ve slowly come to grow accustomed to living in a mansion like Dean’s. There’s an area sort of like a lobby with branching hallways leading in all directions. I can only guess at what they all lead to, but I know the sound of pins is close now. I head down one of the halls to the left, grinning as the decor shifts from elegant and classy to bowling-alley chic, if there is such a thing.

  Posters on the wall depict men and women, famous bowlers maybe, and there are bowling balls and pins polished to a mirror finish placed on a display as I enter the alley. I’m surprised to find Jen by herself, gripping a ball that looks too big for her small frame. She grunts with effort as she slings it down the alley and stomps her foot in frustration when it collides with the gutter so hard it bounces to the neighboring lane.

  “Damn it!” she shouts before turning to realize she’s not alone.

  “Oh. Camille,” she says. “Didn’t see you there, you know, since you were sneaking up on me.”

  “Sorry. I wasn't trying to sneak. I just didn’t realize this was down here.”

  “Yep. This is all kind of my fault. Daddy made the mistake of asking me what my dream house would be like when he was working with the architects on this place. Only problem is that I was four at the time.” She laughs a little, looking around the alley like she’s seeing it for the first time. “I think my mom would have liked it here.”

  “Did she like to bowl?” I ask carefully. Neither Dean nor Jen have wanted to talk about Jen’s mom, and I’m burning with curiosity to know more. Beyond that, I can see this little girl holds on to a pain she thinks no one sees, and I want to help.

  A look passes over Jen’s face like all the sadness she has bottled up for years comes to the surface now. “I don’t know,” she says thickly. “I don’t even know,” she repeats, rubbing at her eyes.

  “Oh, honey,” I say, moving to her and hugging her tightly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “No,” she says. “It’s okay. I just… I can’t even remember her face. I see pictures and it’s like looking at a stranger. Does that make me a bad daughter?”

  “Not at all. No,” I say. “You were… young,” I say, guessing at facts I don’t have.

  “Still,” she says. “What kind of daughter can’t remember her mom’s face?”

  “A daughter who had to go through something that wasn’t fair. Something that was completely out of her control.”

  “Was it though? If I don’t remember how do I know that?” asks Jen, who is still talking about what happened like I know--maybe she assumes Dean told me, but I don’t want to force her to explain what clearly is a traumatic memory, so I do my best to comfort her blindly.

  “You can’t blame yourself,” I say. A smell reaches my nose that doesn’t belong in the alley as I repeat the words in my mind. It’s the smell of freshly fallen rain. “You were young. You were just a baby. No one can blame you for anything. No one,” I say.

  My words hang in the air between us and I realize how hypocritical it is of me to say. Listen to me, the one who still lets my parents blame me for Vanessa’s death after so many years, trying to tell this little girl not to blame herself. I pick at my fingernail idly, searching for the right words, but how can I help Jen when I can’t even help myself?

  “You’ll be okay,” I say hollowly, rubbing her back.

  She gives me a tight smile and makes an honest attempt at pretending to be comforted, but I still see the pain in her eyes. “Thanks, Camille.”

  She leaves me alone in the bowling alley and I sit down, lingering long after her small footsteps fade away. I think about how much of a mess my life turned into. Can the right man really just undo all that damage like it never happened? Can Dean take away all the memories I have of Sean’s anger? Can he erase the things my parents said? The words that even still are burned into the deepest parts of my consciousness?

  And is that all I want out of him? Do I really want him to be like some pill to make me forget, even if it’s just temporary?

  13

  Dean

  I get back to the house with Murph and Tanner at seven in the evening, and we’re all a little on-edge from the car ride. I had a private investigator do a little digging and he found out the guy Murph thought he killed was named Marcus Palmer. Yeah, the guy Murph thought he killed.

  Turns out Marcus Palmer didn’t die, he was just paralyzed from the waist down. The force of the impact knocked him out cold, and my idiot brothers couldn’t tell the difference between a corpse and someone who was unconscious.

  Seems when Marcus woke up, he pulled himself out of the dumpster, fell a couple feet, and then yelled for help until someone got him an ambulance.

  “I checked his pulse,” says Murph for about the thirtieth time. “I didn’t feel anything, man.”

  “It doesn’t make a difference,” I say. “The plan is the same. I doubled the security detail around the house, got a team of personal bodyguards to go with Camille or Jen any time they leave the house, and we’re going to keep an eye out for Sean and any bullshit he might try to pull to get back at us.”

  Tanner steps inside, kicking a rock off the porch on his way in despondently. “Sorry we brought you into this, bro.”

  “Don’t be,” I say. “I’ll take care of you. Okay? He wants to fuck with us, he’s going to be sorry. It’s that simple.”

  Murph squeezes my shoulder and Tanner nods appreciatively.

  “Who wants to fuck with you?” asks Selene, who I didn’t see lying on the couch until she sat up just now.

  “Just some guy from the club,” says Tanner. “It’s nothing.”

  Selene stands, advancing toward Tanner and doing a comically good job of looking intimidating, despite the few feet of height he has on her. “If it was nothing, you guys wouldn’t look so serious.”

  “What?” asks Murph, pointing to his face. “This? This is how we always look.”

  “Mhm,” says Selene, fists still on her hips as she waits, not looking away from Tanner.

  Tanner sighs. “Come on,” he says in a defeated tone, motioning for her to follow him toward his room. “I’ll explain.”

  Murph’s head snaps toward me and he makes a what the fuck kind of gesture.

  “We’re all in this together anyway,” I say, feeling a slight stab of guilt about how I’ve lied to my brothers regarding Camille and I. “Something tells me Sean isn’t going to go
to the police over this. He’s going to want to find his own kind of justice. Even if Selene knows, it doesn’t matter.”

  “You gonna tell Camille?” he asks.

  “Yeah, I’ll tell her. She deserves to know what’s going on. We all need to be on the lookout, private security or not.”

  “What about Jen?”

  “I’ll tell her what she needs to know and no more.”

  As if on cue, I hear footsteps coming down the stairs. Jen and Camille pause briefly when they see us, narrowing their eyes.

  “What’s going on?” asks Camille. “You guys look like your favorite TV show just got canceled.”

  “Yeah,” agrees Jen, “or maybe like you’re constipated.”

  “I just hired some extra security. It’s nothing to worry about,” I say. “They had a two for one special going.”

  Camille raises an eyebrow. “Really? Do they do B.O.G.O. too?”

  “No,” I say. “That’d be ridiculous. This was just a good deal, that’s all.”

  Murph gives me a meaningful look and I try to discreetly shake my head at him. I will tell them, but I have to give Camille and Jen two different versions of what’s going on, and there’s no good way for me to do that when they’re together.

  “We want to go out,” says Camille suddenly. “Jen is going to teach me the guitar since I’m teaching her vocals, and we want to pick one out.”

  “By the way,” says Jen. “We need to borrow your card.”

  Camille gives me an adorably nervous look, and as I watch the two of them I realize Jen must have had to talk her into this. Camille probably was afraid to ask for money, and I like that about her. I’ve been with women in the past who know my bank account is inexhaustible for all intents and purposes, so they treat it that way. But giving to people who expect it has never brought me happiness. Giving to people who don’t think they deserve it or who need it and are reluctant to ask--that has always brought me satisfaction.

  I fish out my card and toss it to Camille, who catches it with a look of surprise. “You sure? I’ll pick something reasonable out, I promise.”

  “Get whichever one you like best. Hell, get two incase it breaks or something,” I say. “Want me to come with you two?” I ask, thinking of Sean.

  “Girls only, Dad. Besides, I have to pick something up for you too. It’s a surprise.”

  “Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but I’m sending some security with you. There was a story about some creep harassing people in the area,” I say, making up the story as I go. “Better safe than sorry, right?”

  I give Camille a meaningful look that she returns knowingly. Thankfully, Jen is too preoccupied with the excitement of their shopping trip to put much thought into my flimsy story, and five minutes later I’ve set them up with Brian and Vince, who have been working security for me since I first found a need to hire a private firm a few years back.

  I realize I’ve never really made a point to get to know the guys, which hasn’t seemed like a problem until now. Watching them drive my girls out for the shopping trip and knowing I don’t even know if the two men have families gives me a bad feeling, but I push it away. I’m being paranoid. Real paranoid.

  There’s practical and then there’s over-the-top worrying like a grandma. I can’t live my life or make Camille live her life normally if I’m seeing liars and betrayal around every corner.

  Still, thinking about it has me on edge, so I double check that my phone is on and go to the fitness room downstairs to work off some stress.

  14

  Camille

  The security guys driving us definitely look like “stiffs”. I can’t remember if a stiff is just a term for a police officer or something, but whatever it’s normally used for doesn’t matter, because these guys are stiffer than boards. No smiles, no idle chat as they drive, just business. Rather than making me feel comfortable to be with two professionals though, it gives me an uneasy feeling, like their stiffness goes beyond just professionalism and feels more like coldness, and I wonder how much integrity men like that could have for their job, or how easy they could be bought.

  “What’s so funny?” asks Jen.

  I realize I was laughing quietly at my own tinfoil hat conspiracy. Knowing Sean is out there and probably still pissed, despite what Selene thinks, is messing with my head, but Jen doesn’t need to know that.

  “I never thought I’d be learning the guitar. I’ve got these little stubby sausage fingers,” I say, holding up my hand and splaying my fingers. “I just figured I’d never be good at it.”

  Jen laughs with delight as she puts her palm against mine, raising her eyebrows when she sees her hand is only slightly smaller than mine. “Well, I’m still growing into my hands, but I can play just fine with these little sausages too. You’ll be great.”

  I smile at her. It’s sweet and sad how this little girl has latched on to me. She may have kept me at arm’s length for a while, but no matter how much she misses her mom, every little girl needs a motherly figure in her life. I should know. The day I lost my little sister I might as well have lost my mom and dad too. Except no older woman ever came into my life and became that person for me, maybe that’s why I’ve latched on to guys like Sean--dominant assholes, but assholes who will try to control me like parents are supposed to. I just never met a guy like Dean before who can be dominant but in the right ways, like he knows he’s going to get his way but he’s also careful not to ask for too much or for anything that could hurt me.

  He uses the power of command he has gently and with care, but it’s still there, simmering and crackling with energy behind those gorgeous eyes of his, threatening to bring me to my knees with the slightest look or touch. Every moment with him is electric, like we’re two frayed wires just about to touch, like the energy itself makes the air thick and prickly. And God, I don’t know how I’ll ever find that with another guy. Dean may just be having fun with me right now, but that doesn’t mean it can’t change, that he won’t decide he wants to settle down eventually. Maybe he was like this with all the women who came before me and maybe he’ll be like this with all the women who come after.

  But there I go again. That’s the old me talking. The old, beaten down, insecure woman who knows if she stands up for herself there will be a strong hand to bring her right back to the ground where she belongs. That’s not me anymore. Maybe now I know there’s a strong hand on my side, one that will push back anyone or anything that tries to stop me. Dean. He’s my guardian and my lover--I can say that much for sure, and maybe the new Camille would even call him my boyfriend. Hell, why stop there. My future husband.

  “You’re grinning again,” says Jen. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Nothing. I was just… It’s nothing.”

  The security guys follow us into the guitar store, which is bigger than I expected. Jen takes me past drum sets and way more types of musical instruments than I expected to see before we reach a wall absolutely covered in guitars. I look over my shoulder and notice the security guards are standing close together, nodding as they talk into a cell phone. One of them notices me looking and taps the other on the shoulder. The one on the cell looks up, glares, and then turns his back.

  I can’t put my finger on what it is exactly, but something mentally clicks into place and my stomach turns to ice. “We should go,” I say to Jen.

  “What? You haven’t even picked one out.”

  “Jen. Please, we need to--”

  “Finding everything okay?” asks a surprisingly muscular guy with a buzz cut. He doesn’t look like the musician type at all, especially not when he kicks a leg up on a bench and leers at us. “I could help you find the right fit.”

  “We’re fine, thanks,” I say, trying to gently guide Jen away, who by this point is also looking around the store with a little less composure than she showed just a few seconds ago. Maybe she’s noticing the same thing I’m seeing--aside from the security and the macho buzz cut guy, it’s just us in her
e. For a store this size and at this time of day, it all feels wrong.

  A hand clasps around my shoulder. “I insist,” says the man. “My boss will be here in a minute. Maybe he can help you find what you’re looking for.”

  “Really,” I say. “We’re fine.” I try to move his hand away but his grip doesn’t budge. “You’re hurting me,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “You look lost. Are you sure you didn’t wander away from where you belong?” he asks in a condescending tone.

  My eyes go to the security guards, who are watching the guy manhandle me and show no signs of surprise. In fact, they seem to be paying more attention to the entrance of the store than they are to me. They are making sure no one comes in. They are in on this.

  I struggle to think clearly, as if there’s thick molasses clouding my brain, forcing every simple thought and idea to crawl by with agonizing slowness. We’re in trouble. Help Jen. Get Jen out of here safe. Don’t freeze up like you did with Vanessa.

  “Let me go,” I say, feeling lightheaded. My breaths come in rapidly now, heart hammering inside my chest, threatening to burst.

  “Let her go,” says Jen. Her face is pale and sweat is beading on her forehead. She knows too.

  The entrance door chimes and I look up, expecting to feel relief at some customer who might have wandered in to help us, but instead what I see makes my throat clench with terror. The old, familiar weakness rises up in me, paralyzing my muscles. I can’t fight back against his anger or the force of his will. His rage is stronger than I ever could be.

  Sean.

  He strides purposefully toward us and I see the hatred practically boiling the air around him. Every step is an attack, a statement of cruelty and a promise of pain. His hair is tangled and looks black as tar, even under the flourescent lights. But worst of all are his eyes--dark as night and full of more violence than I’ve ever seen.