by Arlene James
“Such dramatics!” Camille chided. “And after everything I’ve done for you!”
Jillian sighed. It was no use. It never had been. “Just go away, Camille. Just leave me alone.”
For a moment Camille didn’t seem to know what to say, but finally she reverted to big-sisterish disdain. “You’re being incredibly foolish, Jillian. Denise and Worly can’t protect you.”
“But I can,” Zach said, both hands going to his waist.
“You don’t have anything to say about this!” Camille snapped. “I fired you days ago.”
Jillian’s head whipped around at that. “What?”
Zach ignored her. “You fired me,” he said to Camille. “but Jillian didn’t.”
“Jillian can’t afford to hire you.”
“She doesn’t have to,” Zach said, “because she’s going to marry met.”
Camille’s mouth dropped open, a look of horror on her face, but then she laughed. “You aren’t going to marry her!”
“Is that so?” Zach muttered dangerously, but Camille. seemed oblivious to his tone.
Jillian shook her head, trying simultaneously to clear it and warn her sister, as Camille said, “You know it is. Jillian told Mother and me that you wouldn’t have her even after she threw herself at your head.”
Jillian groaned, humiliated beyond endurance. “Camille, please—”
“You think I didn’t sleep with her because I didn’t want to?” Zach asked incredulously. Jillian put her hands to her face, wishing the floor would open and swallow her whole. “Maybe you think I didn’t make love to her because I prefer you? Well, let me tell you, I don’t! I didn’t sleep with Jillian because I respect her too much to have her first time be some hurried, desperate—”
“Zach!” Jillian pleaded, dropping her hands.
He clamped his jaw shut, and Jillian closed her eyes in relief, only to open them again when Camille said angrily, “I never invited you into my bed, Keller, but if I had, you’d have fallen all over yourself getting there!”
He laughed at her, literally laughed, and shook his head. Jillian braced herself for an eruption. Camille’s face pulsed dark red, but then she turned a venomous glare on Jillian.
“Don’t you think marrying the pathetic little orphan is carrying the heroics just a tad too far, even for you, Zachary?”
Jillian held her breath, determined not to let Camille see that she was hurt.
Zach leaned forward, both hands flat against the top of his desk. “For your information, I care very much for your sister, and she’s not a pathetic little anything.”
Suddenly Lois poked Jillian in the ribs from behind and chortled, “Told you so!” Jillian jumped a foot, having forgotten the woman was still in the room.
Camille frowned furiously at the secretary, who just chuckled. Tossing her head, Camille targeted Zach once more. “I don’t believe you’ll go through with it.”
Studiously not looking at Jillian, whose own heart was in her throat. Zach said evenly, “Believe what you like, but we are getting manned—just as soon as possible.”
“I’ll call the license bureau,” Lois said gleefully, exiting the room.
Camille rounded on Jillian then. “I forbid this...this... stupidity!”
“You have nothing to say about it,” Zach told her firmly. “Does she, Jillian?” For a moment Jillian could only stare at him helplessly. “Does she, Jillian?”
Abruptly Jillian shook her head, uncertain what was happening, really, all of a sudden exhausted by the whole thing. Camille ranted and raved a few moments longer, but Jillian couldn’t quite pay her the attention she required, so she finally gave it up, storming out of the room with the declaration that they shouldn’t bother inviting her to the ceremony because she wouldn’t be lending her consequence to such insanity. Numbly, Jillian watched her go, then turned back to find Zach sitting at the desk with both elbows on the blotter and his head in his hands. After a long moment, she decided that she’d better sit down, too, and slowly sank into her own chair.
“You don’t have to go through with it, you know,” she said softly, praying that he’d look up and declare with heartfelt sincerity that he wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with her.
Instead, he took a deep breath as if fortifying himself and said, “Yes, I do. You’re right not to go back to Camille’s, and I can’t let you go back to that loft.” He raised his head then and smiled wryly. “Worly came to see me this morning, you know, to tell me what’s been going on, and he’s right to be concerned. Besides, you could be putting them in danger, too.”
Fighting back bitter disappointment, she bit her lip. “I—I hadn’t really thought of that.”
“My building is really the safest place for you,” he went on, “but there are all these deed restrictions, so I can’t get you in there for longer than a week at a time—unless we’re married.”
“I see.” Camille was right then. It was heroics on his part; he was trying to rescue the pathetic little orphan, and she was grateful, but that gratitude was like a stake in her heart. “C-couldn’t I just go to a hotel somewhere?”
He was shaking his head. “I’d just have to stand guard there. Besides, it’s cost prohibitive. Eibersen’s not supposed to relocate to Alaska for two months.”
Two months. Dear God, how would she endure two months as his wife, knowing that he didn’t want the marriage? “It seems foolish to get married just for two months,” she said softly.
“It’s two months if he actually makes the move,” Zach said through gritted teeth. “If he’s as obsessive as I fear he is, he might not go at all.”
Jillian tried very hard not to cry, but the tears finally defeated her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “it’s just that nothing seems to work out the way I want it to.”
He nodded sharply and looked away. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything. If Eibersen doesn’t give up and leave town, I’ll get rid of him somehow, I swear. Then we’ll...file for a divorce. Or an annulment. Or...whatever.” He suddenly laid his head back and sighed. “There’s just one thing. We, um, we really ought to make out like this is the real thing, you know. If Eibersen suspects that it’s a marriage in name only, no telling what he’ll do. It complicates things because of my family, but I’ll deal with them later. Right now, the important thing is just to get it done.”
In name only. Jillian winced, pain slicing deep. “I—I’m not sure I can do it.”
He looked at her then, surprisingly stern. “Oh, yes, you can. And you will.” His voice softened, his eyes full of apology and regret. “You know I wouldn’t insist if it wasn’t the only solution. For now.”
For now. Jillian wiped her eyes and nodded. Only for now.
On what should have been the happiest day of her life, Jillian stood before the justice of the peace in a simple, sleeveless white sheath with an overlay of chiffon that ended in points front and back, a halo of white rosebuds on her head. As befitted the situation, the Friday-morning ceremony was private and sparse. It wasn’t real anyway, so it shouldn’t have mattered, but Jillian couldn’t quite make herself accept that. As much as she loved him—and she knew now that she did—she would have done just about anything to avoid this sham of a marriage. Her pride, and she was surprised to find that she had a good deal of it tucked away, rebelled at the idea of Zach sacrificing himself in a manner so obviously onerous to him.
But what else could she do? The thought of going back to Camille was even worse than the idea of being with Zach, and it wouldn’t be fair to go back to the loft. She really had no other option, especially after the deli manager let her go. No doubt she had Camille to thank for that. But it didn’t matter; nothing really did, except surviving the next two months as Zach’s wife without losing her mind or doing something really stupid, like trying to make him love her. She knew, from bitter experience, the futility of that, and yet the temptation was great.
The past three days had been awful: sleeping in his
bed while he made do with a cot in the living room; arranging a wedding no one wanted via telephone and quick, desultory shopping trips with a wary Zach; eating alone in the evenings while he vanished on one mission or another. She could only imagine what the coming weeks would be like, even with the larger apartment to which Zack had arranged to move.
Poor Zach. Poor honest, heroic Zach, who couldn’t turn his back on a woman in distress, even if it meant marrying her and upending his whole life when he would obviously rather eat glass. She prayed that Janzen would give up and leave town immediately. Meanwhile, she had her exhibition to look forward to. Her art would keep her sane, especially as the new apartment was a two-bedroom unit so she could set up a studio in her room. It would mean hanging a heavy plastic sheet over the doorway to keep dust out of the rest of the apartment and padding the walls with rubber foam sheets to contain the noise, but Zach didn’t seem to mind. He seemed, in fact, to realize how important it was that she be able to work. She would be forever in Zach’s debt for that alone—unless the sculpture sold right away, and she prayed that it would. Whatever happened, however, she would pay him back every penny he spent securing her safety. Somehow. First, though, she had to get through this “marriage.”
Even if it was a sham, it seemed wrong to have a wedding without family or friends present, but Zach had insisted that it would be easier to explain to his family after the fact, and she couldn’t bear to have her well-meaning chums around chirping congratulations when they weren’t due. So it was just Jillian and Zach, the justice of the peace and two clerks from the JP’s office, strangers all, really, for she did not know the Zachary Keller who stood next to her repeating meaningless vows in a monotone. The warm, frank, vastly entertaining man with whom she had fallen in love had been replaced by a nervous, irritable, withdrawn individual who couldn’t even look her in the eye as he slipped the narrow, white-gold wedding band onto her finger. This man took his own ring from her and shoved it onto his hand impatiently, rather than waiting for her to work it over his broad knuckle. This man’s lips were cool and stiff when he brushed them across hers at the conclusion of the brief service. He was brisk and terse afterward, driving straight back to the apartment to trade his suit and tie for faded jeans and a cream-colored T-shirt suitable for moving furniture and packing boxes.
Jillian changed into shorts and a camp shirt with the tails tied in a knot at her waist while Zach and a man provided by the apartment complex began dismantling his workout equipment for the move. When she emerged from the bedroom, Zach informed her that Denise was packing her tools and sculpture pieces, which would be delivered by the time they returned from visiting his family that evening.
“We’re visiting your family this evening?” she asked, surprised.
He stopped what he was doing and regarded her solemnly. “Has to be done sometime. Might as well do it and get it over with. I told Brett we’d be at his place around seven, and he promised to call Dan and Mary and get them there.”
“What did he say when you told him?” she asked selfconsciously.
“I didn’t. Just said I had someone I wanted them all to meet.”
“And what about your parents?”
He looked down at the screwdriver in his hand and said, “I’ll call them in Montana later. They’re going to want us to come up there for a visit, which I don’t think is a good idea. Any notion how to put them off?”
She shrugged, feeling lower than a hole in the ground. “The opening?”
He looked up at that. “Yeah, that might work. My wife the artist has an important show coming up and work to finish.” He smiled, and for the first time, she felt her spirits lift. My wife the artist. My wife.
Just then the man helping to dismantle the workout equipment finished what he was doing and stood from a kneeling position. He looked directly at Jillian and asked, “What would you like me to do next, Mrs. Keller?”
The shock of her new name reverberated through her. Mrs. Keller. She opened her mouth, but the lump in her throat wouldn’t let the words out.
Zach reached out to place a supportive hand on her shoulder, saying to the helper, “I think the plan is for you and me to move all this heavy stuff out while she packs up the kitchen. Isn’t that right, Jillian?”
She managed a nod, and the two men began hoisting benches and rods onto a rolling dolly. Jillian got out of the way when they started pushing it toward the door, then took a deep breath and went into the kitchen. Some boxes were sitting on the counter. She began opening doors and drawers, removing the contents and deciding what to pack where. Working steadily and purposefully, she filled the boxes and went in search of more. Meanwhile, Zach and his helper came and went, loading and rolling out the items in the living room. By the time they were through, so was she. They stacked the boxes and rolled them down the hallway to the new apartment. She turned her attention to the bedroom.
By late afternoon the entire contents of the apartment had been moved. Then, to Jillian’s surprise, deliverymen showed up with a new sofa to match the black leather armchair Zach already owned.
“I didn’t know you were plamting to do this,” she said to Zach.
He shrugged. “If you don’t like it we can always send it back.”
“wether I like it or not isn’t the point. It’s your couch. You’re entitled to pick it out. I only meant that it wasn’t necessary on my account.”
“That’s right,” he said. “I bought it for me.”
She stified a spurt of disappointment, murmuring, “As long as you’re clear on that.”
He nodded. “I figured I could sleep on it until...well, I figured I could sleep on it.”
She cocked her head. “What do you mean? Why should you sleep on the couch? I have my own bedroom now, and the cot will serve me just fine while I—”
“You can’t sleep and work in there.”
“Why ever not?”
He put his hands to his hips. “I saw the loft studio. You can’t sleep with all that dust.” She opened her mouth to explain that the fan she had rigged would suck up the majority of the stuff, but he held up a stifling finger. “You wouldn’t be hanging plastic over the doorway if that contraption of yours took care of enough of it to make that room livable.”
“But I won’t let it get as bad as the loft. I’ll clean regularly, every day if necessary, and—”
“And how much work will you get done that way?”
“Enough.”
He shook his head stubbornly. “That room isn’t big enough for your work table, materials, tools and a cot.”
“I’ll use a smaller table.”
He rolled his eyes. “It won’t work, Jillian. I’ve thought it all out.”
“Then I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“We went through this when you first moved in,” he said a little too loudly. “I like to work out late at night.”
“Put the workout equipment in the bedroom.”
“I like to watch TV while I work out,” he said, almost shouting.
“Put the television in the bedroom.” she said pleadingly.
Zach sighed and seemed to wilt before her eyes. It occurred to her that he must be as tired and confused as she was. “Why do you have to make this more difficult than it has to be?” he asked wearily.
Suddenly she wanted to run, to get as far away as possible from the reality of this unreal marriage, but where would she go? To Camille? Oh, yes, Camille would be happy to have her back. She could gloat forever over the sorry state of her pathetic little sister’s pathetic mess of a life. Before Jillian quite knew what was happening, tears were rolling down her cheeks. Zach grimaced and threw a companionable arm around her shoulders.
“Here, now, what’s this all about? Because I bought myself a comfy leather couch?”
She sniffed and wiped at her eyes with her fingertips, but the tears kept coming. “No,” she choked out. “No.”
“What then?”
She took a shuddering breath. “I do
n’t know. It’s my wedding day, I suppose. I don’t know.”
He let his arm slip away. “It’s been a busy day. You’ll feel better after a shower.”
A shower. His family was expecting them tonight. “Yes. All right.”
“We’ll get a bite of dinner on the way,” he said, moving away to begin putting his books back on the reconstructed shelves.
A bite of dinner. Their wedding supper. She mused silently that fast food would be sadly appropriate and headed for the bathroom.
Chapter Eight
Zach stood next to Jillian on the yard-square doorstep in front of his older brother Brett’s modest brick veneer home, regretting the impulse that had brought him here. Why hadn’t he just kept this nonsense to himself? It would all be over in a matter of months, if not weeks. His family never had to know that he had married. Did they?
Of course they did. What was he thinking? He couldn’t keep a thing like this secret. It was just that he hated to lie to them, to let them think that this was a real marriage. The truth, however, brought its own complications, some of which he wasn’t even willing to consider. So, he was taking the middle road, some truths, some lies. It seemed the only way.
The gentle pressure of a hand on his forearm reminded him that he was stalling. Inanely, he cleared his throat before lifting his hand to rap his knuckles on the door before reaching for the knob. The door opened before he could even turn the knob, and the small suntanned body of his six-year-old nephew appeared, a towel draped across his bare shoulders, dark hair glistening wet.
“Mo-o-om!” he bawled, “Uncle Zach’s hers—with a girl!” The last he announced while disappearing down the darkened hallway.
Zach laughed, feeling instantly at home, and ushered Jillian into the entry hall with a hand at the small of her back. She pushed her glasses, still dark, up onto the top of her head. His sister-in-law, Sharon, in shorts and T-shirt, with his two-year-old niece parked on one hip, appeared, her red hair and freckled face a welcome beacon in the gloom. Her customary smile was in place, but her nut brown eyes widened comically when she saw for herself what her son had announced. She glanced back into the den.
