Aubrey eyeballs me while she helps cut mother's eggs. When she catches me looking at her, she looks away quickly. I groan under my breath, suddenly losing my appetite. I’m sick of this shit. I thought things were going fine at the dinner party. Yeah, Aubrey had to endure some slights from Veronica and Julianne, but she seemed to handle herself fine--hell, more than fine. I had a hard-on just watching the way she stood up to them.
And fuck. Kissing her was incredible. My entire body felt like it was riding an electric current, like her lips were conduits and every second we touched charged me with an explosive energy. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to fuck someone as badly as I wanted her right then. I would’ve taken her as my real wife just to get inside her, but she pushed me away when I went for another kiss.
I still can’t figure out what her hangup is. And she sure as hell doesn’t seem to want to talk about it. But the busy week I had is through now, and I can focus my full attention on… what? What exactly is my goal?
I started this thing out because I wanted to look better for a judge. I wanted to be able to say I was rebuilding a healthy family for my daughter. I didn’t want to get involved in a relationship. Yet here I am, trying to figure out how I can win this woman over.
Whether I understand it or not, I have to have her. I need her, and it doesn’t hurt that winning her over is the only real way to save my family, too. Besides showing the judge I’m engaged and then breaking it off once I win the legal battle is just going to open me up to another attempt from Julianne. It also doesn’t help that she’s a virgin. Knowing no man has ever had her before makes me want her all the more.
“How much Crisco did you use to make these?” asks my mother as she jabs at the pancakes with her fork.
“I’ve never used Crisco for the pancakes,” says Aubrey slowly. “That’d be kind of--”
“Well you need to start,” snaps my mother. “These need more Crisco.”
“My orange juice doesn’t have enough Crisco, either, Miss Aubrey,” says Sophie.
Aubrey shoots Sophie a warning glare. “I’ll make sure I put plenty of Crisco in your orange juice tomorrow morning, Sophie. And then I’ll make sure you drink every last sip.”
Sophie looks like she thoroughly regrets her joke, and my mother looks disgusted. “Now that’s a waste of Crisco,” she says. “If you want to have Crisco in your orange juice you have to freeze it into ice cubes first.”
Aubrey looks horrified until my mother breaks into a smile.
“You’re too guillible, young lady,” chides my mother. “Far too gullible. But seriously, put some damn Crisco in the pancakes tomorrow or I’ll lose my temper with you, so help me God.”
There’s a firm knock at the door that makes Sophie and Aubrey jump half-way out of their chairs.
Aubrey collects herself before getting up to answer the door.
“No,” I say, remembering the sight of that asshole who tried to put his hands on her. “I’ll get it.”
“It’s okay, I can answer the door,” says Aubrey, fast-walk racing me to the door.
I win by a hair, yanking the door open to the surprised face of a little old lady with a clipboard. She’s wearing a blue coat with oversized buttons and a hat with an actual feather in it. I raise my eyebrows.
“Linda McCroy. Child Protective Services,” she says authoritatively. “May I come in?”
“I have nothing to hide,” I say, glaring at her.
She jots something down on her clipboard, raising an eyebrow as she quietly mouths the word, “suspicious.”
“What are you writing?” I ask, reaching for her clipboard.
She purses her lips, turning the clipboard away from me with surprising speed before writing something else and mouthing, “aggressive.”
I feel my nostrils flaring, but let her stroll into my house.
“Is this woman your mistress?” she asks, looking Aubrey up and down.
“This is my fiancée,” I say.
Her permanently raised eyebrow climbs a fraction of an inch. “Hm. That was not in our documentation.”
“Guess you’ll need to add it, then,” I say.
“Odd,” she notes, writing something down as she looks at us. “Most men would’ve made a physical gesture toward their bride-to-be by now. You haven’t touched her.”
“Is it too late to throw you out?” I growl.
She moves past me, unbothered. “This painting… Are those breasts?”
“I don’t know,” I say dryly as I look at the painting. It shows a woman lying on her side in the nude, but it’s an old, artistic piece I’ve barely ever noticed. “You tell me.”
Her pen works at the clipboard furiously. “Breasts on display in a home with a child.” She tsks. “Oh to think what my dear mother would think if she could see the places of debauchery my work has forced me to step foot inside.”
“This is hardly--” starts Aubrey.
The woman rounds on her, stopping her mid sentence with an expectant look. “Well trained, is she?” asks Linda. “Your fiancée already barks when you’re provoked and I’m sure she knows many lines you’ve taught her.”
“What gives you the right to talk to me like that?” demands Aubrey. Her cheeks are flushed red and her hands are balled at her side in the most adorable way. I make sure she doesn’t see me grinning, because I’m sure she wouldn’t appreciate it at this particular moment.
“Years of experience, for starters. Now. I’ve been speaking with the two of you for at least two minutes and haven’t seen hair or hide of this child you claim to take care of. Is she supervised right now?”
“Of course she’s…” says Aubrey, swallowing hard and interrupting herself. “I mean, yes. She’s completely supervised.
“Take me to her,” demands Linda.
We step into the dining room and find my mother, who has fallen asleep head first on the table with her forehead resting on a pile of pancakes. Meanwhile, Sophie is holding the stick of butter like a candy bar and chewing curiously at it.
“Oh, hi,” says Sophie. “This butter has some explaining to do. It doesn’t taste magical at all.”
Linda turns slowly to look at me, raising her eyebrows so high I think they might disappear into her graying hairline.
“She’s a real jokester,” I explain.
“I’m sure she is. I assume this woman is alive?” asks Linda, who prods my mother with her pen.
My mother stirs, sucking in a quick, startled breath. She glares up at Linda, who is standing beside her chair, but still barely taller than my mother who is seated.
“If you put that pen near me again, I’ll bite your stubby little arms off. Oh, and that hat is absolutely hideous,” she adds, raising her eyes to Linda’s hat.
Linda puts a protective hand over her hat, looking affronted as she takes in the entire scene. “Well. I think I’ve seen plenty here. An aggressive and violent father, an uppity parrot of a fiancée, a cannibalistic grandmother, and a clearly disturbed daughter. I’ll be sending my report in very soon. You can count on that.”
The little woman storms out, leaving all of us standing around the room, looking from one another in confusion.
“Really, Soph?” I ask. “You chose this exact moment to bite into a stick of butter?”
Sophie shrugs. “Is there ever a good moment to bite into a stick of butter?”
Roxanne cackles, rocking back in her chair. “She has you there, son.”
I rub my eyes with my palms and sigh.
“That woman said Aubrey was your fiancée. Why did she say that?” asks Sophie.
“Because we’re engaged,” I say, pulling Aubrey to my side. She gives me a warning look, but I continue on. “We haven’t set a date for the wedding, but I’m sure we’ll decide on one soon.”
My mother looks genuinely surprised for the first time I can remember. There’s a loud screech as Sophie pushes out her chair and storms toward her wing of the house.
“That could’ve gone b
etter,” I say.
I sit outside on the steps of the patio, looking out over the night sky. The pool lights are a cool, aqua green, causing the gently stirring water to cast ghostly lights on the palm trees and rocks surrounding the pool. I close my eyes, listening to the wind rustle the palm fronds and wondering. I wonder how I can take entire corporations and model them into my exact vision within weeks, but still can’t seem to keep my family secure.
I’m about to get up and go inside when Aubrey slips out from the patio doors and moves beside me. “Is it okay if I sit here?” she asks.
“Sure,” I say, patting the stone beside me. “It’ll make your ass numb in a few minutes, but help yourself.”
She sits down, close enough that I can smell her perfume. “I’m sorry about what’s happening. I haven’t told you that yet, but I mean it. You seem like a really good guy, and I don’t think it’s right what Jul--she is doing to you.”
I smirk. “You can say her name. She’s not Lord Voldemort or something.”
Aubrey bulges her eyes at me. “Did you just make a Harry Potter reference?”
It has been so long since I blushed, I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like, but I feel the heat in my cheeks now. Thankfully it’s too dark for her to see. “Well, Sophie loves those movies.”
“Right,” says Aubrey, grinning. “I think it’s cool. No, I think it’s really cool. It makes you seem more human.”
I chuckle. “I didn’t realize I was on trial for my humanity.”
“It’s not that. It’s just… you have mirrors in your room, right? Look at yourself sometime and imagine what it’s like to meet you. Sorry if this is awkward to say, but you’re like, I don’t know, a literal dream guy. You look like you stepped out of the collective fantasy of every woman alive.”
“Well,” I say, smiling. “How does it feel to be Mrs. Literal Dream Guy?”
She picks at her fingernail, smiling faintly. “It’s just pretend.”
I open my mouth to say something, I don’t know what, but something. I can feel there’s something she needs to hear, but she speaks before I can.
“So what made you fall in love with Julianne? Originally, I mean,” asks Aubrey quickly. She frowns, looking up at me. “I’m so sorry. God. That is totally inappropriate for me to ask.”
“No, it’s okay. I know how it must look. You see the woman from the dinner party and it’s like looking at a broken egg without knowing how all the pieces fit together. The truth is she was a completely different person when we first met. She was kind and thoughtful. The only hint of the woman she would become was the way she put so much energy into trying to shape my future. She thought with how easy school came to me, I should go for a medical degree. She wanted to be a surgeon's wife, I guess.
“At the time I thought it was good of her. I thought she was trying to be a supportive girlfriend who believed in me. I never needed anyone to believe in me, though. There has always been something in my chest I can’t put aside. It drives me like an engine that never stops running. I can pretend I don’t feel it for short stretches of time, but eventually it gets stronger and stronger until I can’t stop it anymore.
“Back then it was even more powerful, and it drove me to become one of the youngest billionaires in history. I couldn’t get enough--not of the money, but of the rush. It sounds vain as hell, but money was always a measure of success to me, like a point system. The more money I made, the better I was doing.
“What I’m trying to say--and failing horribly at--is that I never stopped to smell the roses when it came to Julianne. I was so driven to succeed and she was always waiting up for me, supporting whatever it took for me to find the success I wanted. It was only a couple years after we had Sophie that I realized she latched onto me from the first sign of money, back in college.
“She saw me as a paycheck, and she gave herself credit for pushing me to succeed. She thought of herself as the fucking mastermind behind my success, so she thought she was entitled to as much money and privilege as she wanted.
“I never cared about the money, but once Julianne felt like she had reached the top, she completely stopped trying. She gave herself over to her greed and it was like she transformed. She stopped making any effort to care for or love Sophie. She stopped pretending to love me. She just wanted more. More of anything she could get her hands on. So I divorced her. I gave her enough money to live a thousand lives of excess, and she blew through it all. She wants more. That’s why she’s doing all this.”
“Wow,” says Aubrey. “I’m so sorry.” Her small hand rests on my thigh, and even the innocent touch makes my cock twitch, despite the bitterness I feel churning in my gut.
“Fuck her,” I say distantly. “I’ll figure this out.”
“Is she asking for more money than you can afford?” asks Aubrey.
I chuckle. “I don’t think that number exists. No, it’s not that. I made a promise to Sophie after the divorce that I would do everything I possibly could to fix her mom. Sophie knew her mom didn’t love her, and I know that still sits with her. But if I give Julianne the money she wants, she’ll never have to change. She’ll keep spending money and falling further and further from reality. I have to find another way to stop this.”
“Well,” says Aubrey. “That’s what I’m here for, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, putting my arm around her shoulders and holding her. “That’s what you’re for.
32
Aubrey
The deep rumble of bowling pins and the hollow clatter of pins tumbling down fills the crowded bowling alley. I sit at the counter, watching a disinterested Donna lob bowling shoes at families in between bits of conversation with me.
“You know,” says Donna. “If I knew my literature degree was going to end up getting me a job as the shoe bitch at a bowling alley, I would’ve really put in some more effort in college.”
“You’re living the dream,” I agree.
“Hey,” complains a college guy wearing a backwards visor. “I asked for a men’s size eight. These are women’s shoes.”
“Yeah?” asks Donna, rolling her eyes at me without looking at the guy. “Well, honey, they don’t make shoes for ‘men’ in a size eight.”
“You fucking--”
“It’s dark in here,” I say. “No one is going to notice those shoes have pink in them.”
“You could just leave,” suggests Donna.
“Where’s your manager?” asks the guy. “I want to talk to your fucking manager.”
“Frank! Some guy wants to talk to you,” shouts Donna over her shoulder.
A man with hair down to his shoulders and a confused expression on his face stumbles out of the back room. He squints at the guy with the visor. “What?” he asks.
“Your employee is being rude and disrespectful. I’m not going to be happy unless you fire her ass.”
“Well, man,” says Frank in a thick California accent. “Is anybody really ever happy? I mean, think about it. We just chase after--”
“Fire her!” interrupts the guy. His voice is getting higher pitched now.
“You think firing her will bring you happiness? It won’t, man. You need to find you. Keep focusing on what’s outside and you’ll never find what makes you happy. Hell, it took me years to discover weed. I haven’t ever been happier.”
“Let me get this straight,” says the college guy, who looks like he’s on the verge of losing it. “Your employee is a total bitch to me and you’re telling me to go get some weed? You’re not going to discipline her or anything?”
“Nah, man. I’m telling you I can sell you some weed. Want any?”
The guy throws his hands in the air and storms away, leaving the shoes on the counter. He grabs the girl he’s with and drags her outside, speaking angrily to her the whole time.
“Damn,” says Frank. “That guy really needs to get high.”
“Thanks, Frank,” says Donna.
Frank nods. His California accent dissolv
es completely. “Sure. No problem. He seemed like a dick. You good out here?”
“Yep,” says Donna.
Frank goes into the back room again, leaving me with Donna, who grins.
“Frank is awesome,” she says.
I laugh. “Seriously.”
“So are you going to make me beg for details or what? You told me you are fake marrying this guy and then you say you have to get off the phone. I mean come on, I’ve been dying since you called last night. Give me something!”
I chew my lip, looking down at the countertop for a second. “It’s weird,” I say. “I wasn’t even supposed to tell you, so please don’t say anything. But I agreed to this a week ago. It’s just business. I need to keep my job, and he needs to look like he’s going to have a wife to help take care of his daughter. It’s good for both of us, and it’s as simple as that.”
“So, how’s the fake sex?” asks Donna, waggling her eyebrows.
“It’s not like that,” I insist. “I mean, we might have kissed at one point, but that was a while ago now. It was a mistake and it’s not like that anymore.”
“A while ago?” asks Donna. “You mean in the long, ancient history between the two of you? It must have been so long ago you can barely remember now.”
I give her my best evil eye. “You know what I mean.”
“No, I really don’t. You agreed to play fiancée with this guy, you kissed him, you live in his house. How have you not gotten your hands on that billion dollar dick yet?”
“Donna!” I say, trying not to look at the family of four standing close enough to hear every word she said.
“We are both treating this professionally is how. I don’t see what’s so hard to understand.”
“Hmm,” says Donna, making a show of thinking hard as she strokes her chin. “Usually professionals don’t kiss each other. And I’d like to meet a woman with a pulse who wouldn’t be devoting every cell in her brain to finding a way to get that fine specimen of a man’s pants off.”
“Well, I guess you’re wrong, because I’m only thinking of that with half of my brain cells. Thank you very much.”
The Bodyguard: A Navy SEAL Romance Page 23
