When I Fall

by Tamara Morgan

  Well, his father was moving. He was fishing out an engagement ring for Jake to offer to a woman he actually approved of his son marrying—and he had to know that Jake intended to retaliate in some way. So what was he hoping Jake would do? Go through with the wedding? Fling the ring at his head and run back to New York? Murder his brother in a cold rage and spend the rest of his life in prison?

  For the first time in his life, Jake found himself in a situation in which there was no easy solution to the problems unfolding around him. He wanted to do none of those things. And he wanted to do all of them.

  “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about, Monty.”

  “You want to talk to me about streaking through New York?”

  Jake laughed. He wasn’t sure if his brother was making a joke or not, but the idea of his straitlaced sibling doing anything exciting in the nude was too good to pass up. “Not quite. I was hoping there might be a way for me to start pulling my own weight around here. I’d like another chance to come work with you.”

  Monty’s incredulity was a red-faced, silent thing that filled Jake with an unaccountable joy. The only thing that could have overturned his brother’s rigid sense of the world any more than Jake handing the bet over on a silver platter was if he’d rolled over and shown his belly in a clear move of submission.

  “Here it is.” Their father turned, holding a flat black box in one hand, ignoring the conversation taking place on the other side of his desk. “I’ll have Katie make an appointment with the jeweler, and you can take Becca into the city to get it adjusted.”

  “That’s it?” Monty asked as Jake took the proffered box. His mouth still worked up and down as he processed the scene around him. “You’re just handing it over?”

  It felt strange, holding something that had once graced his mother’s hand. Most of Jake’s childhood memories revolved around his nanny—which wasn’t the sad, pathetic tale most people thought when they heard he’d been reared primarily by a woman who cashed a paycheck with his father’s signature on it. Linda had been treated by his parents as an extension of the Montgomerys, and in many ways, she still was. There had been plenty of physical affection and story times to go around, always a kind face to greet him in the morning.

  But his mother held a place in his maternal remembrances, too, however small those memories were. He recalled watching her get dressed for a fundraising event one night—she’d always been more passionate for her charities than for her children—frantic when she couldn’t find her ring. It had ended up being inside her vanity drawer, but in the time it took them to find it, he’d been by his mother’s side on the floor, crawling as they peeked under beds and inside shoes for the missing piece of jewelry.

  It was the first time he could remember recognizing that his mother was a person. Not just an aloof adult figure, one half of a parental duo characterized by how little a role they played in his day-to-day life. She’d been real and warm and crying, and for the space of twenty minutes, she’d needed him.

  Him. Not Monty. Not Jenna. Not anyone else.

  “We’ll want to have the insurance policy looked over, of course” his dad said, interrupting his thoughts. “But other than that, I have no objections. Unless you wanted me to keep it for you, Monty? By rights, it should go to you first, but you led me to believe you were giving Jake your blessing.”

  “Of course he can have it,” Monty muttered. “That’s not the issue here.”

  “Don’t you want to look at it?” his dad prodded.

  Jake shook his head and slipped the box in his coat pocket. He’d wait until there weren’t so many eyes on him. His dad had a way of seeing the exact things a man wanted to keep to himself.

  “I meant what we were talking about earlier,” he said, primarily to distract himself from the heavy weight of the box against his chest, too close to his heart. “About wanting to pull my weight. I’ve been looking into a few things, and I think I could help with your dismal public relations.”

  “What’s wrong with my public relations?”

  “People don’t like you. You remind them of their mortality.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Jake sat still and waited. There was no need to spell it out.

  “I’m not that bad,” Monty grumbled.

  “Well, you’re not very good either. Don’t misunderstand me—I’m not trying to replace you. I don’t want a desk or an executive assistant or even a calendar. And the less I have to see of you, the better. But I’m not the waste of space you’ve always considered me. It’s been recently brought to my attention that the only thing I’m any good at is sitting around and pointing out other people’s shortcomings.” He smiled, unable to help himself. “I know that might not sound like much, but I think I can help you. I know people, Monty. I watch them. I can tell you what they want to hear.”

  “Oh, please. You don’t want to help. You’re just scrambling because you’re afraid of becoming that guy. What’s the matter? Is the fact that you’re going to have to live off your wife’s income for the rest of your life finally sinking in?”

  “John, that is quite enough!” Their dad rarely raised his voice, and even more rarely resorted to Monty’s given name, a name he shared with his eldest son. His words echoed off the walls, sharp and concise, causing them both to wince. “I want you to apolo—”

  “No, Dad,” Jake said. “He’s right.”

  Both men swiveled to face him.

  “I am scrambling, and I am afraid of becoming that guy. When I first proposed to Becca, I wasn’t thinking of her money. I was only thinking of her. Unfortunately, things have had time to settle since then, and I’m not so sure I like the way they fit.”

  “I’m sorry, Jake, I didn’t—”

  Jake held up a hand. “You aren’t sorry, and you did. And it’s fine. Nothing is going to change the fact that Becca has more money than me, and I’ll never be able to apply myself to work the way you do to change that fact. But I can at least do this. I can be more than an accessory to be worn with the right outfit.”

  “Accessory?” Monty asked, looking a little green around the edges. “Outfit?”

  “An inside joke,” Jake said. “One I’m not so sure you’d understand even if I did care to explain it.”

  “Well, I like it.” Their dad moved around the desk, his hand outstretched. “You’re always saying you don’t have time for the more social aspects of running the foundation, Monty. Why not hand them over to Jake? From what I understand, Becca is already a patron of the arts. People will warm to that—to them, as a couple.”

  “You know about the Artista Theatre?” Jake asked.

  “More to the point, you know about the Artista Theatre?” his father returned. He didn’t wait for a reply. “That settles it. Don’t worry about his salary, Monty. I’ll make sure it’s covered. He’s all yours now.”

  At that decree, Monty gripped the edge of the desk, staring at their father as though he’d just offered to tie the pair of them together and send them over a cliff.

  “It’s been a good chat, boys, and it’s good to see you working together again. I always thought you’d make a great team.”

  Jake could see Monty struggling to overcome his emotions as their father left them alone in the office. He knew his brother wanted nothing more than to storm out the door behind him, slamming it shut and shaking the whole house in the process. He never would, of course. He was far too proper to do anything that might cause their staff to gossip or anyone to think less of him as a man.

  But he wanted to, and that made him just human enough.

  “Well, I guess this means you win,” Jake said cheerfully. He stood and straightened his cuffs. “I hope you’re satisfied. Now I have a real job, just like you wanted. Assistant to the illustrious John Montgomery the Third. I’ll make you cop
ies and bring you coffee. Two creams, right? Shall I brew it with love?”

  Monty made a snorting sound that was more horse than man. “I don’t think this is funny. It’s not like you have any usable skills.”

  “I have usable skills. I use my skills all the time.”

  “Name five things you’re good at.”

  Jake ticked off his fingers. “Golf. Sex. Skiing. Driving over the speed limit. And I’ve been told I make a mean martini.”

  “Fantastic. My dream employee. I’d love to see that résumé get you anywhere in the real world.”

  “You say that like you’ve worked your way up from the mailroom floor. Your entire résumé exists because Dad filled the page for you. Face it, Monty—you and I are exactly the same.”

  “No. I never had a choice. You’re the one who got to spend the bulk of his life doing nothing but playing games and having fun while I picked up the slack. But it’s no matter—everything is forgiven because you suddenly turned a new leaf and brought home wife number one.”

  Jake wasn’t aware how he crossed the room to get up in his brother’s face, but he blinked and there he was. Monty’s advantage in height and breadth might have made him the more menacing of the two in a boxing ring, but Jake’s carefully maintained control had slipped away, leaving him seething, heaving and eager to do something about it.

  “Don’t you ever say that to me again.”

  Monty blinked and took a step back, clearly alarmed at the sudden shift in the air. “But you know it’s true. You haven’t worked a day in your life.”

  “Not about the work stuff.” Who cared about work? Work had turned his dad into a ghost, Monty into a bore. Work was a means to an end. “You can insult my professional ethics all you want, but if I hear you refer to Becca as wife number one again, I won’t be held accountable for my actions. You might have a hard time seeing her as anything more than a tabloid sensation, but believe me when I say she’s worth a hundred of you. She’s my intended wife and a guest in our home, and you’ll treat her with respect. Got it?”

  “I’m sorry.” Monty frowned. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. It was uncalled for.”

  “Good.” Jake released a huff and flattened his shirt front. He didn’t think he’d ever heard Monty apologize that fast before. Then again, he’d never lost control and threatened bodily harm before. This day was full of revelations. “Now. What can you have me work on? I was kidding about that coffee stuff. Holly would kill me if I started hanging out in the kitchen and messing with her appliances.”

  Monty’s frown only deepened. “I don’t know. What can you do?”

  “Oh, for chrissakes—I can do anything you want. I’m not inept, I’m lazy. There’s a big difference. Why don’t you give me some people to woo?”

  “I guess that might work.” He pulled out a day planner from his inside pocket—an actual day planner, with pen and paper and ye olde leather binding—and consulted it. “I’m supposed to be meeting Ben Bridgeport and his son for an eight o’clock tee time on Wednesday. I guess you could be our fourth.”

  “Bridgeport? Isn’t his son Ricky that kid who used to follow us around the grounds when we were young?” Jake snapped. “It is! I remember. We convinced him the gardener’s shed was haunted and then dared him to spend an entire night out there. He lasted about twenty minutes, if I recall. We made Amy wear a sheet and clank a bunch of chains on the roof.”

  Monty chuckled and relaxed into a smile. “Yeah. That’s him, though he goes by Richard now.”

  “Is he still scared of everything that moves? We used to have so much fun messing with him.”

  “Huh. He is pretty risk averse, now that you mention it. I always chalked it up to conservative business morals—the Bridgeports have always been hesitant to diversify—but you’re probably right. He’s spooked by his own shadow.” Monty shook his head, meeting Jake in a rare moment of unanimity. His brother might be a dull lump of a human being, but at least he had a backbone. “I’m surprised you remember.”

  Jake thought he smelled a compliment in there, unfamiliar but not unpleasant.

  “But don’t even think about it, Jake.”

  “You have no idea what I was thinking.”

  Monty pointed a warning. “Don’t wreck this for me. Don’t pull some stupid prank at Richard’s expense.”

  “That wasn’t my plan.”

  “Good.”

  “Before,” Jake corrected with an easy smile. “That wasn’t my plan before. But I like your style, Monty. What do you think? I bet we could convince Amy to put on a sheet again. Should we pull out the old haunted fifth hole? Or the ghost of the man struck by lightning when he dared even God to hit a nine iron?”

  Jake didn’t wait to hear Monty’s response as he shoved his hands deep in his pockets and breezed through the door. The tight-lipped frown he received was all he needed to know he’d successfully landed his mark.

  That was for insulting Becca.

  His hand slipped to his coat pocket, where the weight of the ring box smacked against his chest in time to his footsteps, a reminder that his day’s work was far from done. He pulled it out and ran the velvet under his fingertips.

  This is for Becca too.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Becca held up her hand, admiring the way the oversized blue stone caught the light. The Montgomery sapphire was the kind of gem that would demand admiration no matter where it was being showcased. Shamefully big and clear, it could pick up a ray of sunshine in a darkroom, maybe even act as a flashlight in a pinch.

  “It’s beautiful.” She turned and faced the mirror, pretending to go through the motions of everyday life with her new engagement ring intact. There she was, lifting a martini glass to her lips, chatting with friends. Here she stood, casually flipping her hair, looking flirty and fun. Now she was dancing, arms in the air, hands— “Oh, shit.”

  The ring flew across the room, landing on the swirled carpet near the foot of the bed. Jake bent to retrieve the fallen item, amusement and a grimace rendering him into an uncannily Monty-like vision. “I’m glad to see my family heirloom means so much to you. My great-great grandmother wore that ring.”

  “Your great-great grandmother must have been a giant. I don’t think I could wear that on my thumb.”

  Jake held the ring between two fingers, transfixed by the shine of it. “Dad figured it would be too big. We’ll get it resized.”

  Becca didn’t take the ring when he held it out a second time. It was one thing to see a piece of jewelry like that, to touch it, to indulge in a moment of uncomfortably comfortable what-ifs. It was quite another to accept it—especially since it had the full weight of his family’s approval attached to it.

  They weren’t supposed to approve. She was fully prepared to face her own disappointment when things came to an end. She wasn’t so sure she could handle theirs too.

  “Why don’t you keep it until we visit the jeweler?” she said, hoping her words sounded casual. “There’s a good chance I’ll lose it between now and then anyway.”

  “Put it on, Becca.”

  “It could fall down the toilet.”

  “I’m not asking.”

  “I might accidentally feed it to one of the twins.”

  “While we remain under this roof, you’re my fiancée, and you’ll wear it. End of story.” Jake stalked forward and grabbed her hand, practically shoving the band of platinum around her fourth finger. It was a good thing the ring was so big or the metal would have scraped as it went over her knuckle. “We’ll glue it to your goddamned hand if we have to.”

  “I think that’s the sweetest thing a man has ever said to me. Inside that well-dressed exterior lies a true romantic.”

  He laughed. “Okay—maybe glue is taking things too far.” He turned her palm over, fingers
lingering on the complex maze of lines she’d always had a hard time reading for herself. “I have an idea. Stay here.”

  She watched him go, no hurry to his step, into the adjoining room. She’d already spent considerable time snooping in there, so she knew it was a sort of sitting room addition to this, his bedroom. Not that there was very much him about either one. She’d hardly been expecting nautical paraphernalia and naked lady posters, but it would have been nice to see some kind of reference to his life growing up inside these walls.

  Instead, she was looking at what she suspected was the work of Serena’s designer. Like their mother, Serena had a fondness for color coordination. This was clearly the Blue Room. Slate walls, a warmer-hued bedspread with so many pillows they could build a tunnel all the way down the hall to Monty’s rooms, even a Picasso she could have sworn—no joke—came from his Blue Period. It was depressing in here. If Becca’s apartment was evidence of a last-ditch effort at capturing a virginal innocence she wasn’t sure she’d ever possessed, then Jake’s rooms were a somber attempt at masculine elegance.

  Although maybe she was wrong. Maybe Jake’s cold, upright bearing went deeper than she realized. Maybe he was cozy here.

  “There.” Jake returned holding a length of delicate silver chain. “You can wear it around your neck for now. I know it’s not ideal, but it should do the trick.”

  She stared at the dangling necklace, finding it even more difficult to accept this small gesture than the rock worth tens of thousands of dollars. “Jake, it’s not about the fit, and you know it. I can’t take the ring. Please don’t make me.”

  He frowned. “You don’t like it.”

  Was he kidding? She loved it. She loved everything about it. It was ostentatious and sparkly and part of a family legacy she felt nothing but admiration for. She loved its history and its elegance. She loved the way Jake’s fingers slid over hers as he put it on. She even loved the way he acted like controlling her body’s adornment was the same thing as controlling her.