Only In Dreams (Stubborn Love Series)

by Owens, Wendy

  “We spent most of last month together,” I remind him.

  “I know, and that was fun, but it was as friends. It was also before I realized you still had feelings for me—”

  “An attraction, not feelings,” I argue.

  “If you say so,” he chimes, presumptuously.

  “So what are you saying?”

  “Go out on three dates with me,” Christian proposes. “If at the end of those three dates you aren’t madly in love with me again, then I will give you and Henry my blessing.”

  “I’m not doing that.”

  “Why? Scared of what you might discover?”

  “No!” I shout, my face growing hot.

  “Then why not?”

  I hesitate; his suggestion has my head spinning. “I can’t … I …” I huff, now completely flustered. “That’s cheating, and I won’t do that to Henry.”

  Christian stares at me. “I know how I feel about you, and I’m pretty confident that if you open yourself up to us, you’ll find out you feel the same, but I don’t want you to do anything you could possibly hate yourself for later.”

  “Then it’s settled. You’ll leave me alone for the rest of the time I’m here.”

  “Not so fast. What about we agree to three dates, but with ground rules. No sex, no kissing, just a G-rated date,” he suggests as a solution.

  I shake my head. This feels wrong, and my mind is telling me to tell Christian to get the hell out of my sight, so I can get on a plane and head straight home. “I don’t know. What makes them a date?”

  He takes a step back, widening the gap even more between us. “I promise, nothing physical. All I’m asking is you give me a real chance to win you back. If you go and marry him, without really knowing if we are truly over, it’s like you’ll never be able to completely give yourself to him. Do you really want to do that to Henry?”

  I know what he’s doing. He has always been a master at spinning things in the way he wants people to see them. And even though I know what he’s doing, I can’t believe what I find myself saying. “All right.”

  “Seriously?” he asks, surprised.

  “Yes, but if you step out of line in any way, this little experiment is over. Got it?”

  “Of course.”

  “And, after the three dates, when I’m still in love with Henry, you’ll let this drop once and for all?”

  “I give you my word. But by then, you’ll be mine again,” he says confidently, darting around the counter and out the door, yelling over his shoulder, “First date is this Friday at seven o’clock. I’ll pick you up here.”

  As the door falls closed I’m suddenly light headed. I lean my body weight against the table to steady myself. What just happened?

  OLIVIA STUMBLES ACROSS the floor and begins pulling fabric samples out of one of the boxes lining the wall. I look over at Emmie, perched on a stool next to the table. This does not seem to bother her. I consider going over to stop the mini tornado, but decide she’s having far too much fun to interrupt her.

  “So you know this can only end in disaster?” Emmie says, before popping another grape into her mouth.

  “Yes, you’ve told me every day for the past three days, so I’m starting to understand your opinion quite well,” I say sarcastically, leaning over the table and snatching a grape from her hands.

  “And since when do you have so much cleavage?” she asks me, staring at my chest.

  I quickly stand, self consciously looking down at my body. “Hey, I have nice tits.”

  “That’s not what I said,” she corrects me. “You have amazingly perky, beautiful little tits, but that’s not what’s hanging out of that shirt. That is come major cleavage, girl.”

  I look down again, smile and reply, “I guess it’s the bra.”

  “I thought this was supposed to be a pretend date.”

  “It is,” I confirm, furrowing my brow.

  “So you just want to blue-ball him.”

  I shrug. “I don’t know, maybe.” We both laugh before I add, “If he crosses the line, then this stupid little experiment is over. That’s the deal. And if my cleavage is too much for him to resist, then I guess our first date will be our last.”

  “Yup, disaster,” Emmie says again, looking at Olivia who has now made her way over to the next box of samples. It is probably the quietest and most content I’ve ever seen the child.

  “It’s really not a big deal, Em. I’ll go, prove I don’t love him anymore, and that will be the end of it.”

  “So you told Henry about it then?”

  “No!” I exclaim. “He wouldn’t understand.”

  “What on Earth would he not understand about his fiancée going on a date with another man?” she teases.

  “Oh, you know—”

  “Good evening, ladies,” Christian says as he walks in through the door. “Don’t you all look beautiful.”

  “Oh please, sucking up doesn’t work with me anymore,” Em huffs, waving a hand in her brother-in-law’s direction.

  “Me? I’d never,” he insists smugly.

  “I’m wearing yoga pants that are a size too small for me, and I have half of Olivia’s dinner on my shirt. Shut it down, Romeo.”

  I can’t help but laugh.

  “Come on Olivia,” Emmie continues, walking over and scooping her daughter into her arms. “Let’s let these two insanely dysfunctional people get on with their disastrous evening.”

  “Gee, thanks sis,” Christian says as she walks past him.

  “Anytime,” Em replies. God, I love that girl. She might be the only other snarky bitch who can hold her own with the Bennett brothers.

  Christian waits for the door to close before turning and looking in my direction. I make my way around the counter and stand for a moment, waiting to see if he realizes I’m wearing the piece he’d noticed from the collection.

  “Wow,” he gasps, drinking me in.

  “You don’t look so bad yourself,” I say, impressed by the gray blazer and button-up shirt. Though it is paired with jeans and boots, I can only assume it is fitting for what he has chosen to do for our evening.

  “Shall we?” he asks, extending an arm to take my hand.

  “Of course,” I reply, grabbing my leather satchel and throwing it over my shoulder. Considering ‘wow’ is the only comment I get, I’m not sure he notices I’m wearing—.

  My thought is suddenly cut short. “I’m honored you’d wear a piece from your new collection on our date.” Strike that, he did notice.

  “Yeah, I’ll definitely be avoiding red wine this evening,” I comment before giggling and making my way out the front door. “So, what are we doing?” I inquire eagerly. I hate to admit it, but part of me has been looking forward to this evening all week. Not that I think anything will actually come out of it, but it sure is going to be fun to see Christian try.

  “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised,” he replies with a smile.

  I look up at him; I can see he’s very pleased with himself. “Oh, that’s how it’s going to be.”

  “What?”

  “You want to keep it a surprise.”

  “Surprises can be fun.” He grins as I come to stand at the door of his truck across the street. I turn around and realize he isn’t near me. Instead, he’s on the sidewalk, watching me, just standing there with that crooked smile, his hands in his pockets.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, puzzled.

  “I’m heading to our date, what are you doing?”

  “Huh?”

  “We can walk,” he explains.

  “Oh, I see. So it’s the steakhouse for dinner then,” I say, thrilled I’d so easily uncovered his secret.

  “Nope, not the steakhouse.”

  “What? That’s the only place open this late on a Friday night on the strip … unless …” I start.

  “Unless what?”

  “You’re taking me to the diner for dinner? That’s a little low rent for a blazer, isn’t it?”
r />   “Did I say we are going to the diner?”

  Oh my God! There are only two restaurants open on the strip past seven on a Friday. Unless we’re walking a mile outside of town, which means I did not wear the right shoes, there are no other options.

  “Fine, I give, where are we going?”

  “You’ll see,” he says as he continues to casually stroll down the sidewalk. I can tell he knows it’s pushing me to the brink not to know, and he loves every second. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

  I look up at the night sky. I’ll be heading home to New York in a couple more weeks, preparing to begin my life as Mrs. Wallace and an image like this will no longer be part of my day. “Yes, it is.” I sigh deeply.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m going to miss the stars. You just can’t see them like this in the city, you know?”

  “Yeah, but who knows, maybe you’ll move down here,” Christian suggests with a serious face. I immediately laugh, assuming he has to be kidding. He isn’t.

  “Christian!” I exclaim. “My life’s in New York.”

  “And your life could just as easily be down here. Can you imagine watching Olivia grow up?”

  “Yeah … I mean … it would be nice, but I’m a city girl. I wouldn’t know how to handle living in Texas.”

  “You seem to be doing just fine to me,” he adds, coming to a stop.

  I turn and look up; we were at Baxter’s. “They’re closed,” I remind him.

  “Are they?” he asks mischievously, walking to the door and pulling it open.

  “Oh—aren’t you Mr. Important? You got them to stay open just for us, huh?”

  “Not exactly,” he says, leaving me guessing until the last moment.

  I enter through the open door, looking around for other patrons. There are none. In fact, there are no waiters either—no staff of any kind. I follow Christian like a stray puppy, completely unsure what to expect.

  “Hey man.” I hear a voice from the far side of the room.

  “Tito!” Christian exclaims. “This is Paige.”

  Christian steps to one side as I extend a hand in greeting. The man has black hair that’s just beginning to gray at his temples, but he seems to still be quite young.

  “I see what you mean. She’s gorgeous,” the man says, smiling at me as he shakes my hand.

  “Why thank you,” I reply with a tight-lipped grin and a glance at Christian.

  “Well, I’ll let you two get to it. Just lock up when you’re done,” Tito says, handing a cluster of keys to Christian. He turns and exits the building without another word. I’m even more perplexed than before.

  “All right, what’s going on?” I question, the suspense insufferable.

  “Since I can tell it’s killing you, I’ll tell you. I’m going to make you dinner,” he answers, turning and walking into the kitchen.

  “What?” I gasp. “You can’t cook.”

  “Actually,” he begins, pulling out a large cast iron skillet from under the counter and placing it on top. “I know how to cook quite well.”

  “What in the hell is with Texas? Emmie can cook now, and you, too?” I laugh in disbelief.

  “I learned before I came to Texas. If you want to stick around as a roadie, you better make yourself useful, and that means learning how to cook. I had a great teacher, though. Mac.”

  “Did you just say Mac? What kind of name is Mac?” I ask, amused.

  Christian looks at me disapprovingly; he is obviously sensitive about whoever this Mac character is.

  “Sorry, was he like the old wise and elderly roadie who taught you the ropes?”

  “No,” he replies, pulling out a tray that is overflowing with veggies. “Mac is short for Mackenzie.”

  “Oh.” I gulp. That isn’t the response I’d expected. “Was she your girlfriend?” I ask, not sure I want to head down this path.

  I see him smile; I want to kick myself for giving him the satisfaction. I tell myself I’m not jealous, no matter what he thinks.

  “I think she wanted to be.”

  I think about his reply, slightly disgusted by it. “Too ugly for you? I can only imagine what a roadie chick looks like,” I joke, trying to help him understand how shallow he sounds.

  He shakes his head, not looking at me, as he continues to prepare the ingredients for what he’s about to make. “No, she was actually quite beautiful.”

  I think about this for a moment. Perhaps I misunderstand the implication, “Oh—I see—so she was just a booty call, then?”

  “Jesus, you don’t think very much of me, do you?”

  “Well, you did admit to being with a lot of women.”

  “First of all, I don’t think I ever used the term, ‘a lot.’ And second, Mac was a friend. I didn’t want to do that to her,” Christian explains.

  “Do what?” I ask, confused.

  “Really? You’re going to make me say it?”

  I squint my eyes, still unaware of what he’s saying.

  “Fine,” he continues. “I was still hung up on you. I knew Mac and I would never work out, and since we were friends, I didn’t want to put her through that. As long as I was still in love with you, I could never feel the same way she did.”

  “Wow, that’s awfully noble of you,” I say sarcastically, trying to diffuse the intensity of his statement.

  “It worked out,” he continues, ignoring my quip. “She ended up with some singer. I think his name is Jett.”

  “Mac and Jett, you can’t be serious?”

  “Yeah, apparently his mom was some huge Joan Jett fan. Actually their story is pretty amazing, but I’ll save that for some other time,” he teases.

  I look at him; it is clear there’s a lot about him that has changed. A lot I didn’t know. There is an entire other life we’ve lived since we’ve been apart. I know I’m in love with Henry, and Christian will never be able to change that, no matter how many pseudo dates we go on. But even knowing that, part of me is glad I’ve agreed to this little arrangement. Once Christian realizes there isn’t any hope for us, maybe there’s a chance we can be friends again; and for that reason, I’m looking forward to getting to know him better.

  “I have a feeling you have a lot of stories like the one with Mac and Jett,” I comment, watching him as he scoops up the chopped veggies and places them in the cast iron skillet.

  “Oh, please—I wasn’t the one jetting around Europe for the past four years. How many Dukes or Princes did you get to propose?”

  “There were a few.”

  “I’m sure.” He smiles at me. I do love his smile. That was something that would always cheer up my day when we used to live in New York—so long ago now.

  “Please, you know I’m kidding, right? I didn’t have time to get serious with anyone.”

  “Except Henry.”

  “Yeah, I told you, we met on the flight back to the States,” I remind him. Suddenly there’s a tension in the room. Henry is probably the last thing we should be talking about. It only makes me think about how angry he will be that I agreed to such an idiotic proposal in the first place.

  “So what are you making me?” I inquire, completely clueless.

  “Don’t you want it to be a surprise?”

  “Oh God, no! No more surprises. Please, tell me.”

  “If you insist.”

  “I do, I’m starving,” I say, clutching my stomach, as if it were wildly growling.

  “No worries. Once these are all in the oven, I prepped some salads for us,” he informs me proudly.

  “Oh my, you are certainly well-prepared.”

  “What can I say? I’m a man who knows what he wants and will do whatever it takes to get it done.”

  “All righty—that sounded creepy,” I joke.

  “Agreed, sorry. I know you’re not a huge meat fan, so I prepared a vegetarian-based feast. This is a twist on shepherd’s pie.”

  “With mushrooms?” I ask inquisitively.

  “Yup, with an Ital
ian flare. It has a marinara base, which, by the way, I also made myself ahead of time. There is also some roasted eggplant, sautéed mushrooms, and then a cheesy polenta on top.” As he explains the dish, I feel my mouth begin to water.

  “Mmm …” I moan. “That sounds amazing.”

  “I’m not done, my lady. In the warming oven, as we speak, are cheese stuffed poblano chiles that have been roasted and battered, then deep fried for a little crispiness. When you have an entire kitchen like this at your disposal, you can get very creative.”

  “You’re going to have to tell me sometime what dirt you have on Tito to get the keys to this place for the night,” I say with a huge grin.

  His expression shifts into a serious one. “Never.”

  I laugh. “And what’s for dessert?” As soon as the words slip out of my mouth I realize they came out in a way that can easily be construed as dirty. My eyes dart to his, and I smile. I can see it on his face—he heard the accidental inflection, but he wasn’t about to take the bait.

  Christian licks his lips before continuing, “How about we leave dessert a surprise?”

  I nod. “I can handle one surprise, I suppose.”

  “Oh— you suppose?”

  “Yes,” I confirm with as much attitude as possible. Even if I know there is no hope for Christian’s plan to win my heart back, it is nice being able to spend a few nights together, just enjoying each other’s company the way we once did. God, we used to laugh so much. There were times I’d wake up with my sides sore because of how hard I’d laughed the night before.

  He is a perfect gentleman all through dinner. He is true to his word, and there is no inappropriate physical contact between us during our, as he insisted on calling it, ‘date.’ As long as this is how things remain, I see no need to bother with telling Henry about Christian’s antics. We’ll go on the next two dates, and this silliness will be behind us.

  I push myself away from the table, patting my stomach. “Wow, I’m stuffed.” I then release a small belch, leaning my head to one side.

  “Just as classy as ever, I see,” Christian taunts.

  “Hey, when you got it, you got it. What can I say?”