Temporary Wife (Episode 1)

by St. James, Rossi

  “Oh,” I sat up and pulled a blanket from his hand. “Thanks.”

  “I’m not always a jackass,” he mumbled under his breath as he sat back down. “For the record.”

  “I’d like to believe that about you.” I spread the blanket across my lap, though it barely covered my knees. It was better suited for a baby. “I appreciate the blanket. Do you have any other redeeming qualities you’d like to tell me about?”

  The corner of his mouth twisted up as he turned to me, his eyes like tempered steel as they glinted against the morning light that peered in through our window. “Ouch. We can’t all be as perfect as you, Blue Eyes.”

  “Blue eyes? We’re on a nickname basis now?” I laughed. “You don’t even know my name.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “Odessa,” I said. “And you are?”

  “Lincoln,” he said. “Lincoln Avery.”

  The name sounded familiar. Where had I heard it before? I racked my brain at lightening speed until it came to me.

  “Oh, God.” My fingers flew to my mouth as I turned away. “You made those videos. The Crazy College Chicks videos where the girls flash the camera.”

  If my knowledge of pop culture served me well, he made his start flinging those God-awful videos on infomercials at all hours of the night before selling them off to another company for a record-breaking amount. And now he was one of Forbes Top 50 wealthiest men in America. A billionaire venture capitalist. I was pretty sure he owned a baseball team too.

  “You want to talk about it? You seem really upset right now.” By the way he looked at me, I gathered he got that same reaction time and time again, only it seemed to amuse him more than anything else.

  “No thank you.” I recalled a spring break in Cabo when a very naïve 19-year-old me almost flashed the camera. All my girlfriends were doing it. Thank God I chickened out.

  “Look, that was a lifetime ago,” he said. “I’m not that guy anymore. That guy was a young, 21-year-old entrepreneur desperate to pay his way through college and maybe buy himself a used car if he got lucky. My tastes and business dealings have…matured.”

  “I’m not judging,” I lied. I could only imagine the gaggles of girls dragging themselves all over him everywhere he went. His dashing good looks suddenly rang like a warning bell in my head, and I refused to allow myself to be attracted to him a minute longer.

  “You’re judging.” He cleared his throat and leaned opposite of me, clearly uncomfortable in my presence. “I can feel it.”

  In a desperate attempt to find a distraction, I reached into my bag and pulled out the wedding invitation to go over the details. Location. Schedule. Wedding party. I tasked myself with memorizing it all.

  “Going to a wedding this weekend?” he asked, peering over my shoulder. I yanked the cardstock away from his view.

  “I am,” I sighed. “My best friend is getting married.”

  “Oh, yeah? Good for her.”

  “It’s a him,” I said. “He is getting married.”

  “You don’t sound too enthused.”

  I could be honest with this guy. I mean, he was a complete stranger. I was never going to see him ever again. I could tell him my deepest, darkest secrets and know they would never be breathed again outside this aircraft.

  “I can’t stand her. The girl he’s marrying.” I shoved the invite back into my purse. “She’s not right for him.”

  “Isn’t that kind of his decision to make?”

  “We’ve been best friends since we were kids,” I said, emotions bubbling up to the surface with nowhere to go except out. I could feel the word vomit rising up into my mouth. Lincoln was going to be sorry he ever opened this can of worms. “I know him better than anyone. He’s never dated girls like her before, and suddenly he meets her one summer and she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.”

  “Why are you taking this so personally?” Lincoln’s brows raised as if he were talking to some deranged, crazy lunatic. “It’s almost as if you’re mad he didn’t pick someone more like you. Like you’re offended. You in love with this guy?”

  I bit my bottom lip and stared down into my lap where my hands were clenched so tightly my knuckles had turned white.

  “Shit. You are.” I could feel the pity in his eyes as he stared at me.

  My bottom lip took on a mind of its own as it began to tremble. I tried to fight it. I tried to think of work. Of the new Prada bag I had my eyes on. The weather. Anything superficial or shallow to take my mind off what was really going on inside my heart. But the pain was real and tangible, and the reality of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks as this stranger took pity on me.

  “We made a pact,” I said, proceeding to outline the agreement for him in great detail.

  “Lots of people make those kinds of pacts,” he said.

  “Yeah, but I meant it,” I said. “I thought he did too.”

  “But the agreement was only if you two weren’t married to other people, then you’d marry each other. It wasn’t saying you’d wait until you were thirty and then marry each other.”

  “What, so you’re an attorney now, too?”

  He placed his hands up in the air defensively. “Don’t get mad at me.”

  He pulled a handkerchief from an interior jacket pocket and handed it to me. Who knew a guy who made his fortune off capitalizing on drunk girls’ stupid decisions could have such class?

  “Thanks,” I grabbed it from him and dabbed my eyes. “I just really don’t want to go there this weekend. I don’t want to see her get my happily ever after. I don’t want to see the way he’s going to look at her as she walks down the aisle. I don’t want to see his hands all over her at the rehearsal dinner. I don’t want to realize that he doesn’t look at me like that anymore.”

  “So he used to like you?”

  “Yeah,” I said with an ironic laugh. “In high school, he was crazy about me. Like obsessed. Only he didn’t tell me until it was too late. That was the summer after our senior year. He said he’d loved me his whole life. I didn’t want to make a big deal about it because we were both going off to college in different parts of the country. But I figured we’d always come back to each other.”

  “Maybe you’re just not meant to be together.” His words were too casual, as if he were merely talking about the weather.

  “Obviously, Lincoln. But thanks for that.” I rolled my eyes, but then the tears began to fall like a leaky faucet. I couldn’t contain them fast enough. I’d had Derek once, and I let him slip through my fingers like a handful of sand. The excitement of college and new beginnings overrode the realization that the man I loved since we were kids, loved me back. I thought we had more time.

  “Why didn’t you get back together after college?”

  I shrugged one shoulder and drew in a long, slow breath. “I don’t know. He moved back home to Chicago, and I set up my PR firm in L.A. We kept in touch and visited each other, but then we got wrapped up in our separate lives.”

  “Listen, Blue Eyes. You can’t change any of this. Your best friend is marrying the woman he believes is the one person in this world for him.” Lincoln’s words burned going down, but I knew I needed to hear them. “You need to accept that and move on. Be happy for him. And know that there’s someone else out there for you.”

  “Yeah, right. I’m a handful. He’s the only person who ever put up with me and my bullshit.” I wasn’t above admitting I wasn’t perfect. I had issues. I was neurotic and Type A. I overthought everything all the time. I didn’t sleep enough. My mind never shut off. And I got jealous from time to time. Derek always overlooked my flaws and loved me anyway.

  “What’s with the defeatist attitude?”

  “I’m not defeatist.”

  “And argumentative.”

  “I told you I was a handful.” I slinked back into my seat, the smooth leather feeling hot under my body. I wanted to get up and move around. Instead I felt trapped, and not just physically.
r />   “Believe me, you’re not half as bad as you think you are. I’ve seen women way worse than you.” He offered a kind smile. “There’s a reason you’re not married yet.”

  “Psh. Yeah, because I’m a pathetic workaholic. I don’t even have any other guy friends. I couldn’t even scrounge up a date to bring to this wedding. I’m going all by myself. How sad is that?”

  “It’s not sad. I go to plenty of functions by myself.”

  “It’s different for guys. You don’t understand. I’m going to see a bunch of old friends from high school, and most of them are paired off and settled down. And I’m going to be the loose cannon getting hammered at the bar and accidentally hitting on the married spouses of my high school cheer squad.”

  Lincoln laughed. “Someone really needs to show you how to make the best of an entirely shitty situation.”

  “And let me guess, you’re going to be the one to show me?”

  “If you’ll have me, I’d like to be your husband. Just until Saturday night. I’ll go to the wedding with you. I’ll meet your friends. I’ll schmooze with this guy you think you’re still so in love with, and I’ll make you forget you ever felt this way about anyone else. And when the wedding festivities are over and done with, we can go our separate ways.”

  Was this guy for real? Why would he do that for me?

  “My friend is going to see right through it. He knows I’d have told him if I was getting married.” I frantically searched for the holes in his little plot.

  “Not if we spin it right,” Lincoln countered with the kind of confidence only a billionaire businessman might ooze. “We met and married on a whim, and you didn’t want to steal your friend’s limelight, so you kept it secret until you could tell him in person. We eloped to St. Thomas and honeymooned in Cannes.”

  “How’d we meet? I don’t know anything about you. Where were you born? What’s your favorite color?” I rambled on question after question.

  Until he silenced me.

  With a kiss.

  My insides ignited, burning hot and making me forget I’d ever shed a single tear. His full lips were soft and tasted like sweet mint, and my lips parted to welcome his tongue against mine.

  At least we wouldn’t have to fake chemistry.

  Hot. Damn.

  “We’ll make everything up as we go along,” he said after coming up for air. “It’ll be more fun that way.”

  My fingers traced my lips, which were still warm from his. “Why’d you kiss me?”

  He smirked. “To prove to you that you’re capable of stepping outside your comfort zone.”

  “Kissing a complete stranger is definitely outside my comfort zone,” I huffed, refusing to admit that I fucking loved the rush it gave me.

  He leaned back in his seat, but it was all I could do to keep myself from crawling over top of him and kissing his full mouth once again. One kiss was all it took to whet my appetite, and Lincoln Avery was on the menu.

  FOUR

  I fell asleep. Lulled awake by a gentle ding coming from the speakers, I sat up and nonchalantly checked for any dried drool in the corner of my mouth.

  Safe. Whew.

  I glanced over at Lincoln. “You’ve just been sitting there like this whole time? Staring ahead like that?”

  “So what’s your answer, Odessa?” The way he said my name sent instant heat between my thighs. My name practically oozed like melted butter off his tongue before rounding itself out with a hint of distant thunder. “You want to have fun this weekend or what?”

  “I don’t know.” I hemmed and hawed. As enticing as the idea was, I wasn’t sure I could go through with it. Then again, it might be the only way to get through my best friend’s wedding. A distraction in the shape of a handsome stranger calling himself my husband for a few days would definitely help keep the tears at bay.

  “I’m only in town until Sunday,” he said. “Look, Blue Eyes, I’ll give you my number. You call me if you want to do this. I’ll be there. As your temporary husband. No one will be able to tell the difference. Maybe not even you.”

  His words vibrated low against my eardrum, sending a tickle of livewire down my spine. I pulled out my phone and handed it to him to enter his number. “I’m not saying yes just yet.”

  “But you will.”

  Cockiness suited him well, though I’d be damned if I ever told him that.

  The plane landed and I hurried off as quickly as I could. My heart galloped hard in my chest and my ears burned. In a few short minutes, I was going to see Derek and Charlotte. Together.

  I grabbed my carry on and wheeled it down the jet bridge. I could see Lincoln walking behind me from the corner of my eye, and I could feel the weight of his stare. I subtly watched as he veered off toward baggage claim and I hurried toward short-term parking.

  My breathing grew labored. My lungs gasped for air. I could already see them up a head. God, her smile was blinding even from far away.

  Derek waved frantically, though his free hand was still wrapped around Charlotte’s tiny waist. Her skintight leather leggings showed off enviable runner’s legs and her low-cut shirt showed off what I could only imagine was a graduation gift from her daddy.

  I plastered a fake smile across my face and waved back, flinging my long, dark hair over my shoulder ever so casually, as if I hadn’t a care in the world. A little bit of me died inside with each step I took toward them. And then he let go of her. Flying toward me and wrapping me up in his arms, he swung me around like a rag doll.

  Derek smelled different. His signature Burberry cologne had been reduced to nothing but a scent memory. Even his clothes were different. He was always a jeans and comic book hero t-shirt kind of guy. Now he looked like he’d just walked out of a magazine spread in GQ. Even his sandy blond hair was full of product.

  I pulled myself away from him as he sat my feet back on the ground. Staring into his iced-champagne eyes, they were the only hint of the old Derek. The one I loved. The one I still loved actually.

  “It’s good to see you, friend,” I said, wishing like crazy that we weren’t sharing that moment with Charlotte.

  “You look good,” he said with a wide smile. “You’re all fancy now.”

  I supposed I, too, had changed over the years. I had no right to criticize him for growing up and evolving when I’d done the same. I glanced down at the Louboutin heels that covered my feet and the skinny jeans that tapered down at my ankles. My silk blouse draped over my hips, hiding my curves just enough, and dark waves spilled down my shoulders. The last time I saw him, I was sans-makeup after a day of paintball with Derek and a few other friends. I wasn’t that tomboy anymore, though it never sunk in until that moment.

  “Dess, this is Charlotte, my fiancé.” Derek stepped back and ushered Charlotte forward. I stuck my hand out to shake hers, but she came in for a hug, wrapping me tight in her lithe arms.

  “Derek has told me so much about you!” she gushed with the amount of enthusiasm I could only dream of mustering on my best day. “I am so glad to finally meet you!”

  Her words had a slight southern twang to them, and she spoke slowly and patiently. Her voice held a sweet quality to it, like sipping lemonade on a hot summer’s day. Not only was she beautiful, she was a full-blown southern belle. Even the way she moved was graceful and urbane.

  “Let me take that,” Derek said, grabbing my bag and wheeling it behind him as we headed toward the parking ramp. Charlotte scampered up to walk next to him, threading her fingers through his as she smiled lovingly at him like a smitten kitten. She adored him. “I thought we could get dinner before we drop you off at the hotel.”

  “That’s fine.” I stayed a few paces behind them, feeling like even more of an outsider.

  “Oh, Dess!” Charlotte said. I cringed at the fact that she was using Derek’s nickname for me. Didn’t she know it was sacred?! “I brought your dress so you can try it on at the hotel. If it needs to be tailored before Saturday, let me know tomorrow morning. I’ll
have my Mama fix it up for you. She’s staying at the same hotel, and she brought her sewing kit.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I’d emailed my dress measurements to Derek months earlier, and all I knew about the dress was that it was strapless and peach. Freaking peach. The dressmaker called it “candlelit beige”, but I knew peach when I saw it.

  We climbed into Derek’s black Jeep. He’d always driven Jeep Cherokees, but this one was brand spanking new. The rich scent of new leather filled my lungs as I slid across the buttery back seat and buckled up, and I pretended not to notice when Derek’s hand flew across the center console and took hers as we drove off.

  I turned back toward the airport as planes rumbled overhead, wondering what Lincoln was doing. Where he was going. If I had the guts to contact him and really pretend to be his wife for the rest of the week.

  We pulled up to a stoplight, and Derek immediately lifted Charlotte’s hand to his mouth and kissed her open palm. Such a sweet, tender move, but it made me want to throw up. I wasn’t as strong as I thought I was. I didn’t know if I could do this.

  I glanced out my window to the car next to us: a black Cadillac being driven by a man in a black suit – probably some kind of driving service. And then I saw him. Lincoln Avery. Sitting in the backseat on his phone.

  My gaze turned back toward the front seat, where the bride and groom were making googly eyes at each other and mouthing “I love you” so inaudibly only a field mouse could hear it.

  I whipped my phone out of my purse and fired off a text to Derek.

  FINE. I’M IN. I’LL BE MRS. AVERY UNTIL SATURDAY NIGHT.

  TO BE CONTINUED!!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Rossi St. James is a twenty-something young woman with a passion for Oreos, crazy, twisted stories, and hiking trails with her two yellow labs, Sunny and Cloudy. When she’s not writing, you can probably find her scouring Pinterest for inspiration for her next book. (That’s pretty much all she uses Pinterest for anyway, as Rossi St. James cannot cook, sew, or craft).

  Email me anytime at rossiwrites@hotmail.com. I’d love to hear from you!