“Oh, okay.” My eyes widen. “I’m surprised. I know she said that at our wedding, but I figured she was just being polite.”
He shakes his head. “Nah, Jemma is good people. You should go. You’ll probably have fun. Certainly more fun than we’re going to have next Friday.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
We reach the elevator, and he hits the button.
“Since I’ve agreed to go with you to your event… think you’d want to come with me Saturday morning to a homeless shelter? I volunteer there once a month. I know Fiona—she runs the shelter and she’s one of Jemma’s friends I’m sure you’ll meet at wine night—is always looking for an extra hand.”
“Seems like a fair trade. It’s a deal.” I put my hand out to shake on it.
He takes my hand and looks me right in the eye. Sometimes I forget how blue and honest his eyes can be. Like the deepest parts of the Mediterranean Sea. We shake, and he holds my hand for a second or two longer than necessary. But then the elevator dings and the doors open and the conversation from the people inside disrupts whatever we were sharing.
A couple people get off the elevator, so we wait a few seconds before we get on. A handful of other people are there with us, but it’s only Nick’s presence I’m keenly aware of. Energy pulses between the two of us and I can’t help but wonder… does he feel it too?
The next week passes without much change. Nick works his shifts at the hospital, we go to the gym together when we can, and we eat together for dinner—though I leave the cooking to him or we order in.
We’ve been getting along okay. He’s not overly friendly, but he’s respectful. Honestly, even that’s an improvement, so I’ll take it if this is how it will be for the next six months.
The weekend of the diabetes fundraiser arrives, and I’m getting ready in my room on Friday evening. While I was in the city meeting Sally at Pembrooke Financial earlier in the week, I popped into my condo to grab a dress for tonight.
I opted for a floor-length crystal-beaded gown that looks strapless but actually has sheer fabric that goes up over my shoulders. It dips down in the front, showing just enough cleavage to be both classy and sexy. For my hair, I opted to wear it down and pulled to one side in big waves.
After examining myself in the mirror one last time, I leave the guest room to meet Nick downstairs. I heard him head downstairs about fifteen minutes ago.
Darius is taking us to the event, so I’m not surprised to find Nick sipping a glass of what I’m assuming is Scotch. He did warn me he might have to drink to get through this evening.
I plan on staying sober. First, because one of us has to have our wits about us, and second, because tomorrow night I’m going out with Jemma and her friends and I’m assuming I might drink too much. The problem with getting older is you have to pick your night to drink.
“Ready to go?” I ask.
He looks up from where he was studying the inside of his glass and does a double-take. “Wow.”
“Wow good or wow I can’t believe you’re wearing that?”
“Wow it’s a good thing we’re already married or there’s a good chance I’d get in a fight tonight protecting your honor.”
Although he doesn’t really mean the words, a warm feeling blooms from my heart and spreads through my chest. “Thank you. You look very handsome.”
His traditional black tux and slicked-back hair gives him an air of timeless elegance and power.
“Shall we?” He motions toward the door.
After Nick locks up, we make our way to the oversized black SUV. Darius stands at the end of the hood with his arms crossed. I give him a small wave as I walk down the path toward the driveway.
“Miss Mazzy, how you doin’? Missed you, girly.” He bends down for a hug, which I return.
“Hey, how have you been? How’s your niece?” I ask when I back away.
“Growin’ like a weed.”
“Well, that’s always a good sign.”
Darius’s attention flicks over my shoulder and his smile drops when he spots Nick.
“Darius, this is my… husband, Nick Ryan. Nick, this is Darius. He’s driven for me for a while now.”
Nick puts out his hand. Darius takes his offering, but Nick cringes a little. I suspect Darius’s grip is a little too hard, and I stifle a laugh.
“Still can’t believe you’re married. Especially since you weren’t dating anyone as far as I can tell.” He drops Nick’s hand, and Nick gives it a shake.
“It was sudden, yes.” That’s all I tell him.
“I’m smart enough to know that something’s going on here, but that’s not my business. What is my business is if you hurt her. You understand me?” He raises an eyebrow at Nick, who doesn’t look as though he feels threatened.
“I got you, big guy. Don’t worry, I’m not the one who breaks hearts out of this pair.” Nick motions between us as I walk back to get in the car.
I frown, wondering when the past will stop haunting me.
We’re all pretty quiet on our way into the city. It’s Friday evening, so the roads are busy, but we’re heading in the opposite direction of most people until we get into the downtown core. We arrive at the hotel the event is being held at, and as Nick gets out of the car, I tell Darius I’ll text him when we need a lift home.
“So that’s home now?” he asks me. It’s obvious he doesn’t believe a word of my story, and I’m not surprised.
I give him a meaningful look. “It is for now.”
“You sure about whatever you’re doing here?” he whispers.
I look at him and I suspect he sees the truth. That I’m not sure about anything anymore. That saving everyone at Pembrooke’s jobs might just cost me my own heart.
The more time I spend with Nick, the more I long for the two of us to be in a space like when we were younger. Where friendship, loyalty, and love were the bedrock we stood on. But all the apologies in the world might never get us there.
“I’m sure.” I wink to play off Darius’s concern and turn to find Nick waiting for me with his arm extended.
“Shall we head inside, love?” Nick says in a syrupy-sweet voice.
“Absolutely, schnookums.”
He rolls his eyes while I hook my arm through his. The doorman holds the hotel door open for us, and we make our way to the ballroom.
It’s all so familiar. Back after I’d finished college and before our falling out, Nick was often my date to these events. Sure, I dated other guys, but I was always holding out for Nick and those other guys knew it. I had more than one breakup that resulted from jealousy over mine and Nick’s friendship.
“You ready for this?” I ask, knowing the dread he’s probably feeling.
Nick didn’t like these kinds of events back in the day, never mind when he’s been away from the scene for years. Now he’s entering knowing he won’t just be a topic of conversation, he’ll be the center of attention.
I pull my arm from his.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
Without saying a word, I take his hand and interlace our fingers. He doesn’t say anything either, but he does squeeze my hand.
Being with him tonight makes those what-if questions arise again. What would have been if that awful night so long ago hadn’t happened? Would this have been our thousandth one of these as husband and wife, or would it all have turned out exactly how it did anyway?
Twenty-Eight
Almost ten years ago…
Nick
What a brutal shift. I’m working the ER for this part of my residency, and a multi-vehicle pile-up during rush hour this afternoon sent multiple traumas to the hospital. We were slammed, trying to assess the injuries and determine the best course of action.
One guy coded on my table, but I revived him. Which was such a rush.
But the adrenaline spike has long left my system and I’m beat as I head to my locker to gather my things. My shift should have ended late this afternoon, but now it’s the middle
of the night.
I grab my cell phone from my locker and read Mazzy’s messages.
Fuck.
I didn’t forget about my plans for tonight—I’d been looking forward to them all day. But when people’s lives are on the line, I have to concentrate on the task at hand. Tonight that meant keeping the victims of a drunk driving accident alive.
Guilt and trepidation coat me like a layer of thick paint. She must be upset, angry, worried even. Maz probably had everything planned perfectly to make sure it was a wonderful night. One years in the making. Us finally crossing that line to explore what the future could hold.
But after last night and knowing I’m going to disappoint her, I doubt our decision to cross that line. She deserves better than someone who can’t promise her a lousy dinner date due to his work. Mazzy is… special. I’ve always known she was, but until recently, I could pretend seeing her date other guys didn’t eat away at my insides. They’re all the same—privileged rich kids who expect the world to fall at their feet. Guys like my brother. There’s no denying I grew up in the same privileged life, but I like to think it doesn’t define me. I’m doing all I can to head in a different direction. But now I wonder if maybe that direction is away from Mazzy.
I change out of my scrubs into my street clothes and decide to hit the small twenty-four-hour gift shop in the hospital. They have a small coffee machine behind the counter, and I could use a jolt to my system before I head to Mazzy’s to explain myself.
“Hey,” I say to the older gentleman behind the counter. “Can I get a large coffee, please? Black.”
“Sure thing.” He sets his paper on the glass case and turns to pour my cup.
As I pull out my wallet, I glance at the newspaper. There’s a picture of a charity function from a couple nights prior, and in the picture is Mazzy, dressed in an evening gown with a glass of champagne in her hand and a smile on her face as she talks with a couple of the guests. She’s always been so good at that—hobnobbing and making small talk with a bunch of rich pricks. She helps to raise a lot of money for a lot of good causes that way.
Another sign that this is where she belongs—here in Boston, among the elite and making the world a better place for the less fortunate. I want to make a difference, but I want to get away from here once my residency is complete. I want nothing to do with high society and I’ve never really told Mazzy that.
The man passes me my coffee over the counter. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” I hand him a five-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
I nod and leave the hospital. Rather than hail a taxi, I opt to walk the seven blocks to Mazzy’s condo building. Everything I was so sure about a day ago is suddenly causing panic to well up in my chest. I reach her building, say a quick hello to the doorman, and head up on the elevator.
I’m still unsure what the right call is. Once we cross that line, there’s no going back.
I knock on her condo door. There’s no answer the first time, so I knock harder. That stirs movement behind the door.
The moment she opens the door, my decision is made.
She’s been crying. Dried tear stains run through her makeup. Her dress—which is my favorite color on her—is rumpled and her hair is unkempt.
I can’t do this to her. If we get together, this won’t be the last time she’d be upset because I missed our plans. But more than that, I don’t want any role in the world in which she thrives. Endless charity functions and country club dinners, never feeling like I measure up to some standard that’s continuously changing, and having my picture appear in the press because I’m attached to her?
It would never work in the long run, so why should we start something destined to end badly? We’re better to keep the status quo as friends. At least that way she’s still in my life in some capacity.
“I’m so sorry, Maz. We were overrun at the hospital after a pile-up on the freeway.”
She gives me a sad smile that makes my heart feel as if it’s in a blender. “It’s okay, you’re here now.”
She steps back from the door and I walk inside. It’s clear she’s still a little groggy. I glance at the couch and see a blanket she must have been using. When I look toward the open concept kitchen, I see two plates set up with candles on the table. There’s a take-out bag from one of my favorite restaurants on the large island.
I feel like a complete asshole.
The idea of doing this to her our entire lives gnaws at me. That’s when I’m on shift. Even when I’m not, I’ll disappoint her when I don’t want to attend this event or that. The whole scenario fills me with dread, and I can’t believe I never saw this before.
I know what I have to do.
“What time is it?” she asks, following me into the living area.
“Too late,” I say, taking a seat. “We need to talk.”
A crease forms between her eyebrows and I steel myself for what I need to say. It’s for her own happiness down the road.
When I take her hand, she lets me. “I really am sorry for being late and not texting or calling you. I didn’t have even a minute to spare.”
She smiles and squeezes my hand. “That’s okay. What you do is important. I understand.”
“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to, Maz, that’s the thing. You should have a guy who can be completely devoted to you and that’s not going to be me for at least a few years until I’m through my residency. And even after, who knows depending on what path I decide to pursue. You deserve more that.”
“I know how much your career means to you. I’m willing to deal with all of that if it means I get to be with you.” She squeezes my hand again.
This time, I pull mine away. Touching her makes it harder to do what has to be done. “And what about when you have some function you have to go to, and I don’t want to go? What then?” She opens her mouth to say something, but I beat her to it. “You deserve to have someone on your arm who wants to be there. Not someone you have to make excuses for.”
“You don’t have to go to all of them with me. I don’t always go with a date now.”
I shake my head. “It’d be different if we were together and you know it. People would expect me to be there.” I take a deep breath. “This life that you’re so entrenched in is the same life I’m trying to escape from. So… I think it’s better if we don’t cross that line. I love you, Mazzy. I do. But that’s exactly why I can’t do this with you. I want you to be happy and I don’t think I’m the man who can bring you the happiness you deserve.”
Her face holds a mixture of shock and disbelief. “But… but this was supposed to be our moment,” she whispers. “I got all dressed.” She waves her hands down her body. “I ordered dinner.” She gives a fleeting look at the two plates. “I’m wearing lingerie.” Her hand goes for the dress’s zipper.
I stop her, and her gaze and her hands fall into her lap.
“Why would you make me think we had a chance if we didn’t?” She looks at me with tears in her eyes.
I push a hand through my hair. “Because I’m selfish. I don’t know. I thought maybe we could figure it out, but tonight has just been one giant demonstration of why I was wrong.”
She stands from the couch, leaning over me with her hands fisted at her sides, red splotches on her neck and chest. “Do you think it’s better somehow now that I know for certain you love me? Like that’s some kind of balm to the wound you just ripped wide open? Because it’s not! It’s worse! It’s way worse knowing that everything I wanted was within reach, but it will never be.”
I can’t sit here and see her in this much pain and do nothing, so I stand and place my hands on her upper arms. “I’m not trying to hurt you. It’s the opposite. I’m trying to protect you.”
She shrugs off my hands and steps back. “Is this some kind of game to you?”
Jesus, her words and her expression of betrayal make me want to sink into the floor. But I know this is what’s best.
I’m sure of it. “One day you’ll see I was right.”
“Is it really going to be so easy for you to see me with someone else? Is it? Because it kills me every time I see you with another woman.”
My jaw clenches at the mention of her with someone else, but I’ve dealt with it for this long already. Surely, I can withstand more of the same torture. “Of course not! But seeing you truly happy will be worth it. I can’t be the one to give you the life you want.”
She shakes her head in apparent disgust. “That’s pretty clear now.”
“Can we just—”
“No. I want you to leave.” She points toward the door. “Go!”
I do as she asks. She’ll get over this. More importantly, we’ll get over it. In time she’ll realize I was right, that she will be happier with me as a friend who is there for her than as a lover who never is.
When the door slams behind me, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve made the worst decision I ever could and there’s no coming back from it.
Twenty-Nine
Nick
It feels as if the entire crowd turns simultaneously to take us in as we enter the ballroom. I didn’t forget how much I hated these things, but it’s fresh in my mind now.
“Let’s go get a drink,” I say before anyone can approach us. Mazzy nods, so I lead us over to the closest bar. “I’ll have a Bourbon Sour.” I turn toward Mazzy. “What would you like?”
“I’m fine for now.”
“You sure?” How the hell can she get through this thing completely sober? I wish her high society superpowers could rub off on me. She nods, so I turn back to the bartender. “Just that, I guess.”
“Coming right up.” He prepares my drink, and I face Mazzy.
“Relax, Nick. You look tense.”
I stop tugging on the collar of my tuxedo shirt. “I am tense. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to one of these things.”
At least this fundraiser doesn’t involve a sit-down dinner. I can’t imagine having to listen to some rich bastard go on and on about his summer house and what he’s made or lost on his portfolio this year.
Don't Mind If I Do : A Fake Marriage Romantic Comedy Page 13
