“So, do you own this house with him?”
Her eyes widen and her lips twitch as a small smile makes an appearance. “No. My grandfather bought this house for me and my sister years ago.”
“You have a sister?” My brows rise, and she nods. Nate never mentioned she had a sister—not that he talked about her much.
“Clare.” Her expression turns solemn and she drops her gaze, looking down at our hands. I had forgotten we were still holding hands, and my thumb involuntarily starts rubbing her soft skin. I swear every emotion this girl has today is making itself known. Where were all these expressions last night? I watched her off and on for hours and she looked like a porcelain doll the whole time, so stiff and shiny.
“Was she at the wedding?” I mentally scroll through the bridesmaids to see if I recollect any of them resembling her.
She lets out a sigh. “She was.”
“Huh. I don’t know if I saw her. Where is she now?”
“Who knows.” Lifting her head, she looks down the road in front of us and pauses before asking, “Reid, why did you do this?”
It seems her adrenaline has worn off, too. She’s asked me this twice now, and I wonder if she regrets it. Does she regret saying yes to me? Then again, those are the same questions I keep asking myself.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I kept replaying over and over in my mind how that prick spoke to you last night, and then there was this look on your face as you walked down the aisle, and I just reacted. Probably wasn’t the smartest idea, but there’s no going back now.”
“No, no going back now.” She frowns. “Thank you.” Her eyes lock onto mine, and nothing else needs to be said.
My lips press together as I squeeze her hand and nod.
“I am curious, though—why didn’t you tell me who you were?”
“When was I going to do that?” I chuckle. “It really didn’t seem relevant last night.”
“I guess not, but you know what I mean. I hope the shock on my face wasn’t too obvious.”
“It wasn’t, and really, I’m a nobody unless you follow football, and those who do saw me last night. I wasn’t a surprise to them. I’m actually surprised you didn’t pick up on it sooner, especially when Nate stood up behind me.”
“I should have. I knew you were coming, but there was so much going on, I couldn’t think.”
“I stopped thinking, too.”
My mother and my coaches have always both chastised and praised me for this. In stressful situations, there’s no happy medium; I always react first and contemplate later.
Suddenly feeling claustrophobic in the back of this tiny car, I glance over at Camille’s house. “Come on, let’s go inside.” I release her hand and pat her leg.
“Okay.”
The driver sees us moving and he opens the door. I climb out, breathing in the fresh air to calm down, and help her out of the car. People passing on the sidewalk stop to take us in. A few camera phones go up and she smiles, always playing the part, except this time it’s with me. I hate that she knows this part so well.
“So, this is where you live?” I ask, our fingers finding each other and linking together once again. It really is a very nice looking house from the outside, larger than anything I’ve ever lived in.
She smiles as she opens the small gate leading to the front steps. “It is. As much as I loved living in New York City, I love this house even more. It was built back in the 1850s and was originally a hotel. It was then bought by a Northerner who worked in lumber and redesigned it to be a house. It’s obviously gone through several rounds of restoration, but I couldn’t possibly love it any more.”
While she unlocks the front door, I run my free hand down the white portico column beside it. With the history of this house, the history of her family, I feel way out of my league.
Entering the foyer, I’m immediately taken with the architecture and details. A lot of thought and care has clearly gone into each aspect, like the intricacies of the crown molding, the arched doorways, the elaborate curved stairway, and the colors. It’s beautiful, and it’s easy to see why she loves it so much.
“Please, make yourself at home.” She stops us at the base of the stairs and looks around nervously. “Just wander wherever. There’s food in the kitchen, a TV in the living room, and a guest bedroom on the second level. It’s yours if you want it.”
“Okay,” I murmur.
She’s unsure about what to do with me here, about what’s supposed to happen next.
The house is completely empty and still, and a heavy silence falls between us as she takes a step away from me. Our hands finally drop, and in a way, I feel like the connection we’ve shared over the last hour is now broken. I feel like it’s now her and me, two separate entities.
“Will your sister be arriving soon?” I rub the back of my neck, trying not to feel completely out of place.
Her brows scrunch down in question and she tilts her head just a little.
“You said your grandfather bought this house for the two of you.”
“Oh. Yeah, he did, but no, she’s not stopping by. She doesn’t live here. It’s just me.”
I look up at the top of the winding stairs that go up three levels and then at the rooms on each side of me. One is a formal sitting room, the other a library. “This is a large place for just one person.”
“It is, but it’s mine and no one can take it from me.” Her tone is a little sharp. After meeting her douchebag ex and her father, I can see why this would be important to her.
“I’m going to go upstairs for a while to rest and get changed for tonight, if you don’t mind.” Her cheeks turn pink; she’s putting space between us, and I guess I realize I’m grateful. I need to sort through the shit in my own head and think about what comes next.
“This is all I have.” I hold my hands out, thinking about my small bag and my car back at her parents’ house.
Her gaze drops and slowly runs over the length of me. My stomach muscles tighten; I think I like her eyes on me. “You look great,” she mumbles. “Really great.” Finally, she reaches my eyes. “It’s too hot outside for this dress, and besides, I have another one to put on for tonight.” She picks up the long layers of her skirt and sways her hips back and forth.
“You looked beautiful today—I hope you know that.”
Her cheeks and neck flush red as she inhales, her chest expanding. My eyes drop to the swell of her breasts and I have to force myself to look away. No need to make this more awkward than it already is.
“Thank you.”
I briefly wonder if anyone told her that this morning then silently curse myself for not telling her sooner.
“Do you mind helping me with the buttons?” She turns around and presents her back to me.
“Sure.”
I step toward her as she pulls the veil from her head and tosses it onto a console table. Gently pushing her hair over one shoulder, I look down at the row of pearls waiting to be undone. Sliding my fingers under the fabric at the top, one by one they unfasten, leaving the full length of her back exposed. She grips the front of her dress, keeping it up, and I can’t help running my finger down over each bump of her spine, lingering on the last one. She has the softest skin, and under my touch, she starts trembling—and I know it’s not because it’s cold in here, but because this affects her, and the entire day is catching up to her. Instinct takes over and I step closer, wrapping my arms around her. Pulling her back flush with my front, I drop my head next to hers.
“Reid—” Her voice breaks as she breathes out my name and her arms layer over mine. The trembling has turned to shaking and she starts breathing harder.
“Deep breath, Camille. I’ve got you.”
I can’t imagine all the things going through her head. This situation only inconveniences me a little bit, but her—she may as well have thrown a bomb at her family, her friends, her life.
In and out, I take deep breaths, and slowly her breathing returns to
normal, then we’re breathing in sync. Her shoulders relax and curve as she folds herself into me. I hug her even tighter.
“Everything is going to be all right. We only have a few more hours left today, and we can do anything for just a few hours. So, go on upstairs, do your thing, and I’ll be down here when you’re ready.”
She twists around in my arms so she’s facing me, still holding the front of her dress, and her eyes find mine. So many emotions swim in her watery crystal blue eyes, but the one that stands out the most is reverence. Bending down, I kiss her forehead. She lets out a sigh, and then she’s gone.
Somewhere up above, I hear a door click shut, and the vast emptiness of this gorgeous old home surrounds me. Reality sets in and I cringe as I think back to what I’ve done. If walls could talk, I wonder how disapproving they would be. Hell, even I disapprove. Rubbing my chest, I look down at my feet, needing a moment to compose myself.
Seriously, what have I done?
This girl knocks me on my ass and I don’t even know her. In real life, I would never know her. Yes, she is unequivocally the most beautiful girl I have ever seen by far, but that’s because she’s in a different class level, which has never been my type at all. I’ve never wanted a girl like her: rich, proper, sophisticated. I like girls who are relaxed, confident, and not materialistic . . . yet when I’m near her, I seem to have zero self-control—zero. I don’t know her, but after this morning, it seems I would do anything for her.
Shit.
Moving through the house, I find myself in the kitchen gulping full glasses of water. It’s one thing to keep myself pulled together when she’s near, but now that I’m by myself, I allow the roar of emotions in my head to take over.
Looking down, I cringe at the sight of the ring on my finger and try to pull it off, only to find that it seems stuck. Her grandfather isn’t nearly as large as I am, and I was surprised it slid on at the church. I have large hands—really large, perfect for catching a football—and of course now it won’t come off. It’s like a bad omen, one I brought upon myself.
Bracing my hands on the counter, my head drops, and I let out a harsh sigh.
“This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real,” I chant to myself, trying to remain calm. People get married and divorced all the time; it’s just a matter of paperwork. We can do this. I mean, maybe we can just annul it. It’s not like it’s a real marriage anyway.
It’s not a real marriage.
Letting out a sigh, I roll my shoulders, crack my neck, and attempt to pull myself together, thinking back to what I just told her: it’s only a few hours, and I can do anything for a few more hours.
Spotting a large bag of chocolate gummy bears on the counter, I take a handful and begin eating them one at a time. I’ve never heard of chocolate-covered gummy bears. Really, I never eat sugar—ever—but right now, I forgive myself and indulge.
Wandering into the living room, I flop down on the couch and take a look around the room. Of course, this place is just as beautiful inside as it is outside. It’s a little girly, but it fits what I’d imagine her home would be like. I bet her interior decorator cost her a pretty penny. Then again, she can probably afford it.
To the left of me is an ornate brick fireplace with a large flat-screen television above it, and across is a heavy wooden white bookshelf. Every inch of it is stuffed with books, but it’s the complexity in the details of the carving that catches my eye. It’s a beautiful piece of furniture. I’ve never seen one like it, and it fits in here perfectly.
Getting up to explore the house, I wander from room to room and take in everything from the brightly-colored original paintings on the walls to the rugs, the chandeliers, and the furniture. There are no pictures of people anywhere, but I do take a closer look at her books, hoping to find out something about her, something she loves in particular like mysteries or autobiographies, but there’s a really broad selection covering everything from woodworking to romance to The Alchemist. So far I haven’t stumbled across anything to tell me who Camille Whitley really is.
Returning to the kitchen, I grab more gummy bears and refill my glass one more time before leaving it in the sink. Everything here is so put together and clean. This place has the makings to be an amazing family home, but it all feels more for show than actually lived in. I guess as one person, how many rooms do you really need? She probably only uses three, maybe four, and that’s when I draw the parallel between her, her life, and now her home: always perfect, but secretly screaming for some chaos.
After a while, I head back to the couch and decide to lie down and close my eyes. She didn’t say how long she was going to be, and frankly, I’m beat. In my back pocket, my phone buzzes. Pulling it out, I see a text from Nate and five missed calls from my agent. It’s only been a little over an hour, and he already knows. Groaning, I turn off my phone and scrub my hand over my face. I’ll deal with him tomorrow.
Two hours later, the sound of Camille’s heels alerts me that she’s heading down the stairs, and I stand up to greet her. My heart rate increases with each step she takes, and I feel ridiculous until I see her and my jaw drops. I’m again shocked by how gorgeous she is—the kind of gorgeous that definitely says, You can look, but don’t even think about touching. She’s wearing a skintight white lace dress with long sleeves and tall gold heels. Her hair is pulled back off her face into a knot behind her head, and her lips are painted dark red.
“Wow. You were beautiful earlier, but this . . .” I shake my head at the ludicrousness of the situation. “You take my breath away.”
Her cheeks flush pink against her pale skin and she looks away. Unless this girl has the personality of a rock or is witchcraft crazy, Patrick is an idiot, a complete dumbass.
“What’s that?” She points toward the coffee table, and my eyes follow.
“I found an empty notebook on the bookshelf, so I hope you don’t mind. I know this”—I gesture back and forth between the two of us—“today . . . isn’t real, but I still wanted to give you something. It’s the best I could come up with on short notice.”
“You made me a paper airplane?” She looks at me then back at the small folded piece of paper. Suddenly, I feel stupid. Paper airplanes are childish, not wedding day gifts.
“I did.” I move to pick it up and now regretfully hand it to her.
“It’s a really fancy paper airplane.” She turns it around and looks at each side of it. “Thank you,” she says, her eyes returning to mine, large and happy.
I shrug my shoulders and give her a tight-lipped smile.
Gently holding the paper creation, she puts it on top of a stack of books on a small table by the window. Staring at it for just a moment, she turns back to me and smiles, not one of her fake expressions, but a genuine one. It’s so different from all the others I’ve seen on her, I feel jolted and six inches taller. Maybe it wasn’t a foolish idea after all.
“I love it. I really do.”
“I’m glad.”
I hold out my hand, and she walks over and slips hers into mine. I’ve never been one who particularly cares about hand-holding, but hers . . . I think I could hold on to it for a really long time.
“Ready to go?” I ask.
“As ready as I’m going to be.”
HE GAVE ME a paper airplane, a small sheet of paper folded into tiny angles, and I can’t think of one other thing in my life that has ever meant so much. No bribery, no sinister plan, no strings attached, just a genuine gift from him to me, because he thought I would like it. How thoughtful is that? I know in my head I’m being irrational, silly, but he’s already done more for me than he knows, and then to top it off he wanted to make sure I got a gift from him on my wedding day—our fake wedding day. Who does that?
My fake husband does, that’s who.
I’m so distracted thinking about this man sitting next to me, I don’t realize we’ve pulled up to my father’s house until Reid is leading me out of the car. Dread settles into the pit of my
stomach. It’s not that I’m unsure about him, more that I’m unsure about the reception we’re going to receive from those behind the door.
I used to love this house. I imagine most do love their childhood home, but as I’ve gotten older, I see it now for what it is: a tomb, a place where souls go to die. Yes, I’m being dramatic, but originality isn’t welcome here. It’s all a false front for a life you want others to believe is real. Perfect politician, perfect wife, perfect twin girls . . . perfect perfect perfect—only, none of us is. It’s because of this expectation that over the years, this house just got colder and colder. No one wants to live in a place that’s devoid of warmth.
As we move up onto the porch, with each step it becomes harder and harder to move my legs. Reid feels the change in my stride and looks down at me. His forehead wrinkles in concern and he’s about to say something when the doors are swung open by a hired staff member and he presses his lips shut.
Walking inside, he redirects us into the vacant library. I find it a bit ironic that we’re back in here, where all this mess started just about twenty-four hours ago. The door clicks shut behind us, but this time there’s light from the dusk sky filtering in. I can see him perfectly.
Releasing my hand, he wraps one of his around my face and tilts my head back to look in my eyes. God, those stunning green eyes.
“Talk to me.” His voice is calm and smooth, but even so, my anxieties about being here surge forward.
“Reid, I don’t know what to do.” I reach up and grab his wrist, anchoring myself.
“What do you mean?”
My eyes trail over his nose, his lips, the stubble across his jaw, every detail so much more masculine than Patrick. If I allowed myself, I could get lost in him, but I know better. This isn’t about that; it’s about him helping me out of this situation.
“Them . . . out there.” My eyes blur with tears I refuse to let drop, and he shakes his head.
“No. Just stop for a minute and take a deep breath. Let’s talk this through.” His thumb swipes back and forth across my cheek. I push the uneasiness and the hesitation from my mind, because although I don’t know him, a stranger in every sense, I feel like I do. He’s on my side, I know he is, and I’m not doing this alone.
Chasing Clouds Page 5
