Danny shrugged. “Not my place to say.”
Will exhaled slowly. His head was swirling less after his conversation with Danny. Knowing he wasn’t crazy—that his suspicions might not be too far off the mark—helped. But even better, was simply getting his worries and fears off his chest. Talking to someone else about his feelings for Molly made them a fraction more bearable.
“We should catch up for that drink,” Will said, surprising himself. But he suddenly found he wanted to, wanted a friend.
Danny’s eyes lit at the suggestion, and it occurred to Will this was the first time he’d initiated that particular discussion.
“Yeah, man, that’d be great. There aren’t that many people our age in town, so we gotta stick together, right?” Guilt poked at him. Danny had been lonely, too, and Will had blown him off like he didn’t matter.
Wait a minute. Too? Will wasn’t lonely, right? He had exactly what he’d wanted, peace and solitude.
“Right,” he said. “Anyway, I have to go help Molly. I’ll see you soon.”
“Great. Be careful with everything.” He gestured with his head to the door Molly had left from.
“I will,” he muttered, cranky at the thought of seeing Molly again and knowing he had to be on his best behavior. “Give me some damn coffee and I’ll be on my way.”
If he was going to suffer sleepless nights for the rest of the time Molly was in the house—which he suspected he would—he needed the caffeine.
He needed his mind to be on sharp alert.
Chapter Seven
“There’s one more thing we’ll need,” Molly said apologetically when they returned to the truck. She’d packed his back seat with so much stuff Will would have to drive home without the use of his back window. What more could she possibly need?
“What’s that?” he groaned.
“A Christmas tree.”
Will glanced at the empty bed of the truck and finally understood. “You intentionally saved this for last.”
“I thought you might say no. There aren’t any Christmas decorations at the house. But we can’t have a Christmas wedding without a tree.”
“Is that so?”
“That’s the rules, I’m sorry to say.”
Will rolled his eyes, trying to stop a smile. “Fine. I’ll even do the heavy lifting. But you have to decorate it.”
She scrunched her face into an adorable expression of disappointment. “But I need someone tall to decorate the higher branches.”
Will narrowed his eyes at her and didn’t reply. Having a tree in the house was one thing, since he didn’t care either way.
But decorating a tree with Molly? That was something families did together.
“Come on,” she cajoled. “I don’t know why you don’t have a tree, but you can’t be that much of a curmudgeon, can you?”
Will sighed. “I don’t have a tree because I never much got into the Christmas season. As a kid, my parents always used it as an excuse to go more wild than usual. And now that it’s just me, I never bothered to decorate.”
“But now it’s not just you,” Molly pointed out. “Let’s make some happy Christmas memories. Please?” She bounced on her feet, hands clasped together in a pleading gesture.
Will hesitated, pretending for a moment that he was capable of denying her what she wanted. “Alright,” he relented.
“Great! There’s a guy down the street selling them. I’ve already picked one out.”
“You knew I’d say yes,” he accused.
Her grin was unrepentant. “I can be persuasive when I want to be.”
Will had noticed, though he suspected he was particularly susceptible to her charms.
He drove the truck along the street to the lot, and parked out front. Their tree was waiting for them by the gate. Of course, she’d picked the biggest one they had, towering so high he had to crane his neck to see the top.
“That monster will not fit in my truck,” he said, shaking his head.
“It will, I promise. We’ll tie it down.”
“Why does it need to be so huge?”
“For the aesthetic. The ceilings are so high in the entrance it would be ridiculous to have a tiny tree.”
“Of course. How could I not have known that?”
Fifteen minutes later, the tree was precariously strapped to the bed of the truck and Molly was handing over a wad of cash. “This’ll look great as a centerpiece,” she told him with more enthusiasm than he’d mustered for all things combined over the last two years.
Where did all her energy come from?
They drove back to the house as Molly spent the drive telling him about the things she’d bought. Everything sounded far more like Peter’s style—cool colors, elegant lines—that Will was scowling by the time she was through.
“Don’t you get any of your own personality in the wedding?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Mostly in the little pieces. The table decorations are my choice, that kind of thing.”
Will nodded, but unease pooled in his gut. Hopefully, this was not a sign of things to come. That Peter would strip all of Molly’s bright, unique personality from her and turn her into someone she wasn’t. Hopefully, she’d have room to be her true self in their relationship.
They made it back to the house with minimal issues. Molly brought in the items she’d purchased from the back seat while he unstrapped the tree, breath visible in the cold afternoon.
“Where do you want it?” he asked.
“Right in the entrance hall,” she called as she stepped outside to help. “Pride of place.”
Will sighed, but acquiesced. He didn’t mind Christmas, exactly, but it wasn’t much of a big deal now that he was a childless, wifeless adult. Peter didn’t care for the holiday much, either, figuring holidays in general were a waste of precious working hours. Without anyone to celebrate with, Christmas was just another day.
The Christmas tree was a beast to move, but finally they arranged it so Molly was happy.
“Where are the decorations?” Molly asked, eyes bright with excitement. “Assuming you have some. And they’re nice.”
Will stretched his already-aching muscles. “In the attic. I’ll get them. You better like them, since I’m not going back into town,” he teased.
“I’ll help.” She trailed after him as he traipsed up the stairs. Could he get out of decorating the tree by saying he had to work? It was mostly the truth.
“You’re really into this whole Christmas thing, huh?” At the very least he could get the decorations for her, then escape before he actually had to get festive.
“Of course. The only people who don’t like Christmas are Grinches and spoil-sports.”
“Or they had something bad happen to them at Christmas.”
Molly fell silent for a moment. “You didn’t…you know…catch your wife at Christmas, did you?” she asked softly.
Will snorted. “No. I’m a garden variety Grinch.”
“Well then,” she said firmly. “I believe if someone has had a bad experience at Christmas, they simply need help recapturing the magic of the season.”
“You watch too many movies.”
“Maybe so, but I still think Christmas is special.”
Once Molly and Peter were married, Will suspected he’d be dragged into yearly celebrations if Molly had anything to say about it. Given the force of her charm, Will doubted even Peter could resist her.
Perhaps, despite everything, Molly would be good for Peter. But he still wasn’t sure Peter would be good for Molly.
That was, if Molly was who she claimed. He still found it suspicious that she came up with an excuse for why she and Peter had to get married so soon. Peter wasn’t absurdly rich, but he did have a decent amount of money. Could this be some kind of con?
Or an immigration scam? Molly appeared to be American, but Will didn’t know enough about her to pick up if she was faking it.
He needed more information.
But f
irst he had to decorate the tree. Apparently, his new mission in life was to make Molly happy.
The attic was cramped, full to the brim with useless items he, his brother, and their parents had collected over the years. This forced Molly to stand close to Will—too close.
He was painfully aware of their harsh breathing as they shifted boxes, arms brushing against each other, causing a tingle along his skin with every accidental touch.
By the time they’d found all the decorations and brought them downstairs, Will had worked himself up into a state of sexual frustration. He wanted Molly. He couldn’t have her, but that hardly made a difference to his lust-addled mind.
He wanted, desperately, for her to be someone other than she appeared. If she was some kind of con artist or traitor, then the guilt he was currently experiencing would be absolved.
The worst of it was that decorating the tree with her, sharing Christmas memories from their childhoods, laughing at handmade ornaments, enjoying the season, felt...right. Like coming home.
Molly even put on Christmas music, singing badly and making him join in. Dancing at some of the jazzier numbers and grabbing Will’s hand to spin beneath his arm, showing her swing moves. And, if Will wasn’t mistaken, she was flirting with him. For the first time in a long time, he was happy, and enjoying himself. At Christmas, of all times of year.
And try as he might to not consider it, he could imagine doing this for many Christmases to come.
He had to get his hands on that notebook of hers. It was the only way he could think of to discover if she was who she appeared. Calling Peter wouldn’t help. The man was clearly besotted if he was willing to marry her so quickly, and likely wouldn’t hear a word against her without proof.
Will didn’t get a chance to peek in her book that afternoon. After they finished decorating the tree—which looked pretty spectacular in the end, if he did say so himself—Molly took herself off to work. Will did the same, since she didn’t need his help marking items off checklists she’d written in her book, tying oversized ribbons, or arranging table centerpieces.
Not that Will could concentrate much, turning the problem of Molly around and around in his mind, as if that would help him come up with a solution.
He alternated between finishing off some pieces for a client, and building an arch for the ceremony as per the instructions Molly had given him. In this, at least, he injected some of her personality, so the ceremony wasn’t all Peter’s style.
He dreaded dinner, since he’d promised they would make it together. Yet even given his confusion around her, he had to admit how easy it was to be in her company. Despite his inconvenient attraction—the way his heart beat faster every time he glanced at her—he liked her. It made conversation effortless, but it also meant Will was very much in danger of falling in love with her.
He had to believe she wasn’t who she said she was. He had to. Because the alternative was either to lust after his brother’s wife forever, or, if he somehow moved on from her, live with the guilt of knowing he’d wanted her when she was with another man.
Will didn’t like who this made him. He abhorred cheaters, like his ex-wife and his parents, and he abhorred those who knowingly encouraged that behavior, like his ex-friend Eric.
He couldn’t be party to that, but part of him wanted to throw caution to the wind and jump in with both feet anyway. Pursue Molly despite the destruction it would wreak. He wanted her desperately, and there was a primal part of him that would do anything to have her—including become the thing he hated the most.
Chapter Eight
Will finally found his chance to peruse her notebook the next morning. Molly wasn’t in the kitchen when he came in for breakfast, but her diary was.
Before even making himself tea—conscious she could come back at any moment—Will flipped open the first page.
In beautiful calligraphy, two names were written inside a heart. But they weren’t Molly and Peter.
Emily and Oliver. Was Emily another persona of hers, and Oliver another man she’d scammed? He flicked through notes on wedding preparations, until he got to more names. Becky and Sean. Stella and Emily.
What the hell was going on here?
Before he could see the rest of the book or consider the ramifications, Will heard a noise at the door. He snapped the notebook shut and spun around to see Molly in the doorway, eyeing him.
“Sorry, I was curious.”
“Okay,” she said, then snatched up her notebook and held it to her chest. They stared at each other for a long moment. Was she waiting for him to say something? To call her out on what he’d discovered?
But what had he discovered?
He still didn’t know, and he needed time to figure it out. Time away from her and her distracting presence.
She shifted on her feet. “Can I ask you a favor?”
Here we go. She would ask him not to tell Peter. He’d have to choose between her and his brother. And possibly ruin his relationship with his brother altogether, if Peter shot the messenger. Because as much as he liked Molly, he’d hardly destroy his brother’s life for her.
“You can ask.”
She rolled her eyes affectionately. “This morning is the last chance I’ll have to go through everything before people start arriving. Can you do a quick walkthrough of the ceremony and reception with me, to see if I’ve forgotten anything?”
Will blinked. She planned to pretend he didn’t know, and keep acting as normal? A bold move, but one he surprisingly admired.
“Okay,” he said, curious to see where this was going. It could be better if Will pretended everything was normal for now. Peter planned to arrive this afternoon. Telling him his fiancée might be a con artist was something best done in person, right? He didn’t want to alert Molly to his suspicions, or she might flee before he and Peter had a chance to confront her.
Or maybe Will was making excuses because he wanted to spend more time with her. He sighed to himself. He was incredibly gullible, and it seemed he wouldn’t even save himself. That was the power of an attractive woman—he was willingly being led to his own potential doom.
He insisted they eat breakfast first, so he could fortify himself for the task of spending the next few hours with her. Her legs bounced with restless energy as she ate. Impatience to begin the day? Or nerves that he was onto her scam?
“Okay, I’ll start with the arrivals,” she began abruptly while he was still chewing the last of his toast. “There should be enough space to park along the drive and on the gravel. I don’t want cars on the other side of the house, because they’ll get in the way of photographs.”
Will nodded as he swallowed.
“I might have the area behind the workshop as overflow parking if it gets bad.” She made a note in that damn notebook of hers.
“For bedrooms, I’ve designated Peter’s room for the groom, obviously. That big room over the other side of the house for the bride, since they can’t see each other.” She listed off her other suggestions on who should get rooms, and he nodded, agreeing with her assessments. Everyone who wasn’t mentioned would have to find alternative accommodations, but given the wedding was only an hour outside of the city, most people would make the commute.
Wait, that phrasing was odd. “They” instead of “we”. But before he could process it, she was onto the next thing.
“Right. Next will come the ceremony, but we should go through the reception first, since that’s inside. Wait for it to warm up a bit.”
Molly stood, and Will followed more slowly. Her excitement was plain in her eyes, and Will was drawn to her enthusiasm for this wedding, which she clearly loved. But he couldn’t help a spurt of envy, knowing she was thrilled to be marrying another man.
Maybe, if he hadn’t been such a recluse for the last few years, it would be him and not his brother Molly would be—
No, he couldn’t think like that. He didn’t even want to get married again. Right? He’d certainly spent the last few year
s avoiding even a hint of dating or even friendships, having no desire to go through all that again.
The hollowness in his chest told him he was no longer so sure of that. He’d been licking his wounds for the last few years, yes. But now he suspected he didn’t want to live the rest of life like that. Alone. Lonely.
If the right woman came along, he’d consider putting everything on the line again. Consider. That wasn’t a promise, but it was more than he ever believed he’d do.
And if that woman was Molly—
Dammit, no. It didn’t matter how attracted he was to her. It didn’t matter how much he liked her, how every moment in her company made him wish things could be different. That he wasn’t so messed up, that she wasn’t marrying his brother.
Wishing wouldn’t change any of that.
It particularly wouldn’t change the fact that Molly and Peter would be getting married in a few days, and Molly, at least, was happy to be doing so if her enthusiasm was anything to go by.
Not that it would make a difference to him if she was unhappy. He still wouldn’t betray his brother and himself. He wouldn’t be like Eric, willing to shatter a ten-year friendship purely for sex. Eric could have had any woman, and he’d chosen Will’s wife. Will wouldn’t make the same mistake with Peter and Molly.
He was a better man than that. He had to believe that.
Molly pushed open the double doors to the ballroom. “After the ceremony, we’ll all come back here.”
Her words pulled him from his thoughts, and Will struggled to concentrate as she ran through the order of events for the reception. Nothing much had changed in the room over the last few days. Moving his carpentry out, and the wedding tables and decorations in, was on today’s list of tasks, once Bonnie arrived.
But as Molly so vividly described the evening to come, Will found himself envisaging everything as it would happen.
“Then you’ll do your best man speech,” she said.
Will started in surprise, then nodded as if he’d remembered all along that he had to do a speech. Damn. He should get on that. What went in a best man speech? He assumed it was less along the lines of “I’m sorry, I’m falling for your new wife” and more funny and embarrassing stories of their childhood—if he could remember any.
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