This Life 1

by Cara Dee

  Did we? I mean, yeah, we’d been dealt crappy hands, but I couldn’t help but wonder at whose expense we’d be enjoying ourselves—oh, for chrissakes. “I’m overthinking this, I think.” I ran a hand through my hair and took a puff from the smoke.

  “That wouldn’t surprise me.” She laughed softly and hugged me to her.

  It sent a waft of her perfume my way, or shampoo. I leaned close and took a whiff. Definitely her hair. “You’ve changed your hair again.” As the sun made a brief appearance, her light hair glinted in golds and faint reds.

  “I’m experimenting for the first time in my life,” she chuckled. “Patrick took me to dinner in Gettysburg yesterday, and I stopped at the salon.” She sighed and smiled. “We can’t all be born with natural highlights like you.”

  I snorted. There was nothing special about my hair, with the exception that it was way too long.

  Part of me envied Sarah. A big part. She was able to throw herself into this, all while guarding her feelings and keeping her mind focused. She was happier lately.

  I bet it helped to get away from her parents. She’d told Patrick there was no way she’d consider living with him until “after we are married,” so, for now, she was renting a motel room down the road. He paid.

  “Do you mind if I crash with you tonight?” I asked.

  “No, of course not. Is there a problem?”

  “Dad,” I admitted. “He’s angrier than usual. If I didn’t see empty beer cans everywhere, I would think he was trying to get sober.” Yesterday, he’d polished off an entire bottle of bourbon. Then he’d called me a useless bitch, which was always pleasant. He’d been in a fight at some point too. His cheek had some bruising. “He’s made it a sport to break our plates.”

  “The drunks in this town, I swear.” She shook her head. “You can stay with me however long you want. I spend most evenings studying and dodging Franny’s calls.”

  I snickered. Our friend had been growing frustrated with me too. At lunch, she’d asked me if it was true that Finnegan spent Saturday afternoon at the diner. I’d lied and said I hadn’t seen him.

  The envy festered inside me that night and all throughout the following day. One night in a motel room, and I was fighting panic at the thought of returning home. Sarah and I’d had a girls’ night where she spoiled me with expensive takeout from Gettysburg and a cute pajama set that’d been too small for her. For one night, everything had been great. For one night, I’d replaced peeling wallpaper and yelling with silly giggles and music.

  Sarah and I were in luxury heaven, despite the unkempt state of the motel room. We acknowledged the leaky pipes and squeaky bed with shrugs, because they didn’t matter. The motel room wasn’t trying to suffocate us.

  She had a date with Patrick tonight, though she said she wouldn’t be long.

  It was long enough for me to indulge in some alone time that couldn’t be ruined by Dad. My shower lasted until the hot water ran out. I shaved, plucked my eyebrows, and performed a half-assed manicure and pedicure on myself. Sarah had started a nice collection of lotions and other beauty products.

  I put on some shimmering nail polish too, and while I waited for that to dry, I texted Finnegan.

  Hi. Are we still on for tomorrow?

  I hadn’t heard from him all Sunday and Monday. Or today, for that matter. If he canceled, I was gonna get annoyed. I’d switched to a shift at work that tended to give shittier tips in order to have tomorrow off.

  His reply popped up.

  Of course. I’ll pick you up at six. How are you?

  I stared at the words, deliberating. There was a flutter in my stomach, and I hoped it wasn’t because I was hearing from him. It couldn’t be excitement.

  I’m fine. Babysitting Sarah’s motel room and watching paint dry. What about you?

  Check me out, being all nice and witty.

  I’d failed, for the most part, to give Agent Caldwell any good information. I had to rectify that, I guessed. So far, I’d been able to tell him roundabout dates for when Finnegan’s parents were moving out here. I’d relayed the info on the twelve-year-old cousins named Alec and Nessa and that they were spending time here. And some other insignificant stuff.

  That’s good to know. Are you spending the night? I don’t want the birthday gift to be delivered to the wrong address. I’m good. Babysitting my cousins and working on the house.

  That didn’t sound criminal… I sighed and chewed on my lip.

  Yes, I’ll sleep here. You don’t have to give me a gift. The dinner is a gift.

  Putting my phone aside, I left the bed to slip back into my new pajamas. The light purple mini shorts came with a matching short-sleeved blouse and had the cutest pearly buttons. The fabric was soft and thin but not very giving, so I could understand why Sarah had given it to me. She was taller than me and maybe a size or two larger. You’d want some wiggle room in these cute threads.

  I’d never really felt cute before.

  I returned the towels to the bathroom, then brushed my teeth and jammed my hair into a messy bun at the top of my head.

  A message from Finnegan was waiting for me, and I squeaked when I read it and noticed it’d been sent twelve minutes ago.

  Have a smoke with me. I’ll be there in fifteen.

  What were the odds of Sarah not having told Patrick the room number? A knock on the door answered my question. No time for hysteria, I scrambled off the bed and gave the room a panicked look. My mess wasn’t so messy. Schoolbooks thrown on the dresser by the window, a plastic bag with clothes.

  Sarah’s shit was everywhere, though.

  Fuck it. He’d seen the inside of my house. He could handle this too.

  I opened the door and nearly swallowed my tongue. Finnegan should be fucking outlawed. It seemed that no matter what he wore, he made it look like sex. It was a fairly warm evening, and he’d arrived without a suit jacket. Just charcoal pants and a white dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up, and I really, really, really liked the look. Top two buttons undone, revealing a hint of chest hair.

  Attraction sucked.

  “Hi. I just saw your text.” I shuffled by the door, hiding a bit behind it. Unlike him, I didn’t walk straight out of a magazine.

  “Jesus, Emilia.” He cleared his throat and scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “I told myself to make it through one date—short as it might be—without pissing you off, and then you open the door looking like this.”

  I glanced down at myself, then up at him, confused.

  He chuckled and gestured at the bench outside the window. “Sit with me. And grab a blanket. I’ll be right back.”

  He walked toward his car that was parked outside the room next door, and I went on the hunt for a blanket. Did that mean he liked the pajamas? I didn’t know why that would piss me off. It was flattering, if anything.

  No blanket came with the motel room, so I had to borrow Sarah’s old afghan that she’d brought from home. I borrowed her slippers too.

  Finnegan was waiting for me outside, and my gaze got stuck on the pile of wrapped presents on the bench.

  “I told you—”

  “Sit, dammit.” He nodded at the spot next to him. “I wanna be the first to celebrate my birthday girl.”

  There were so many things wrong with that sentence, yet it felt like the most welcome affectionate gesture. I exhaled shakily, too stunned to deliver a sarcastic comeback, and took a seat on the other side of the pile of gifts.

  The first thing Finnegan did was to wrap the afghan around me. “You make it impossible not to objectify you, hon. Let’s show less skin, yeah?”

  I gigglesnorted. “Are you objectifying me?”

  “A bit. Now—” he checked his watch “—we have two hours till it’s your birthday, and I’m not gonna piss you off even once.”

  “Tall order.” I stifled my smirk. “It’s probably safer to stick to just one cigarette. Two hours would push it.”

  “I was never one to play it safe.” He didn’t hide
his smirk for crap, and he handed me the top box. “I’m saving one gift for tomorrow.”

  I accepted the little box and pulled at the ribbon. Underneath the lid was a Zippo lighter engraved with the words, “She’ll light your shit on fire.” I couldn’t help it; I laughed.

  Finnegan smiled. “It fits you, doesn’t it?”

  “Maybe.” I snickered and tried it out. “So you think I have fire?”

  He nodded and pulled out his smokes. “And light.” He leaned forward and lit one. Then he handed me the next box, a slightly larger one. “Alec and Nessa helped me shop for you. I’m kinda clueless in that department.” I didn’t know about that. “I reckon we went to every store in Philly.”

  “When was this?” I asked, opening the next one. “Oh my God, why?” Why would I need a pocket knife? This was engraved too. It said Princess, and it was really freaking sharp.

  “Everyone should have a knife.” He extended the smoke to me before showing me how the knife worked. It was one of those switchblade things that ejected from a sheath. “This one comes with a strap if you wanna keep it around your ankle.”

  I took a pull from the cigarette. He was nuts.

  It was the first time I’d thought of him as a gun-toting gangster without it making me queasy. There was something wrong with me.

  “Thank you, Finnegan.”

  “We’ve barely started.” He gave me the next one.

  It was a necklace, a gorgeous one with a silver chain and a padlock charm.

  “It’s got a panic button and GPS tracker,” he said and turned the locket. Of course, it was an alarm. I was sensing a theme. “You push this, and it’ll send a signal to my phone and my security company. This is in case of an absolute emergency. No one will call you or check in. A team will be sent to your location right away.”

  What the hell did I say? There was no compartment in my head that dealt with these things. It was completely foreign.

  The next couple of gifts were similar. Safety and protection. A bracelet with the same panic alarm. A mini-sized canister of pepper spray that fit into a lipstick case. The gifts were…well thought-out and sweet, and the jewelry was beautiful, but there was this ominous background music playing in my head. Why would I need any of this?

  I thanked him, though. No one had never gone out of their way to make me feel safe, and although Finnegan was going above and beyond—and then some—it stirred emotions in me. It wasn’t anger.

  “I guess you want me safe,” I joked.

  “More than I anticipated.” He offered half a smile and touched my cheek. “The other gifts are more fun, I promise.”

  I shook my head and brushed my fingers over the silvery pocket knife. “These will just take some getting used to. I appreciate them.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” he murmured. “Getting used to them implies we’ll be in each other’s lives for a while.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him and managed to kill my amusement. “Don’t piss me off.”

  He grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Open the next one.”

  I did, and the next, and the one after that. He’d given me a birthday outfit—along with another personal shopper’s note. A dress, a black one this time, a bit edgier. Black ballet flats, and a matching leather cuff with a beautiful coat-of-arms plate in the middle. Last but not least, an impressive stack of gift cards.

  The whole experience was overwhelming. I didn’t gush over the dress like I wanted to, but it was so cool. The young kid in me had wanted silly things like pretty clothes, and now I was getting them. Goddamn him. He probably hadn’t bought a dress for any other reason than it being a typical chick thing or whatever. Maybe his cousin had told him to get me another dress. I didn’t know. Either way, it was special.

  The bodice of the dress was almost like a corset and had a lacy edge that bordered the cleavage. It was strapless too. A punk-rock chick would totally wear this.

  “Should I be concerned that you seem to know what size I wear?” I asked.

  “Nah. My aunt helped me make an educated guess.”

  I had half a mind to have Nurse Walsh fired. “Finnegan…” I took a breath and reined in the annoyance. “Don’t you realize a lot of your so-called research is invading my privacy?”

  His brow furrowed. “How else would I find out—”

  “You ask! Like a normal person!”

  “Then it wouldn’t be a surprise,” he argued.

  I smashed my lips together in a tight line, wondering if he genuinely didn’t see the issue of if he was ignoring it. I supposed if you were guilty of armed robbery and stuff like that, stalking and investigating someone was nothing.

  Screw it, he wouldn’t understand. I should show him instead. And man, was I gonna make it sting.

  My gaze flicked quickly to his car, and then I smiled and patted his knee. “You’re a nice asshole, I’ll give you that.”

  He was visibly relieved he hadn’t pissed me off.

  “Thank you for the presents.” I stowed away everything neatly in the biggest box. “When did you have time to buy all this?”

  “Sunday,” he replied. “We were in the city for Mass anyway.”

  Because who wouldn’t drive two hours just to go to church?

  “I’m pretty sure there’s a Catholic church in Gettysburg.”

  “That’s not the same.” He shuddered. “The thing about Father O’Malley is he’ll be there for confession and drinking you under the table. He holds the record in our parish.”

  “I guess having so much faith makes you thirsty.”

  Finnegan let out a loud laugh. “I gotta tell him that one. That’s funny.”

  I looked away to hide my grin, and he lit another cigarette. So far, so good. We hadn’t fought yet.

  “One more thing,” he said, and he left the smoke dangling between his lips as he patted his pockets. “These terms are up for negotiation, but this is what I’m offering if you marry me.” He handed me an envelope folded in half. “Don’t read it now.”

  “Because you don’t wanna piss me off?” This might’ve been the last thing I wanted to think about.

  “Right on the money.”

  Fuck that. I wanted to see just how much money a marriage was worth. I opened the envelope and ignored Finnegan’s protest. He should’ve known better. If he didn’t want me to read it now, he could’ve given it later. Or never.

  “Maybe I should go—”

  I clamped my hand down on his thigh. His firm thigh. “Down, dog.”

  A low growl rumbled from him.

  Crossing one of my legs over the other, I smoothed out the paper and scanned the terms first. Like Sarah and Patrick, we’d be married at least three years. Intimacy wasn’t required, or expected, but there would be more money involved for me if our marriage resulted in children. My breathing hitched at that. Children. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell I’d bring children into a business deal.

  I had to accompany Finnegan to all family events and social gatherings unless I was ill.

  “I’d need a lawyer before even going near a contract,” I muttered.

  “I’d pay for one,” he was quick to say. “Anyone you want. You’d pick him.”

  “Or her.”

  “Or her.”

  I sighed and continued reading.

  I had to travel with Finnegan when he expected it. “Travel?” I questioned.

  He inclined his head. “I’m not working at the moment. When I go back, I’m on the road a lot. I want you with me.”

  Right. I bet owners of security firms went all over the place. Made total sense.

  “We’re not talking some security convention in Denver, are we?” I tilted my head at him.

  His mouth twitched. “More like car shows in Italy and Germany.”

  The glare was switched on in a heartbeat, and he’d fucking failed at not pissing me off.

  “Emilia, I run the security at exhibits sometimes. It’s nothing weird—”

  “Ha!” I
scoffed and shook my head. Run security. Sure. I hadn’t forgotten his criminal charges and his knack for finding himself in possession of high-end cars that didn’t belong to him.

  Shit. I had to tell Agent Caldwell about this.

  Next on the list was infidelity. If I cheated on Finnegan, the contract would be terminated, and I’d lose the financial rewards. If we had children, I’d surrender the custody of them too. Yikes. The man was passionate about fidelity.

  I frowned and read on. “There’s not a single word on what would happen if you were unfaithful.”

  He scowled. “Why the fuck would I be unfaithful? That’s ridiculous.”

  I rolled my eyes. “And me being unfaithful isn’t? Christ. You suck at writing contracts.”

  “This isn’t a contract. It’s a first draft of my terms.”

  Yeah, whatever.

  Then there was money. A lot of it. Aside from being provided for and given access to Finnegan’s funds during our marriage, I’d receive a million dollars for each year I was married to him. At the termination of our marriage, I would receive another two million before walking away. And on the day we got married, he would open an account in my name with two-hundred-and-fifty thousand dollars.

  These kinds of sums meant nothing to me because I couldn’t grasp how much it was.

  I remembered being over-the-moon happy once when I won fifty bucks at a fair. Until Dad had taken it from me.

  What Finnegan was offering was insane by my standards.

  Well, at least I wasn’t pissed. I was numb. Almost indifferent.

  At the sound of gravel crunching, I looked up and saw a familiar old woman walking across the parking lot with her dog. And that was the world I lived in. I was staying in my friend’s motel room because my dad hated me. I worked at a diner, and the woman walking her dog came in after church every Sunday and ordered tea and a lemon square.

  I didn’t travel around the world, wear fancy clothes, and have millions of dollars.

  Finnegan set the boxes on the ground and shifted closer, his hand resting on my back. “Marry me, Emilia. I swear I’ll make it worth it for you.”