by Lexi Ryan
“You look flushed. Are you sure you don’t have a rare but possibly deadly new virus? You might need to be quarantined for exactly . . . however many days your parents will be in the OV.”
I laugh. “You’re so awful.”
“What? I’ll vouch for you.” Smiling, she tilts her head to the side and studies me. “Did your fiancé come by to grovel yet?”
I shake my head. “He’s texted, but the in-person groveling has to wait. He’s in Atlanta meeting with a client and won’t be back until tomorrow.”
“Hmm. So the fiancé is out of town. What about the husband? Has he been by today?”
I grab the nearest pencil and fling it at her, but she dodges, and it hits the window and falls harmlessly to the floor. “Bitch. Don’t call him that.”
“Sorry. I meant to say have you talked to Marston since he showed up at your door last night?”
“Since he found out I could’ve starred on Teen Mom? No.” I look out at the lake and watch a black bird with a long beak dive for a fish. “I don’t even know if he’s still in town.”
“Oh, sweetie. This whole thing . . .” She shakes her head. “What a mess.”
“A mess I created myself.” When she opens her mouth—no doubt to object—I hold up a hand. “I know it’s not entirely my fault that I don’t remember my wedding, and it’s understandable I’d be cautious about telling Marston about Cami, but come on, Savvy. I screwed up. A lot. If I don’t own that, I’ll just feel like shit about it for longer.”
She folds her arms and huffs. “I don’t want you to feel like shit at all.”
“I’ll get over it. Just let me wallow a little.”
“Brinley?”
I look up and see Stella standing in the doorway to my office, her arms folded, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. I know that look. That’s the look my friend has when she’s about to give me terrible news. She had that look on her face when the pipes in the steam sauna froze over. She looked like that when one of the staff members suddenly came down with the stomach flu and threw up all over a bridal party during their spa day.
She had that look on her face when she told me my parents knew about Marston.
“What is it?” I ask, already out of my chair.
“There’s someone here to see you.” She looks back and forth between me and Savvy. “Mrs. Wright’s family decided to bring in a . . . consultant.”
My shoulders sag. It’s a touch insulting, considering all I’ve done for this spa in the past five years, but I can deal with this. Unless she wants to fire me, in which case—no. I won’t get ahead of myself. “Okay. Show her in.”
“He asked if you would meet him outside. I think he’s afraid you’re going to be pissed when you find out he’s here.”
Consultant. Him. “It’s not— He wouldn’t . . .”
“Oh, yeah.” She nods. “He definitely did. Mrs. Wright hired Marston Rowe to figure out what to do with this place.”
Marston Rowe is a legend among those of us who own and operate resorts. He swoops in and either saves them or tears them to the ground so the owner can sell off the parts.
My stomach knots. Marston may hold my fate in his hands.
“Is this bad?” Stella asks.
I wipe my hands on my pants and take a deep breath. “Not necessarily. He’s really good at this stuff, and maybe he’ll have some ideas. The Orchid isn’t failing. It’s thriving. Let’s keep that in mind.” That’s right. Think positive.
“And he’d never do anything to hurt you?” Stella says, but it’s a question more than a declaration. The question is fair. After the way he looked at me last night, after finding out that I had Roman’s baby, I don’t know.
We were madly in love once. Our relationship may have been a secret, but it was no less intense, no less real than anyone else’s love. At the time, it was the only thing in my life that didn’t feel like some sort of bad dream.
But that was more than a decade ago, and now, I’m not the girl he loves. Now, I’m nothing more than his future ex-wife.
“Do you think he took this job just to be closer to you?” Savvy asks.
I frown, considering her question. No matter how much Mrs. Wright’s family claims to care about the future of The Orchid after its sale, I can’t imagine they’d hire Marston if he charged them his normal fees, which I know a little about, thanks to the Forbes article. A place like Orchid Valley doesn’t get the same volume of customers that vacation hotspots like Las Vegas, Sedona, or Lake Tahoe do. “I guess that’s possible.” Likely, even, but the question is why. He knows I don’t want this marriage, and now he knows about Cami and Roman. Why on earth would he take a job in a town he hates just to be closer to the girl who broke his heart all those years ago?
Regardless of his reasons, this is going to affect me too. How am I going to repair things with Julian if I’m seeing Marston every day? I don’t know how I can, yet if I had to choose, I wouldn’t want Marston to leave. Not yet. He might be complicating the shit out of my life, but the idea of never seeing him again hurts too much.
“Looks like he didn’t run away at your big secret after all,” Savvy says.
I sink back into my chair.
“You okay?” Stella asks, stepping into the room.
I grab my coffee with a shaking hand and take three long gulps, practically scalding my mouth, but I barely notice. I need something to give me backbone for this conversation, and I’m hoping the caffeine and sugar are up for the job.
“Do you want me to ask him to come back later? I can tell him you’re busy or that I forgot about a phone conference or . . .?”
I shake my head. “No. I need to do this. It’s fine.” Think positive. Think positive. “We’re lucky to get Marston. He’ll see things we didn’t notice before and make this place even better. Some stranger might totally screw us over, but at least we know him.” Please let me be right, Marston. Please.
“Better the devil you know?” Savvy asks wryly.
I shrug and smile at my friend. Then I focus on putting one foot in front of the other and walk out of the office. I pass the bathroom and force myself to keep walking. Do I want to fuss with my hair and lipstick before facing Marston? Yes. But I’d only be disgusted with myself if I gave in to the urge.
Marston’s on the back patio of The Orchid. Our restaurant, The Patio, is named after this open-air dining area, though we have indoor dining as well. It’s really one of the prettiest places to eat in all of Orchid Valley, especially at this time of year, when the heat isn’t chasing everyone indoors to the air conditioning. The patio overlooks the lake, and meticulously manicured gardens line either side of it. If I stand on the far side and squint, I can just barely make out the little beach where I once stripped down to my underwear to swim in the cold water with seventeen-year-old Marston.
Marston reclines in a wrought-iron chair, legs crossed at the ankles. He’s staring out at the lake, but I get the impression he’s too lost in his thoughts to really see it. I wonder if he, like me, looks out at Lake Blackledge and sees the past.
“Good morning,” I say quietly, not wanting to startle him.
He pushes himself out of his chair and turns to me. His eyes are red-rimmed like he hasn’t slept, and his jaw is rough with stubble. He drops his gaze slowly from my face, over my belted sheath dress, and down to my toes, and leaves a trail of tingles in his wake. “Morning.”
I almost expect him to make a comment about my appearance. When we were together in high school, he said repeatedly how beautiful I was. I took it for granted.
He doesn’t say it today, and when he turns back to the lake, I tell myself that’s a relief. “It’s beautiful out here.”
“Thank you. I sure think so. The view makes it popular, but Abbi’s an excellent chef too. It’s really all about finding the right balance between mood, location, and price point, and . . .” I bite my lip. Don’t ramble. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
“You shouldn’t be. I a
lready told you I’m not going down without a fight.”
“So you’re working for my boss—why? To spend time with me?” He shrugs as if to say, Worth a shot. I fold my arms. “I’m engaged to be married.”
“You’re already married. To me.”
But would I be if he’d known about Cami? His reaction last night confirmed my fears, and yet here he is—beginning a job he most definitely doesn’t need and admitting he’s here to be close to me. “This is a bad idea.”
He quirks a brow. “Afraid you can’t resist me?” Now his crooked smirk stretches into an all-out grin as he moves closer, and fuck me, because he looks damn good in a smile, and I swear I can feel his warmth as his body blocks the breeze off the lake.
I roll my eyes. “I have no trouble resisting you.”
“I remember it differently,” he murmurs.
I gape. “Of all the guys I’ve been with, you have absolutely the biggest—”
He stops me with his fingertips to my lips. “You don’t need to say it.”
“Ego!” I say, laughing. “The biggest ego.”
He grins, but when his eyes burn into mine for a beat too long, I have to blink and look away. “I meant, I’m surprised the Wrights hired you. The family’s notoriously tight with money and planning to sell soon. I wouldn’t have expected them to invest in someone as . . . high-demand as you.”
“Let’s just say I had personal reasons for wanting the job, so they’re getting a hell of a deal.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “Mrs. Wright tells me you’re the one who’s responsible for bringing this place back from the brink of ruin.”
I shrug. “It’s been a bit of a passion project of mine.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets. “We should talk about last night.”
I shake my head. “Not here. Just tell me what you need to do your job.”
He stiffens then rolls his shoulders back as if trying to shake it off. “Okay. Why don’t you show me around, and I’ll explain the process?”
Marston
My job is partially in tours and interviews and inspecting amenities, but most of my time is spent with spreadsheets, numbers, and statistical models. After five hours with my laptop and some key files in an empty office at The Orchid, my shoulders are tight, and I’m mentally exhausted from dodging thoughts of Brinley all day. I offered this evaluation to the Wright family to help Brinley and get to know her world.
I understand why she doesn’t want to hash out our personal issues at work, but I suspect if I don’t catch her while she’s here, I’ll never get the chance to talk to her alone. She’s not in her office when I go searching, but a member of her staff catches me looking and suggests I check out the gym. I find her in the pool, swimming laps, and watch, mesmerized, as she glides through the water, her dark hair trailing behind her, her limbs pulling in long, even strokes. I don’t know how long I stand there, but when she stops and clings to the edge of the pool, she’s gasping for air, and I snap out of my trance.
“You swim like you’re trying to escape demons,” I say.
She smooths her hair off her face. “Yeah, well, I’ve found myself planning a wedding and a divorce all at once. It’s been a little overwhelming.” She gives a tentative smile. “Everything going okay?”
I tuck my hands into my pockets. “I wondered if I could have a few minutes of your time before you head home.” To Julian, I mentally add, if only to remind myself.
She hoists herself out of the water. “I’m sorry. I thought Stella gave you all the files you needed. Is she gone for the day?”
“It’s not about the spa.” I take a deep breath. “It’s about us.”
She drops back into the water. “There is no us, and if you don’t have any questions in your capacity here as a consultant, I’ll get back to my workout.” She goes under the water and pushes off the wall, returning to her laps.
I glance down at my jeans and dark gray Oxford shirt. I wasn’t planning on getting in the water, but if she’s not planning to get out . . .
I unbutton my shirt and toss it on the chair, then peel off my undershirt before unzipping my jeans and shoving them down my hips. I’m in nothing but my boxer briefs and headed toward the ladder when she emerges again, panting at the deep end of the pool.
Her eyes are wide. “What are you doing?”
I jump off the ladder into the water, letting myself sink to the bottom before pushing back to the surface. I wipe my face and grin at her. “I don’t mind talking in here. Some of my favorite memories are of being in the water with you.”
Her cheeks redden and she swims toward the ladder, no doubt to run from me—from this conversation. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“You tracked me down in Vegas, gave me the hottest night of my life, and married me, but we can’t swim in the same pool?”
She glances back at me, and her gaze snags on my bare chest. I fucking love the way she looks at me, even when she’s trying not to. I wonder if she knows her tongue darts out to wet her lips.
“Stay,” I say, swimming to the ladder to stop her. “Please. Last night was . . . I had no idea. I needed to process everything.”
Brinley looks around like she’s trying to make sure no one’s watching and then sinks back into the pool with me.
I try not to think about joining her in here under different circumstances, but it’s too late, and I’m glad I’m already underwater, because the memories alone have me half-hard. I clear my throat. “How was your day?”
“A little bit of an emotional rollercoaster. Yours?”
“Same.” I swallow. “I can’t stop thinking about you being a mom.”
She studies me wearily, blue eyes wild and defiant.
“If you want to stand there and slut-shame me, go ahead, but know that my father’s ahead of you by almost eleven years.”
“I’m sorry about what I said last night. I was hurt and shocked, but you don’t owe me any explanation for the choices you made.”
She blinks, as if my apology takes her by surprise. “Thank you,” she whispers.
It was a blow to realize she got pregnant right after I left, but so much of that pain was knowing she shared that with Roman. But now? After thinking it through and cooling off a little? I want to pull her into my arms and promise I’ll never treat her like her father. I’ll never shame her for doing what she had to do to cope. But I can’t hold her. I can’t whisper in her ear. Because despite the vows we spoke in Vegas, she’s not mine, and she doesn’t want to be.
“I wish I could’ve been here for you,” I say instead, and it’s such a weak fucking substitute for the things I want to say that it leaves a knot in my gut. “And I wish you would’ve felt like you could tell me about her. We talked about family in Vegas, but you . . .” Fuck, she probably doesn’t remember that, either.
She turns away and shifts in the water until she’s floating on her back and looking at the ceiling. “I remember that part.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask. She closes her eyes and draws in a long breath. “You thought I’d judge you?”
She turns her head and scans my face, searching for the truth. “Don’t you?”
I shake my head. “I don’t judge you. It would’ve hurt, yes, but I think it hurt more to find out last night, to know you weren’t being completely honest with me in September.”
“I wish I had been.” She rolls to her stomach and swims to the ladder. She focuses on her fingers wrapped around the rails instead of looking at me. “If I would’ve been honest, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“How do you figure?”
She climbs out of the water and grabs a towel off a chair, rubbing herself down. I watch every move and make no effort to hide it. She’s drying her hair when she faces me, lips twisted. “You’d never have ended up in a Vegas wedding chapel with the mother of Roman Humphries’ baby.”
“Is that what you told yourself when you left me that note?”
She shrugs,
as if it’s irrelevant, then turns toward the door.
“It wouldn’t have made a difference,” I say as her fingers curl around the handle. “I would’ve married you anyway. I’d marry you today.”
She bows her head for a beat, but she doesn’t look back to me before heading out the door and walking away from me—like she’s done again and again since coming back into my life.
Chapter Ten
Brinley
“Knock-knock.”
I look up from my computer to see Julian standing at my door. He’s dressed for meetings today in a plum shirt and pressed black slacks. His sandy-blond hair is artfully messy in a sexy-casual look that takes him a special blend of three hair products and ten minutes in front of a mirror. I push out of my chair, relieved to see him after our fight two nights ago. “Hey, I didn’t think you’d be back until tonight. How was your trip?”
Grinning, he strides into my office, hands tucked into his pockets. “It was good, but I decided to come back early and take my fiancée out for lunch.” He peeks over his shoulder then lowers his voice. “I heard you’ve had a rough couple of days.”
My stomach sinks. From the moment Stella told me Marston was acting as a consultant for The Orchid yesterday morning, I expected Julian wouldn’t like it. I’ve been preparing for the conversation but didn’t think I’d have to have it here. I school my expression and cock my head to the side. “Where’d you hear that?”
“The grapevine.” He rocks back on his heels. “Mrs. Wright’s eldest is an acquaintance. When I ran into him in Atlanta, he mentioned that Marston’s consulting for them. He was crowing about it, actually.”
“It was a bit of a shock,” I admit, “but it hasn’t been bad. In fact, if I’m looking at it objectively, having Marston’s critical eye on The Orchid for a few weeks will only strengthen my future business.” I force a smile, but the harder I try to cling to our plans—get married, buy The Orchid, live a simple, happy life—the more they feel like they’re slipping through my fingers.
