by Lexi Ryan
“He’s my mom’s brother. We’re not close. Why does that upset you so much?”
“You don’t let anybody in, Keegan. It’s like you don’t have a past or you don’t want anyone knowing about it. We’re raising Jazzy together, and I’m just now learning you had a relationship with this Hollywood starlet.”
“First, I don’t know why it would matter. Second, I didn’t say we had a relationship.” On the TV, they roll a clip of Emma laughing with her fiancé. He takes her hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles, and she stares back at him with such adoration, I have to fist my hands to keep myself from throwing something at the screen.
Mason gathers his drink and plate and stands. “I think I’ll excuse myself to the balcony for a minute.”
Standing, Olivia props a hand on her hip and points the other at the TV. “Do you even see the way you’re looking at that screen right now? You had something with her. God knows you never looked at me like that.”
“How do you want me to look at you?” I ask helplessly. “I tried to make it work and you didn’t want me, so I backed away. What do you want from me?”
She shakes her head and scoops Jazzy off the floor. “I’m going to go give Jazz her bath.”
The woman on the TV asks Emma, “What do you love most about him?” and I reach for the remote and smash the power button, but the TV doesn’t go silent until after she says, “His compassion and big heart.”
I grab my beer off the coffee table and join Mason on the balcony.
“You okay?” he asks.
“This night just went from relaxing to shit-tastic in record time.” I glare over my shoulder toward the empty living room. “I don’t understand why she’s so pissed at me.”
Mason’s eyes shift from side to side, avoiding mine before he turns up his palms. “She’s right, you know. You never tell us anything about your past. You’re an open book about the last five years, but it’s as if there was no Keegan before we met you a BHU.”
That’s truer than you realize. I prop my arms on the railing and lean forward as I look out at the rolling waves beyond. “I’m not proud of my past. I don’t talk about it because I don’t want it to infect my life.”
“But, just to be clear here, your past included Emma Rothschild, a.k.a. Emily Zimmerman?”
I rub the back of my neck. “We met the summer before I started college. It didn’t end well.”
“Bailey kept asking if I thought she looked familiar. I didn’t understand why she was so hung up on it, but now I’m guessing she knew, or at least suspected. Last weekend…you didn’t know Em was engaged, did you?”
I shake my head. “I’ve intentionally avoided any news about her, and she failed to mention it when we were catching up.” Who the fuck only brings one friend to her bachelorette party? What kind of party is that? It’s not like Emma’s family couldn’t afford to fly her whole graduating class down to party with her if that’s what she wanted. And what kind of friend tries to get her soon-to-be-married travel companion to hook up with an old flame? None of it makes any sense.
“She didn’t think to tell you even when she was taking you to up to her room?” Mason says. When I turn to him, he’s shaking his head. “That’s fucked up.”
“It’s no more than I deserve,” I mutter, and if Mason wants to know what I mean by that, he doesn’t ask.
He claps a hand on my back. “Forgive yourself for the shit that happened when you were a kid. Those of us who know you now know the real you. The person you are now is all that matters.”
I swallow hard. “I hope you’re right.” I listen to the scrape of the sliding door as he goes back inside.
I remain on the balcony, staring out at the sun setting over the gulf until after Mason says goodbye and Olivia comes out to tell me that she put Jazzy in bed and is leaving for the night.
When they’re both gone, I go to my bedroom and pull open the top drawer of my dresser. I shift aside stacks of underwear and piles of folded socks to uncover the single sheet of folded notebook paper tucked away there. The paper is worn and tattered from years ago when I unfolded it and reread it countless times.
Keegan,
I’m so sorry. I just can’t do this anymore. We come from different worlds, and I belong here, not in Indiana. I wanted to believe I could leave with you, but I can’t, and I can’t let you stay to be with me. It guts me to think this news will hurt you, because you deserve better than some fickle girl who’s been careless with your heart.
Please know this: As much as I want you for myself, I want more for you to be happy. Do that for me.
All my love,
Emma
Old hurt flares in my chest every time I read the letter, a sharp, lingering pain that makes it hard to breathe. I refold the letter and slide it into my pocket before digging deeper in the drawer for the velvet box I keep back there. I feel along the back of the dark drawer and find nothing.
“What the fuck?” I yank the drawer out of my dresser and dump the contents on the bed. I sift through them, my heart racing faster and faster with every passing second. Did I put it somewhere else? Did my father get to it somehow? But he didn’t know I had it. How would he have even known to look? I tear apart my room looking for it, but I can’t find it anywhere.
Emma’s sapphire necklace is gone.
Chapter Seventeen
Emma
“There’s the happy couple,” my mom says as she opens the door for me and Zach.
Zachary wraps his arm around my waist and squeezes. A warning or true affection? Tonight, it might be a little of both.
I force a smile for Mom’s benefit then follow her into the house.
“How was Vegas?” Mom asks. She stops suddenly and spins on us. “You didn’t elope while you were there, did you?”
My stomach rolls. No, we didn’t elope. And judging by the way Zach has been looking at me since I told him I spent a night with Keegan, he might be having second thoughts about our whole arrangement.
“It was tempting,” Zach says. “I want to be married to your daughter yesterday, but you know that already.”
Mom beams. “Not long now.” Turning away, she leads us to the formal dining room. The table is set for three, and a maid stands at the ready by the bar.
“Will Mr. Evans be joining us tonight?” Zach asks. The arm he’s had slung around my shoulders squeezes me tighter as he asks the question, as if he knows I’ll need him to help me stand at the mention of my stepfather.
“Please, call him Harry.” Mom shakes her head. “He won’t be in town until the wedding, but I promise he wouldn’t miss it.” She purses her lips and gives me a hard look when she adds, “He only wants the best for Emma.”
My stomach cramps as I meet Mom’s gaze. Since what happened with Harry five years ago, my relationship with my mother has never been the same. I still think she blames me for most of it. For a while, I blamed myself too. Even with Mom’s disapproval pointed in my direction, I relax a little with the reassurance that he won’t be here, that I won’t have to look him in the eye or feel Mom watching me like she’s convinced I might try to seduce him if she turns her back.
Mom claps her hands together and pastes on that fake smile that’s served her so well on screen. Nobody can see through her but me. “Dinner will be served in about thirty minutes.” She grins, always comfortable as the hostess. “Who’d like a drink?”
My stomach roils at the mention of alcohol, and I shake my head. “I’ll just have some sparkling water.”
She turns to the bar and shoos the maid away, preparing my drink herself. She sent me pictures of this place online. It’s this grand Savannah mansion that she’s rented out for the week before and after my wedding. She said there’s too much for the mother of the bride to do for her to not be in town, and if she’s going to have out-of-town guests, she needs a place to welcome them. So here we are, in Mom’s fake Southern home with her fake Southern hospitality, preparing for my very real wedding and very fake
marriage.
“Excuse me for a minute,” Mom says. “I need to pop in the kitchen and see how the cook’s coming along.”
Zachary watches her go before turning to me. “She makes me want to take up alcoholism,” he mutters. “I’m not sure how you’re going to get through tonight without a little liquid courage.”
I laugh. “I think I had enough alcohol in Vegas to last me a lifetime.”
He lifts his chin and studies me. “Has he contacted you?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think he wants to talk to me ever again.”
“And here I stand wondering how differently this week might end if he knew the truth about you and me.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Are you sure you want to do this? Because Emma…”
I put my hand on his arm and squeeze. “I made you a promise. You can trust me.”
Zach presses a kiss to the top of my head just as the doors swing open, and my mother rushes in behind a servant with a tray full of food.
“Oh!” my mom squeaks. “We didn’t mean to interrupt a romantic moment.”
“You didn’t interrupt anything,” I assure her with a smile.
“We can’t leave them alone too long,” Mom says to the woman holding the tray. “I’m sure they’re getting anxious for Saturday night.”
I grimace. Does she plan to pretend I’m a virgin even though she knows damn well I’m not? I ignore her. “Come on, let’s eat,” I say, offering my hand to Zachary. He takes it, and the warmth of his touch is the reassurance I need. I just have to get Keegan out of my head. This will be enough again. It has to be.
* * *
Keegan
Five Years Ago…
She lifts her arms over her head and sways her hips as she tilts her face to the sky. The setting sun paints the horizon in yellows, pinks, and oranges that look like something off a painting in one of the Laguna art galleries. Is this really my life?
I step forward and take the glass from her hand before setting it on the table and pulling her back into the house. I don’t want her intoxicated tonight.
She smiles at me. “I swear I’m not drunk.”
“I know,” I say. “I want to keep it that way.” My gaze drops to her mouth—her pink lips, her wide smile—and my blood pumps harder and hotter because I want her.
She locks her eyes with mine and slides her hands up the back of my neck and into my hair. She lifts onto her toes and presses her mouth to mine. The first few times she kissed me, her movements were soft and hesitant, almost as if she was waiting for instructions, but she’s grown bolder over the last two weeks and now she kisses me like she knows I want her. She kisses me like she knows the taste of her on my lips will make me hungry for more, like she relishes that power.
“What do you have against a little wine?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Nothing.” Reaching behind her, I find the clasp to the zipper at the top of her dress. Slowly, I slide it down her back until her dress opens and hangs loose on her shoulders. Her breath catches and she steps back, holding the unzipped dress to her chest and looking at me like she’s asking a question.
All I can do is meet her eyes and nod. It’s a silent message. I want this. I want you.
She drops her arms to her sides and lets the dress fall to the floor.
I hold my breath. She’s so beautiful I’m afraid she might disappear, that this moment might fade away like a passing dream. Her breasts are cradled in a pink lace bra and matching panties that are just a shade darker than her pale skin. I have to consciously think about dragging my breath in and letting it out.
“It does something to me when you look at me like that,” she says.
“Something good, I hope.”
She lifts a shaking hand.
“You do something to me too.” I step forward and trail kisses down her neck and across her collarbone. I skim my lips over the swell of each breast, and through everything, she watches me with hooded eyes.
Soon, I’ll say goodbye. I’ll end this before it can go down the path I started. But tonight we’re just two people who want each other. I’ll let her go soon because she deserves better than me, and because I don’t know how to be good enough for her. Tonight, I’ll take this moment, unwrap it like a gift and savor every second.
“I’m so nervous,” she whispers.
“That makes two of us,” I say against her soft skin.
“Why would you be nervous?”
“Because I’m not good enough for you.” It sounds like one of those ridiculous things guys say when they don’t know how else to make a girl feel special, but for me it’s just the simple truth. And yet I’m grateful I don’t have the words to explain, because if she knew who I really was, she’d run, and right now I need her. In my arms. Under my hands. The taste of her skin on my tongue. “I should walk away, but I want you too much.” I swallow hard as I meet her eyes. “I want to be worthy of this.”
She trails her fingertips along my jaw and whispers, “Ditto,” and my chest feels so tight that the only thing I can do is kiss her long and hard and with all the desperation I feel.
I trail my knuckles over her belly and down between her legs, and she gasps. I love the sounds she makes and the way she arches into my touch like she craves it. I can feel her wet heat through the lace of her panties, and I want to kiss her there. I want to stroke her and make her come apart like she never has before.
I turn my hand, cupping her between her legs as we lock eyes. Sweeping her hair to the side, I press my mouth against her neck, kissing my way up it and to her ear. “Let me make love to you tonight.” I slide a finger under the lace of her panties and inside her, and she gasps, and I don’t know if it’s from my words or from this touch.
“Keegan,” she whispers, her hands tightening in my hair, her body squeezing around my single finger inside her. She tilts her head to the side, and I suck at her neck until she moans and writhes against my hand, my palm rubbing her clit.
I planned to take this slow, but now all I want is to get her off and feel her come around my cock. Her hands are frantic as she unbuttons my shirt and peels it from my arms, and mine are greedy as I unclasp her bra and yank her panties from her hips.
Soon we’re both naked in the center of her living room, and I need her so much that my hands are shaking.
“Come on,” she says, grabbing my hand and tugging me toward the bedroom. I follow, helplessly and desperately, and she lays herself out on the bed, one arm behind her head, one leg bent at the knee. She cocks her finger for me to follow, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful as Emma Rothschild naked and inviting me into her bed.
Chapter Eighteen
Emma
We’re getting married in Zachary’s home church. He grew up coming here, and the congregation did all they could to support him in his run for the Senate. The space is beautiful, and when he suggested months ago that we do it here, I instantly agreed. I didn’t want to get married in Los Angeles because it doesn’t feel like home to me. But this space, with its arching stained glass windows and warm wood pews, seemed like it would be the perfect place to marry my best friend.
It’s not decorated yet, but tomorrow there will be bushels of blue hydrangeas attached to the end of each pew and sweeping swaths of fine tulle draped along the center aisle. The pews will be filled with guests, most of whom I’ve only met once or twice and few of whom I’d call friends. We’ll say our vows and be through step one in our master plan.
I walk down the aisle for the rehearsal and keep my gaze focused on Zach to avoid my mother’s teary eyes. I’m not sure what makes her happier—my impending marriage to a good man, or the public spectacle of it all.
If I’d stayed with Keegan after our summer together, if I hadn’t let the whole ordeal with Harry tear us apart, would I be marrying Keegan tomorrow? It’s the question my mind circles back to as I do my practice march down the aisle. If we’d been madly in love for five years and he put a ring on my finge
r and told me he wanted me to be his wife, I’d be looking forward to a future of passion, of babies I could grow in my belly.
I reach the front of the aisle, and tears well in my eyes as I take a deep breath. Companionship and adoption are more than enough. My relationship with Zachary is stronger than a lot of the husbands and wives I know. Sex is overrated.
I believed those things a week ago.
The preacher goes through the motions, letting us know what to expect and what we’ll do at each turn in the ceremony. When he says, “And then I’ll ask you to kiss the bride,” my mom calls out, “You’d better practice, Zachary!”
Zachary flashes her that charming grin before cocking an eyebrow at me. I smile my permission and tilt my face toward his. He carefully cups my face in his hands and lowers his lips to mine. He knows better than to give a chaste peck in front of this audience. He opens his lips softly over mine, brushing against first my top then bottom lip before pulling away.
It’s the kind of kiss that plays great on TV because it’s tender, sweet, and sexy all at once. I told him once that my very favorite thing was to have a guy hold my face like this. He called it cupping, and I told him I didn’t care what it was called, only knew that it made me melt and made my insides go gooey as lips brushed against mine. He knew then that I didn’t really mean any guy. I meant Keegan. Just as he knows now that when he holds me like this, when it’s his mouth on mine, I feel nothing. There’s no melting or fluttering stir low in my belly, no ache for more. I feel nothing but the tender affection for a friend I worry I may have let down.
My mom cheers and so does his, but when he breaks the kiss, I see a face over his shoulder that isn’t cheering at all, not even faking a smile. When my eyes lock with the best man’s, Charlie gives me a sad little nod, and my heart tugs.
I’m not the only one making compromises for this marriage. We all are.
