Mara’s gaze narrows where it’s fixed on mine. “Oh, so I’m being paid to be a baby incubator, is that it?” When she speaks, it’s not directed at my mother anymore, but right at me. “Forget it. The last thing I need is to be some kind of kept woman.” She shoves away from my mother, straight through the gaggle of cousins.
Away from me.
I flash one last glare at my mother, who spreads her hands wide, an innocent look on her face, like she doesn’t know what she just did. “Thank you for that,” I mutter, and then I beeline after Mara.
Forget the rest of them. They don’t matter. Only she does.
People are whispering now, pointing. Most are thankfully too distracted eating and drinking their fill. Wringing every last drop of free anything they can from this party.
Screw them all.
This was a mistake, whispers that little voice ins my head, louder now, more insistent. I try to ignore it, scanning the party for Mara. But she’s not in the living room or the dining room anymore. The gift table sits ignored, the presents unopened.
I finally find her in the backyard. There’s a big tree, one of the few that survived the droughts, with a patch of scrub grass under it. Mara’s sitting cross-legged there, facing away from the house, face buried in both hands.
I step up behind her, hesitate for a second, and then kneel next to her. “I’m sorry,” I say.
“How could you do this to me?” She looks up at me, her jaw clenched, wiping harder at the tears that keep falling.
“I didn’t know she would lay into you like that,” I murmur. “I knew my mother wanted me to have kids, but… I didn’t think she’d be this insane about it.”
Mara’s throat works with a tight swallow. “You can’t just drop shit like this on me without warning, John. Your parents honestly think I’m some kind of—”
“Fuck what they think,” I interrupt. “You and I both know why we got married. It doesn’t matter what anyone else expects from this marriage. Only what we do.”
“Yeah?” Mara lifts her face, jaw set tightly. “Well, after this, I’m starting to think I want that annulment.”
My stomach sinks. My eyebrows shoot upward. “Mara—”
“No. You keep insisting this is a real marriage, or at least that you want it to be. But no real marriage would have situations like this.” She flings a hand behind her, toward the house. “In a real marriage, you’d communicate with me. You’d have told me about your family. Hell, in a real marriage, I’d have had a few years to get used to your baby-crazy parents before I had to meet them for the first time, with them acting like I’m some gold-digger you married off the street.”
“Do not call yourself that,” I reply, the words harsher than I mean them.
She shoves to her feet. “Why not? It’s what everyone thinks, isn’t it? That, or they think you knocked me up and we got married in some kind of shotgun wedding.” She tugs at the ring on her left finger. “What’s everyone going to think when this gets out into the media?” She gestures at the house. “You really think every single person in there is going to keep your new marriage a secret?”
“They know better than to discuss my business with paparazzi—”
“So you think.” She shakes her head, scowling. “This was a bad idea. All of it. I should have gotten this marriage annulled the moment I woke up in Vegas. Pretending we had any other options, that was a mistake.”
“Mara, don’t just give up on this.”
“Give up on what? We’ve known each other for a couple of weeks. You’ll be over me in no time.” She sets her jaw hard.
I stand next to her, reach for her. But she pulls away. “I’m not giving up on you,” I say.
“You should,” she replies. “Clearly I’m not the right woman for you. You should marry someone who wants kids and a family, the white picket fence life.”
“Why? I don’t want that,” I reply.
“You don’t want kids?” She raises an eyebrow, doubt written all over her face.
“I do someday, but not right now, not if it will stand in the way of your career—of either of our careers.”
But she’s shaking her head, already reaching into a hidden pocket of her dress to produce her phone. “Find yourself another baby mama, John, because it’s not me.” She taps on the screen. “I’m taking an Uber home.”
“Let me drive you.” But she’s already walking away.
“Don’t follow me,” she says, as if she’s reading my mind. Because that’s exactly what I want to do. Chase her until she sees that this is the wrong move. Make her understand. We belong together.
She stops and turns to me, and I hold my breath because I think maybe she’s changed her mind. “If you value me at all, John, give me space right now,” she says.
Hope dashed, but what can I do?
I stand there, fists balled at my sides, and watch her walk away. Just like she asked. Even if it’s the last thing in the world I want to do.
10
Mara
Called it, I think miserably, rolling over in bed, the article open on my phone screen. Lea texted it to me first thing this morning. It’s all over the gossip rags. Big splashy headlines about John Walloway’s mysterious new wife.
There’s even a photo. Grainy, taken at a distance, of me and John underneath the tree in his parents’ backyard. It’s far enough away that you can’t tell that we’re arguing with our heads bent together.
But you can tell it’s me, if you’ve met me. There’s no way everyone at work won’t see this and know who I’m married to now. Know about John and me, everything.
God damn it. I knew someone in that shady family of his would spill this secret.
I shut my eyes, and behind my eyelids, all I can see is his mother’s face again. That deceptively sweet smile on her face, as she says All that money and privilege doesn’t come free, dear. My stomach churns. He keeps you well, doesn’t he?
Fuck that. Fuck being a kept woman. Fuck whatever everyone at work will think too—probably that I slept my way into the job, or that John only hired me because he wanted to marry me.
I roll back over in bed with another groan. But sleep is going to be impossible now. So I roll out of bed and get dressed, even though it’s going to make me almost an hour early for work. But better that than just lying here staring at my ceiling. Better to get my hands dirty, to keep them occupied in something, anything, other than wallowing.
When I get to the office, it’s empty. Which suits me just fine. I swipe into the work room and get down to business, putting together the display we’d talked about on the way to John’s disastrous family party yesterday. If nothing else, at least his creative ideas are good. Talking to him about work always inspires me. Pushes my ideas to new limits, and makes me come up with newer, more creative suggestions than I ever would have thought of on my own.
If only working together were our only concern.
I bend over the power tools, letting the drilling sound drown out any other thoughts. I try to force regret and fear from my mind. I try not to think about those stupid gossip articles, and what it’s going to mean for my life now that I’m married to the most eligible bachelor in LA, and especially in my industry.
For some reason, it doesn’t help as much as I think it will, this burying myself in work thing. But it at least distracts me for a minute.
Then the hour is up, and the rest of my coworkers start flooding into the office, and any illusion of distraction or safety I might have built up for myself falls away.
Daniel’s the first one through the doors. The look he shoots me tells me immediately that he knows. His brow is furrowed, and when I call out a hello, he just nods, not saying anything, barely even really acknowledging me. He looks embarrassed, but he slides past me and heads to his own machine.
My stomach clenches. If even Daniel is going to judge me for this…
It’s a slow processing of that. One by one, my employees file in, and when I give them assignments or ask them
about what they’re planning to work on today, they just mumble one word answers and avoid eye contact, whereas before they were all eager to talk to me and exchange ideas.
Only Bianca is different.
She flounces in with two cups of coffee, just like every morning, and brings me mine, prepared just the way I like it. Before I can say a word, she reaches out to squeeze my shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she says. “People will get used to this in time. Just give them a minute to adjust.”
It feels like a stone dropped into the pit of my stomach. “You heard,” I say. It’s not a question.
She grimaces in sympathy. “I’m pretty sure everyone has google alerts set to the boss’s name, so yeah. We’ve all heard.” Her gaze drifts toward the ring on my finger.
I’d forgotten I was still wearing it, until just this moment. It had become so second nature, an extension of my hand, but now my finger itches, and I fight the urge to tear it off me. I swallow hard and settle for twisting it around so the diamond faces my palm instead. Less obvious, or at least so it feels. “It’s not what it looks like,” I say. But how can I explain? I didn’t know who he was when I eloped with him? That makes it sound even worse than marrying your boss, sleeping your way into a job.
“I don’t blame you if it is,” Bianca says softly, her voice low enough that none of the rest of our coworkers will be able to hear her. “This industry is near impossible to get a leg up in. It’s smart to use every advantage you can to get ahead. I’d never blame a woman for using every weapon at her disposal.”
Advantage. Weapon. Like this is all some kind of war or game that I’m fighting. Not just a drunken night out, a stupid mistake that I should have corrected a long time ago. “I didn’t marry him for the job,” I say, truthfully. “He hired me long before there was anything between us. Honestly, if I’d known how all this looked, I never would have married him in the first place,” I add in a lower voice.
Bianca’s forehead puckers with concern. “You regret it?”
“I regret how it looks,” I respond. “Everyone thinks I slept my way into this job, don’t they? They’ll never respect me. Not the way they used to. Or were starting to, anyway.”
“Well…” Bianca bites her lower lip, looking thoughtful. “You could fix that.”
“How?” I ask, shaking my head. “The damage is done.”
“Not necessarily…” Bianca studies me. Then she shakes her head. “But I shouldn’t interfere—”
“Please,” I interrupt. “Any tips are appreciated.”
“Well.” She surveys the room again. I follow her gaze and know exactly what she’s seeing. All our coworkers—people who up until yesterday respected me. Viewed me as a leader, someone whose ideas and orders they respected. “You could always end the marriage. I mean, if you regret it, and if you’re already thinking about how much it’s changed…”
I wince. “Honestly? I’ve thought about it. I could annul it, if I act within the next week. There’s still time.”
“Well, John has experience there, he probably wouldn’t care.” Bianca purses her lips.
I blink in surprise. “What do you mean?”
She lifts an eyebrow at me, confused. “What, you never even googled your husband?”
Belatedly, I remember the article Lea showed me. His ex. But… “He got married before?” I ask. I thought that girl was only his fiancée.
“Does it count, if you annul it straight after?” Bianca shrugs, her gaze dropping to my ring finger again. “Just a thought.”
Just the same thought I’ve been wrestling with, ever since I woke up in John’s bed with this ring on my finger. And yet I still haven’t walked away. Why?
Because I’m too naïve. Just like John’s mother said. A little part of me, a part I’m embarrassed to even admit to, kept expecting this to turn into something more. To maybe become real, the way John claims to have wanted all along.
But it was never real. None of it. And to make matters worse, he’s done it before. That girl Lea showed me, his ex, she was more than just his fiancée, if Bianca is to be believed—and to be honest, I trust her information on my husband more than I trust my own. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should have obsessively googled him. Maybe it would have given me more of a warning what this marriage would be like. And what I was getting myself into.
Or at least a warning about the fact that I’m not the first girl he’s played this game with.
Fuck this.
I shove away from my desk without another word to Bianca. She watches me go, her eyebrows raised, worry and surprise warring on her face.
But she’s right. Lea was right too. Everyone sees this situation clearly. Everyone except me.
John is a player, and I’m done with his games.
I track through the office, and ignore the eyes trailing after me. All of my nosy colleagues are peering after me, probably trying to guess what’s going on with me, or wondering why I’m headed toward John’s office. I don’t care. Our secret is out now, so let them whisper. Let them think I’m headed in there to hook up with him. I don’t give a damn about my reputation anymore.
Besides, for once, that’s not the truth. I’m on an entirely different mission this time.
I fling open his door, only to find him with the phone raised to one ear, clearly in the middle of a call. But he locks eyes with me, taking me in in one look, in that way only he can do, a way that pierces me to the core, makes me feel seen all the way through. It’s a lie, I tell myself. All of this has been a lie.
“I’ll call you back,” he says into the phone and hangs up without another word. “Mara.” His eyes on mine are almost enough to make me crack.
But I ball my fists and stand my ground. “This is a game to you, isn’t it?”
A crease appears between his eyebrows. “If you’re talking about the news articles, I assure you, I tried to stop them. You were right, someone at the party must have taken our photo—”
“Do you even care how this makes me look?”
“Of course I care.” He stands and crosses around his desk, reaching for me.
But I twist out of his reach. “I’m a laughing stock. Everyone here thinks I slept with you to get my job, married my way into it.”
“Who cares what other people think?” He shakes his head.
“I do. I care if my coworkers respect me. I care about my career and being with you has done nothing but jeopardize that at every turn. Ironically, since everyone seems to think it improved it,” I add with a scowl.
He reaches for me again, and again I twist away. “Mara, I’m sorry. I know you’re still mad about what happened this weekend, and you have every right to be.
“Is this what you did last time?” I ask, and now his expression shifts, from concern to confusion. I shake my head, not falling for it. “I know you’ve done all this before. Marriage, annulments.” I grab the ring on my finger and tug at it. “I bet you thrive off the drama, don’t you?”
“That’s not it. Let me explain.”
“Oh, so now you want to tell me everything? Where was this before, when you should’ve been letting me know what the hell I was getting into?” With an effort, I manage to wrench the ring free. Then I gasp in pain, glancing down to find a long, angry red scrape along my finger. Dammit. It must have been swollen from the gloves I was wearing in the workshop earlier this morning. My ring finger throbs, and a streak of blood appears where I scraped the skin raw.
“Stop.” John’s hand closes over mine. I try to pull away, but he holds on, reaching with his free hand to his desk and pulling out a tissue. He cleans away the blood, and I grit my teeth at the way it stings, my eyes focused on the floor, the ceiling. Anywhere but on his face, and his worried expression.
When he’s finished cleaning away the blood, I thrust the ring at him, shoving it against his chest. He reaches up to take it and our fingertips brush. Even now, despite everything, it sends a thrill through me. A shiver that reaches from the nape of my neck all
the way down to my toes.
I ignore it.
But as I’m turning to leave, John clears his throat. “This isn’t my first marriage, no.”
I glance up at him, but his gaze is on the floor, far away. Despite myself, I remain standing where I am. A little part of me—okay, a big part of me—wants to hear this. I want to give him the chance to explain what he should have told me from the start.
“Her name was Heather. We’d been dating for almost a year. I trusted her, liked her. Maybe even loved her, I don’t know. I thought I did at the time, but now, looking back, it was all superficial.” He shakes his head. “She just seemed so in sync with me. Seemed to like all the same things I did, wanted to do all the same things. But it was an act.” His jaw hardens. “All she really wanted was my money. She convinced me to marry her. Elope. Small ceremony, not even our families there. That should have been my first clue. Not even three days later, I caught her opening a new bank account in both of our names. Trying to transfer huge amounts of my savings to her own accounts.”
I wince.
“I found out. And I was able to annul the marriage in time. Of course, she responded by going straight to the tabloids with a tell-all sob story about how I cheated on her and broke her heart.” He rolls his eyes. “I hope they paid her well for it. It’s the last time her name is going to be relevant anywhere.”
“How long ago was this?” I murmur.
“Six months.” He shrugs. “Long enough to be old news. I didn’t think it was worth dredging up again. Especially not when all I want to do is forget about that period of my life. My own parents were furious—they thought I should have stayed with Heather, despite everything she did. They think marriage is for life. But I couldn’t stay with someone like that, someone who was only in this for the money. I never wanted to make that mistake again.”
I arch an eyebrow, eyes narrowing. “So why did you run away with a complete stranger, then? If you didn’t want to make the same mistake twice.”
“Are you kidding?” His eyebrows shoot higher. “You’re the exact opposite of her, Mara. You’re everything I never even knew I could find in one woman. You don’t care about money; you care about your career, about doing a job right, about all the things a person ought to put first in life. I admire your fire, your creativity, your passion…” He takes a step closer to me, and this time, I can’t bring myself to move away from him.
Overnight Wife Page 10
