by Ryan, Lexi
“Yeah, you and me both.” She squeaks, her eyes back on the paper. “This is a mess.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” Standing, I open the box from Aunt Lori and unwrap a pile of breakfast cookies. Back when Lori worked for the Knoxes, she’d sometimes bake these for the girls, and they were always Brinley’s favorite. When I told my aunt I was coming to Orchid Valley for a visit, she insisted on sending cookies for Brinley. I pluck a napkin from the box and pile three cookies on it before sliding it across the desk. “You look exhausted. These might help.”
“Of course I look exhausted,” she mutters. “I didn’t sleep.”
“Up late talking to the fiancé about your marital conundrum?” I know venom drips off the word fiancé, but I don’t care. She’s my wife.
“No.” She shakes her head, sighs, then reaches for her latte. She pops the lid off, smells it, then whimpers. “That’s sugar.”
“Butterscotch. Your favorite.”
She worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “Since I didn’t drink butterscotch lattes in high school, I’m guessing this is something I told you in Vegas?”
It shouldn’t hurt that she doesn’t remember. It’s not as if she intentionally forgot. Nevertheless, my stomach muscles contract at the blow, and I have to clear my throat before I can talk. “After we left the chapel, the sun was rising, and I took you to breakfast. You asked the server if she could make you a butterscotch latte. You said it was your favorite because it reminded you of when you were little and your mom would sneak you butterscotch candies to keep you quiet when your dad was on an important phone call.”
She scoops foam onto her index finger and brings it to her mouth, moaning softly as she sucks it off.
I can’t take my eyes off her. “Are you trying to turn me on because you want me to fuck you against that desk or because you want to torture me?”
A blush crawls up her neck and across her cheeks. “You can’t talk to me like that anymore.”
I circle the desk, take her hand, and pull her out of her chair. She stands and sways toward me. “Ah, but I can. And you know it.” I tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You liked me talking to you like that.”
“Marston . . .” My name is a plea on her lips, and it twists my gut.
“I’ll stop.” Her eyes lift to meet mine, and I wait a beat, holding her gaze. “But only if you want me to. Not because you think I should.”
“What’s the difference?”
“You,” I whisper. “The difference is what you truly want versus what you think you should want.”
She turns away and steps toward the big window at the far wall of her office that overlooks Lake Blackledge. “I can’t think straight when you stand that close.”
I don’t smile at this. There’s no victory in anything that has her pulling away. “You said you weren’t up late talking to your fiancé. Does that mean he took the news about our marriage well?”
She shoots a look at me over her shoulder. “We don’t have a marriage. We have a piece of paper.”
I grit my teeth. “And what did Julian think about your piece of paper?”
“I haven’t told him yet.”
I’m torn between offering to pick up the phone and deliver the news myself and doing a little fist pump. At the bar, she pretended our vows meant nothing to her, that it was little more than a pesky technicality she was going to have to pay a lawyer to deal with. But this . . . If she didn’t tell Julian yet, could it be she’s still trying to decide what to do? “He deserves to know sooner rather than later.”
“Yeah, I can’t imagine what it must be like to have something like that kept from you.” She treats me to another over-the-shoulder frown before giving me her back again. “I’ll tell him.”
“Does he make you happy? Will a life with him be a dream come true?”
She squeezes her temples. “In some ways, yes.”
I didn’t realize I was standing on a cliff until she shoved me over the edge with those words. It’s going to take more than that to get me to give up. “But in other ways . . .?”
She finally turns around and leans against the window. “What do you want from me, Marston?” Her eyes are so sad. I see more than exhaustion there. I see loneliness—and why the hell is she marrying this guy if he leaves her feeling like that?
“Why did you leave that morning? In Vegas?”
“I told you. I didn’t know we’d gotten married. I saw the ring and thought we were engaged.”
I flinch and shake my head. “What made you decide to disregard that decision? What made you walk out the door without saying goodbye?”
She opens her mouth, but before she can manage a response, her eyes well with tears and a sob bursts from her lips.
“Fuck. I’m sorry.” Pulling her into my arms is instinctive. It’s not a choice but a need, like taking my next breath. The sight of her tears wrecks me, but feeling like I’m the cause breaks my heart.
Her sobs are quiet. Her whole body shakes against mine, and my shirt goes damp with tears. I hold her through them like I always did. I hold her until the shaking subsides and her breathing evens out. I hold her until she pulls away, and when she does, I feel the loss in my chest.
“What do we do now? Do we need lawyers, or can we just find a judge and explain this was all a mistake?”
I wonder if she knows how much that word hurts. Mistake. I cup her jaw in one hand and tilt her face up to mine. How can she be even more beautiful to me? We’ve only been apart six months this time, but her blue eyes are more vivid than I remember, her lips fuller. “There was no mistake. You might not remember our wedding, but you wanted to do it. We’re meant to be together, Brinley, and I’m here to remind you of that.”
Typically, I pride myself on thinking through every action and reaction, but there’s none of that with Brinley. Only instinct and impulse and need. I don’t think as I lower my mouth to hers again. I don’t question my next move or how a kiss right now will work for or against me.
My lips touch hers, and the only reason I don’t kiss her longer and deeper, the only reason I end it before pouring all of my heartache into the kiss, is because she’s shaking.
She brings her fingers to her lips. “You can’t just kiss me, Marston. I’m marrying someone else.”
I lift her left hand, studying the ring again. I want to pull Julian’s off and replace it with mine. But I won’t. That’s a decision she needs to make. And I won’t slide mine on next to his, because that’s not the way this works. Every decision needs to be hers—taking off his ring, putting on mine. So I pull the ring we picked out together from my pocket and tuck it into the palm of her hand, closing her fingers around it. “The night we met, I told you that if you were ever mine, I wouldn’t let you go without a fight. I meant it. Nothing’s changed.”
“You didn’t even know me when you made that promise.”
I tuck an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “Sometimes I think I knew you better after five minutes than anyone at that party did. You were . . .” I shake my head, looking for the word.
“A spoiled little rich girl.”
I bring her fist—the one holding my ring—up to my chest. “My heart.”
She squeezes her eyes shut and draws in a ragged breath. “This is such a mess.” She laughs, but fresh tears well in her eyes, and I know if I don’t give her some space, she might break.
“You need some time to process.”
She nods. “I . . . As much as I might want to, I know we can’t just push this under the rug. We have to deal with it, but I . . .”
“I should’ve called you sooner.” I brush her tears away with my thumbs. If I’d come after her, she wouldn’t have had a chance to get engaged to Julian. To fall in love. “I should’ve come after you the moment I read that note.” I push my luck and brush a kiss across her forehead before dropping my hands and backing away.
I’m one step into the hallway before she speaks again.
“W
hy didn’t you?”
When I turn, I see she’s followed me to the door. She’s leaning on the jamb, arms crossed, and she looks so damn beautiful that I can’t speak for a moment. “You left me that letter and walked away. I thought if I contacted you, then you’d get the ball rolling on ending it. I wasn’t willing to lose you completely. Even if all I had left was a piece of paper.”
Chapter Three
Brinley
“Was that Marston?”
At the sound of Savannah’s voice, I tear my eyes off Marston’s retreating form. “Hey, Savvy.”
My friend looks over her shoulder at Marston’s back until he pushes through the door to the lobby and disappears. “What’s he doing here?”
I return to my desk, trying to figure out how to answer that question. She follows me, eyes narrowed as I collapse into my chair.
Do I want to tell her? Yes. Do I want to keep the situation with Marston a secret from everyone—especially friends who might be delighted by my current marital status? Also yes.
“What’s this?” She snags the marriage certificate from my desk, and her eyes go wide as she scans it. “Well, fuck me silly. It wasn’t just an engagement ring.” She grins up at me. “That dirty dog got you drunk and married you. My belated congratulations.”
I lean my head back. “Savvy, this is not a cause for celebration.”
She glances over her shoulder toward the door. “Shouldn’t you two be hashing this out?”
I shake my head. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Looks like y’all need a whole lot of talking,” Savvy says, waving the marriage certificate. “Like, a whole lot.”
I snatch it back from her and shove it into a desk drawer. “I didn’t ask you.” She’s trying to hide her smile behind her hand. “Woman, my life just imploded. You are not allowed to take pleasure in this.”
Dropping her hand, she takes a deep breath. “I’m not. I’m sorry. My knee-jerk reaction to any difficult situation is to make light of it. I’m a bitch, and I’m sorry. Tell me what you want to do. We can talk this out, or we can play hooky and go do some serious day drinking. It’s your call.”
I fold my arms. “Can you go back to being a callous bitch? Being annoyed with you was a nice distraction from my problems.”
“And would you say your biggest problem is being engaged to Julian, or being married to Marston?” I scowl, and she throws up her hands. “I’ll behave. We only talk if you want to.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I say. “I’m marrying Julian. This thing with Marston is just . . . It’s . . .”
She arches a perfectly shaped blond brow. “Just the perfect way out of a bad decision?”
“Stop that.”
“You know I haven’t been a fan of this marriage-of-convenience plan of yours from the start. I’m not going to rewrite history and pretend I ever liked it. Marriages need love.”
“I love Julian,” I snap, a tad too defensive, since I screwed that one up already last night.
She scoffs. “They need passion.”
“Julian and I have passion.”
“He was your convenient fuck for six years. Your booty call. Your friend who scratched an itch. That’s not passion. Passion is you and Marston in Vegas. It’s the look in your eyes just now when you watched him walk away. It’s hot, and it’s full of vivacity, and you deserve it.”
“I’m a mother and a workaholic. The passion you describe only works on wild weekends in Vegas or for single twenty-somethings without baggage. I don’t have the energy for that.”
She frowns and stares at my hand. “What are you holding so tightly?” She takes my hand, and I open it, revealing the ring Marston just gave back to me. “Oh, Brinley.”
“What?”
“Girl, that guy is mad over you. He came here to claim his woman but calmly walked away so you could think about it. Even if you don’t have the energy for that, don’t you think it’d be worth it to find some?”
I swallow. “That’s not the life I want, Savvy.” I hate the disappointment in her eyes, but I understand it.
She nods. “Okay, girl. Whatever you want, you know I’m behind you.”
* * *
With rare exception, I never take a lunch break, but today I give myself thirty minutes to run home. I should use the time to eat something healthy and trainer-approved, or to do any one of the dozens of real-life tasks that always seem to get pushed aside, but emotional exhaustion hangs on me like two hundred pounds strapped to my back, so I collapse on the couch and close my eyes.
I’m used to an empty house in the middle of the day, but when I hear the sound of heavy steps coming into the living room, I know Julian’s here. He doesn’t live in my condo with Cami and me—I insisted we wait until after the wedding—but he owns the building and is the only reason Cami and I can afford to live here.
His smile is as warm as his hazel eyes when he steps into the room. “Hey, beautiful.” He’s a sight to behold in pressed slacks, a dress shirt, and tie, his sandy-blond hair artfully tousled, but I’m too tired to fully appreciate how good-looking my fiancé is.
I sit up and rub my eyes. “Hey, babe. What are you doing here?” I try to force a little enthusiasm into my voice, but judging by his confused smile, I’m not all that successful.
“I stopped by The Orchid to see you, and they said you went home. Are you okay?” He takes me by the hands and pulls me off the couch, wrapping me into a big hug, and some of my tension melts away. Julian is warm and always smells like his clothes just came out of the wash. Back in his arms again, it’s easier to remember why we’re doing this. We’re good together. Stable. Solid. We can make a good life together.
“I’m fine,” I say, closing my eyes. “Just tired.”
He pulls back and tilts my face toward his with one big hand. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Brinley.”
I try to swallow, but gratitude and guilt make a logjam in my throat. “Between wedding planning, long hours at work, and family stuff, I can’t keep my head above water these days.”
He strokes his hands down my arms, a pinch of worry creasing between his brows. “You don’t have to do everything yourself, you know.”
I shake my head. I want to bury my face in his chest again, but I’m afraid if I do, I’ll lose the courage to talk. Already, I feel the words fading away. This feels like a crazy dream, and I don’t want to make it all real by speaking the truth, but I need to tell Julian about Marston. Last night, I walked straight home, paid the babysitter, and checked on my sleeping daughter.
By the time I settled into bed and called Julian, I’d already decided I couldn’t tell him over the phone. While I’m not sure of the standard protocol for telling your fiancé that it turns out you’re already married, I’m pretty sure it’s a conversation best had in person.
But now Julian’s here, and I’m out of excuses. “It’s not just that.” I head to the kitchen and busy myself preparing a new pot of coffee.
“What is it, then?”
I lift my gaze. Julian moved to Orchid Valley and set his sights on me immediately. He got me into bed with his charm the first night we met, but he could’ve just as easily done it with his looks. In the years since, I’ve learned everything else I need to know. He listens when I talk, cares about my daughter, and works as hard as I do. He’ll be a good partner, but is that enough? “Are we about to make a terrible mistake?”
His gentle smile falls away, and I’m aware of his attention with every move I make. He’s an attentive guy. I think that’s what drew me to him. But Julian has never been the issue in the Brinley-plus-Julian equation. It only took him one drink to talk me into joining him in bed, but it took him six years to talk me into being his wife. And now I have to tell him I’m already married.
“There’s nothing about marrying you that feels like a mistake to me,” he says.
There it is. I squeeze my eyes shut as guilt lodges in my chest. This isn’t a massive leap of fai
th for Julian. His feelings go deeper than they should if we’re really planning on making this a temporary arrangement.
“Hey.” He turns me so my body’s square with his and gently squeezes my shoulders until I open my eyes again. “We’re already friends, and we’re good together—in bed and out of it. I’m not worried.”
“Not even a little?” My voice cracks, and I feel so damn guilty for my lack of faith that I hide my face in his chest.
“Nope.” He smiles sweetly then lowers his mouth to my ear. “What’s the worst that can happen? We discover we’re poorly suited roommates? Surely we can tough that out for a few years. Personally, I’m looking forward to waking up next to you every day.”
“Marston Rowe’s back in town.” I spit the words out before I can convince myself to hide them instead. “I saw him at Smithy’s last night. Then again at my office this morning.”
“Marston the ex? The one you ran into in Vegas?” He releases me and grabs the coffee pot to fill it with water.
I busy myself with grinding the beans. “Yeah.”
“What brings him to town?”
“Me.”
Julian flashes me a smile then looks me over slowly. “No doubt. What did he say when he found out you were getting married?”
I press the button on the grinder, and the room fills with a loud whirring. When I release it, I breathe deeply. Funny how the smell of a stimulant can be so relaxing. “He’s not happy about it.” I’m such a coward. Just spit it out. Rip off the Band-Aid.
Julian makes a noncommittal hum, but I already know he doesn’t like Marston. It’s just jealousy, but that’s ridiculous when I’m marrying him.
I take the now-full pot of water from him and pour it into the machine.
After I position it under the drip spout, Julian takes me by the hips and turns me to face him. “How did it feel to see him again? This was the first time since your escapades in Vegas, wasn’t it?”
“Confusing.” I wince. This is all so unfair to Julian, but if we have anything right between us, it’s honesty. I don’t want to change that now. “I panicked when I woke up in his room in Vegas, and that ring . . .” I let my gaze drop.
