by Jiffy Kate
“We watched Finley play today,” I say, my eyes going to him in an effort to redirect the conversation. “He was fantastic.”
Maggie’s face lights up with pride. “He’s wonderful,” she says, patting his arm. “Did Shepard tell you he bought Finley his first saxophone?”
“He did,” I say with a nod, feeling a little pride myself. Where did that come from? I don’t know, but it’s definitely there. Knowing Shep took interest in someone like Finley changes so much of how I see him. He goes from the heir to a multi-million-dollar trust fund, who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, to someone who is considerate and caring. There’s no reason why Shepard Rhys-Jones should be anything other than what he was groomed to be—an entitled, rich asshole. Just like his father. But he’s not. He’s different. He’s good.
And it makes me want him even more.
“You should come to New Orleans,” I tell Finley. “Talk about jazz clubs…they’re a dime a dozen down on Frenchman. And there’s this great new place in the French Quarter. Sometimes, I just sit outside at night behind the shop and listen to the music carrying over the breeze. Well, when there is a breeze.” I laugh, brushing my hair behind my ear as I feel someone staring at me from across the yard.
Chapter 15
Shep
“I should be in touch,” he says, slipping a business card from the pocket behind his lapel and handing it to me. “But if you don’t hear from me in a week or so, give me a call.”
Mr. Archer and I shake hands on our verbal deal. He owns a piece of property Maverick and I have had our eyes on for quite a while, and it seems as if the timing is right for him to sell. I hadn’t intended on doing business during my wedding reception, but when opportunity knocks, you answer.
“Will do, sir,” I tell him, taking the card and slipping it into my pocket, anxious to get back to CeCe. When I turn around, she’s not where I left her and Maggie and Finley are nowhere to be seen. I didn’t expect them to stay long, but I thought they’d at least wait until I came back.
Excusing myself around and between groups of people, I make my way across the lawn. She’s not by the tower of cake or the rows of champagne, although I wouldn’t blame her if she was.
Cake and champagne would be a worthy distraction from this madness.
When my mother walks up to me, I ask. “Have you seen CeCe?”
“No,” she says bluntly, rolling her eyes as she brings her martini glass to her lips. Always a fucking martini. Gin and vermouth are my mother’s signature scent. “But I did want to introduce you to Dominic and Frangelica’s daughter. She recently graduated from Yale and has moved to Dallas to step into a vice-president position at their company. Your father—”
“Stop,” I warn, adjusting the cuffs on my suit to keep from strangling her. “I’m. Married.”
Her shrill laugh makes my stomach sour. “Oh, God, Shepard, like anyone believes this farce.” She waves her free hand around at the people. “I can’t believe you’d bring someone like her…here. You must really hate her.”
“She’s my wife,” I clip.
“Yes, and you brought her here and threw her to the wolves.” It’s when she steps back that I see CeCe flocked by the Crawfords. “Bravo.”
The smile my mother gives me makes my blood run cold. “What did you do?”
“The strongest steel is forged in the fire of a dumpster,” she says with a shrug before taking a sip of her cocktail. “If she’s truly going to be a Rhys-Jones, I want to see what she’s made of.”
I know, it’s wrong for any child to hate their mother, but mine has zero redeeming qualities. I’ve always known that, but seeing her disregard for someone I hold in such high regard just put the nail in her coffin.
She’s dead to me.
“Excuse me, Mother.” Brushing past her, I quickly make my way toward CeCe, only to be stopped again by one of my mother’s country club floozies.
Her long red fingernails scrape down my chest. “Oh, Shepard…I was so sad to hear you’re officially off the market.” Her words are drawn-out and overly dramatic. “Although,” she says, dropping her voice to a whisper as she leans in close to my ear. “I always did enjoy a challenge.”
Removing her hand from my arm, I don’t even give her a reply as I brush her off and walk away.
Fucking cougars, man.
In a few long strides, I’m standing behind CeCe, glaring at her company. “Felicity…Foster,” I greet, startling CeCe. When she whips around, there’s relief in her eyes. For someone who always seems to have a handle on the situation, she seems rattled. “Hey, baby. You good?”
“Uh,” CeCe starts, cocking her head, obviously taken aback by me calling her baby. With my eyes, I try to tell her to go with it and thankfully she does. “Yeah,” she finally says, reaching up to adjust my tie. “Fine.”
Pulling her into my chest, I rest my chin on her head and let out a sigh when I feel her relax against me. Call it instinct. Call it possessiveness. Call it whatever the fuck you want. All I know is I don’t want Felicity or Foster to even breathe the same air as CeCe, nevermind carry on a conversation with her.
She’s too good for them.
“Shepard,” Felicity says with a nod and a raise of her eyebrows. “I thought we were going to have dinner together. And here you are…married.”
“What can I say?” I ask, looking down at CeCe. “When you know, you know. I couldn’t live one more day without her being my wife.”
CeCe’s eyes go wide at my proclamation and I hear a muffled bullshit covered by a cough come from Foster.
“Haven’t seen you in a while, man,” I tell him.
He smirks, his eyes darting down to CeCe and giving her a once-over, and I want to punch him in the face. Typically, I’m more of a lover than a fighter, but having him within a foot of her has my blood boiling. Don’t even look at her, motherfucker.
“Felicity and I were just talking to your wife about where the two of you met,” he says with a pointed nod. “New Orleans…Sin City of the South…impressive.”
“Tell us, CeCe,” Felicity begins. “Are you a stripper?”
“Enough,” I growl, putting myself between CeCe and Felicity. But the next thing I know, CeCe has snaked her way back around and is confronting her.
“What if I am?” CeCe challenges. “How would it make you feel to know you were pushed aside and ignored all because of someone you’ve deemed beneath you? To know you, with your perfectly fake hair, tits, and ass, still aren’t good enough to get a man like Shep? I don’t know about you but, it makes me feel fucking fantastic.”
Turning, she stomps off in the direction of the house and I don’t waste any time following her.
“I’m sorry,” I say, once the glass doors close behind me. “I should’ve prepared you better…warned you…shit, I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to this.”
CeCe’s back is to me, but she slowly turns to face me and I’m afraid there are going to be tears, but thankfully, she just looks pissed. Pissed, I can handle. “It’s probably better you didn’t try to prepare me or warn me, I might’ve chickened out.” She laughs lightly, rubbing her temples. “Those people are horrible.”
“Try growing up with them.”
She pauses, slowly bringing her head back up to look at me. “How did you turn out so…normal?”
“You think I’m normal?” I ask with a chuckle. “Not even close.”
“Well, you’re certainly not them,” she says, her voice lowering as she looks out the window.
Walking closer, I reach out and take one of her hands. “You okay?”
She lets out a deep sigh. “I’m fine.”
“I’m especially sorry you had to deal with those two…I fucking hate them.”
CeCe shivers and scrunches her nose, looking entirely too adorable for her own good. “Foster gives me the creeps. He’s like one of those slimeballs you see on those reality television shows. You know the ones where you’re yelling at the gi
rl. NOT HIM. RUN THE OTHER WAY.”
“That’s exactly who he is,” I tell her, leaning forward and placing a kiss on her forehead and then resting mine against hers. “You want to call it a night or do you think you can manage a couple more hours?”
“Don’t leave me,” she demands, pulling on my lapels.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I insist.
We walk back out into the fray, hand-in-hand.
We smile.
We touch.
We kiss.
We sell this marriage so hard that even I forget it’s not real.
“My cheeks hurt from smiling,” CeCe whispers as she brings her champagne glass up for a drink.
Pressing my lips to her hair, I inhale, unable to stop myself. “Well, if it helps, you look beautiful doing it.”
“Sweet talker,” CeCe muses.
My father just gave a riveting speech intended to be in honor of mine and CeCe’s nuptials, but instead, turned out sounding more like he was receiving an Oscar on behalf of the Rhys-Jones family.
We’re so proud of where we are as a family.
After a tough year, and the loss of a patriarch, we’re coming out on top.
The Rhys-Jones name and brand is just as valuable and steadfast as it’s ever been.
When the music begins to play, people slowly make their way onto the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the lawn. Typically, there would be a first dance and all that mother-son, father-daughter bullshit but I didn’t want any of that and I knew CeCe wouldn’t either.
I slipped the DJ a substantial amount of cash to bypass my mother’s instructions and just play some fucking music.
The soulful melody of Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong’s Cheek to Cheek begins to play. “Dance with me,” I tell CeCe, pulling her arm behind my back so her body is pressed against mine. The wide look I get makes me chuckle. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re my wife…we’re supposed to be this close, remember?”
Her lips curve up in a smile. “Yes.”
“Yes, you remember? Or yes, you’ll dance with me?”
“Both.”
As I spin her around the dance floor, the last bits of fake facade seem to crumble at our feet.
She’s looking at me like I hung the moon.
And I’m holding her like I never want to let her go.
I forget I’m surrounded by assholes.
I forget I’m trying to escape my own identity.
Because I’m with her and that’s all that seems to matter and there’s no other place I’d rather be.
“Mind if I cut in?” My father’s question disrupts the perfect sense of peace I’ve managed to maintain for the last three songs. I clench my teeth to keep from growling my displeasure for his interruption.
“Actually—” I begin, but he cuts me off.
“Come on, Shepard…surely you don’t want to make a scene. Everyone expects me to have a dance with my new daughter-in-law.” The way he’s looking at CeCe followed by the smirk he gives me is enough to make me want to punch him. “Besides, you can’t be that insecure. What do you think? I’m going to fuck her right here in front of God and everyone?”
My back goes stiff and I drop my hold on CeCe, ready to put my father in his place—forcefully. But she’s there, putting herself between me and the man who should want the best for me. That’s not him, though. We’re not the happy, perfect family he and my mother would like everyone to believe. He’d love nothing more than to sabotage what’s supposed to be one of the happiest moments of my life, regardless of its validity.
“CeCe, step back,” I warn, not wanting her to get in the middle of my life-long beef with my father. I shouldn’t have brought her here. It was a bad idea.
And I don’t give a fuck that this is a temporary marriage. As far as my father and everyone else is concerned, CeCe is my wife and she deserves respect.
She pushes on my chest, standing on her tiptoes to get my attention. “Hey, look at me.”
I do, because she asked me and I’d do anything for her.
“It’s a dance. One dance,” she says with a shrug.
Brushing a strand of her hair back, I tuck it behind her ear, letting my thumb linger on her jaw. She’s amazing. I want to tell her that right here in front of everyone, but she’d hate me for it, so I won’t. I also want to grab her and run away with her, keeping her for myself and protecting her from the nastiness of this world. But I can’t do that either.
“I’m fine,” she whispers with a strength in her eyes that I love. This time, she’s the one who leans in and kisses me, gripping my hand in assurance before she steps away and faces my father.
Chapter 16
CeCe
I try not to look at Phillip or register the way his hands feel like they’re burning through my skin—and not in a good way—but I also can’t look at Shep. If I did, I know I’d see fury and possessiveness all over his face. But Phillip is looking for a reaction from his son and I refuse to be the catalyst for that.
We’ve made it this far and the night is almost over. I can make it through five minutes on a crowded dance floor with Phillip Rhys-Jones.
“You know this isn’t going to last.”
It’s not a question, it’s a statement. And one that I refuse to acknowledge. It feels like a trap. If I start defending Shep, it’ll sound like I’m trying to convince him this is real. Which it’s not, but if it was, I still wouldn’t acknowledge a comment like that. It doesn’t deserve my time and energy, so I don’t give in to him.
“So, how much is he paying you?”
Okay, that’s a question and I honestly didn’t see it coming.
Stupid me.
He must feel the way I tense beneath his touch. I tried to quell it but couldn’t.
“Ahh, that’s it, huh,” he continues. I don’t even have to look up to know there’s a smug grin on his face. My heart starts to beat a little faster. What does it matter if he knows about our agreement? Shep seems to think it’s common, unspoken knowledge, so maybe I should be brutally honest and rub it in his face.
Yeah, I agreed to marry your son for a year so he can claim his inheritance and save himself from the depths of hell.
That’s what this place is, and Phillip Rhys-Jones is the devil himself.
“That money is supposed to be mine.” This time, when he speaks, his tone holds brittle anger I haven’t heard from him before and his hold on me tightens. “You’re fucking up my plan and I don’t appreciate it.”
His plan?
What plan?
The money is Shep’s, providing he stays married for a year. End of story.
“Shepard is stupid and reckless,” he mutters, almost to himself. “He’s too much like his grandfather and he doesn’t even know it.”
There’s a long pause and for a split second I think the song will finally end and save me from my misery, so I take the opportunity to say my piece. “This is Shep’s life, not yours. He gets to choose who he marries, and now, he’ll also have the freedom to choose what he does with the rest of it.”
Phillip’s evil laugh makes me regret even responding. I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but like Shep, I’m beginning to feel protective. I can’t stand here and let Phillip spew his nasty words. Along with everyone else at this shindig, he needs a good dose of reality.
“Oh, Cecelia.” The use of my real name makes my back stiffen and Phillip pulls back to look me in the eye. “Don’t seem so shocked. I know everything there is to know about you. I know about your poor upbringing and your uncle’s shop, deadbeat father, and younger sister you’re putting through college. I imagine I know more than Shepard does.”
My stomach drops.
“You’re a noble, young woman, but I have news for you…Shepard’s life isn’t his own. He thinks it is, but he’s wrong. This is a family effort. We don’t stay on top by marrying down. Everyone is responsible for doing their part. Shepard marrying you contributes nothing.”
When t
he music stops, I drop my arms from Phillip’s hold and turn toward the edge of the dance floor where Shep is standing. His hands are in his pockets, but if I had to guess, they’re balled into fists, and his face is nothing but hard lines.
I think about reaching for him, but decide against it, just wanting to get out of here—away from all these people. And far, far away from Phillip Rhys-Jones.
“CeCe,” Shep calls out, but I keep walking. I know he’ll follow me and what I have to say isn’t meant for anyone here but him. My mind starts going into overdrive on my walk to the house and I make a spontaneous decision to not say anything until we’re away from here. I wouldn’t put it past Phillip to have our room bugged, like some Bourne Identity shit.
“Wait.” Shep’s hand gently comes up and grabs mine, making me halt before I can open the glass doors and escape the madness. “Are you okay? What did he say?”
Blowing out a deep breath, I look past Shep to the party going on behind him. Everyone is talking and dancing. A few are still partaking in champagne and mixed drinks. All of them are completely oblivious to the two people this party is supposed to be in honor of.
Except Phillip.
He’s now standing where Shep was a few moments ago, and he’s assumed the same stance—hands in pockets, hard stare. It’s scary how similar the two are, but in appearance only. Thankfully, Shep is nothing like his father. And somehow, I’m going to help him accomplish what he’s set out to do.
Not because he’s paying me.
But because I care about him, like really and truly care about him.
Glancing up, I give him the best smile I can muster and squeeze his hand. “I’m fine. Just tired. Can we go upstairs?”
He examines me, eyes starting on my face and trailing down my body, like he’s looking for physical damage. Of course, he won’t find any, but I can’t hide the way my hands are shaking from the adrenaline coursing through my body. I can still feel Phillip watching us and I won’t be able to relax until he’s not.
