by Amelia Wilde
An older gentleman dressed in a navy suit approaches us immediately. “Can I help you?” His chin is raised and he gives off an aura of sophistication and snobbery. As if the two of us are not good enough to be here.
True, we’re not dressed as nicely as he is, but that’s no reason for him to give us attitude.
“We’re here to check out the venue for a wedding,” I say.
The man makes a show of taking me in from top to bottom and then does the same to Cole. I guess he doesn’t find the lumbersexual look as appealing as it is to me. “The price list is online. You might want to look at that first. I’m not sure you’ll find it… suitable.”
My cheeks heat and I clench my fists at my side, wanting so badly to give this man a piece of my mind, but knowing I can’t screw this up for Tahlia. I open my mouth to speak, but before I can say a word Cole’s large hand takes mine. He pries open my fingers and intertwines them with his own. Heat radiates up my arm and I look over at him, my eyes wide.
“I can assure you, Mr…” Cole lets it hang there until the man is forced to answer.
“Berkshire.” He says it with such superiority that I want to slap the smug look off his face.
“I can assure you, Mr. Berkshire, that money is no object for my fiancée and I.” Cole squeezes my hand and looks over at me and then winks with the eye that the other man can’t see.
I smile back, intrigued by this game he’s playing, but more than willing to participate if it means making this jerk in front of us feel as small as he made me feel.
Mr. Berkshire clasps his hands in front of him. “All the same, you should look online first, and then if you find it within your means you can call to book an appointment with me. We don’t take walk-ins.”
“I tried to call several times to book an appointment,” I say.
The man’s eyes narrow the tiniest amount. “Yes, well, we’ve been having some trouble with our voicemail system as of late.”
“That’s too bad. I’m sure hosting a Webber wedding would have been quite the coup for your establishment,” Cole says. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s go find something else.” Cole drops my hand and places his own on the small of my back to lead me out of the building, but we’re stopped when the dickhead makes the connection.
“Webber? As in the real-estate and restaurant Webbers?”
“The one and only,” Cole says. If I didn’t already know him, I would find the air of supremacy around him believable. It’s fascinating how easily he’s able to change his persona. “I’m Chase Webber and this is my fiancée Tahlia Santora.”
Mr. Berkshire’s face flames scarlet and he gives us a hesitant smile. Serves him right. “Oh, please do forgive me. I had no idea.” He clasps his hands together in front of him. “We have so many couples wander in here without bothering to check out the pricing. I’m sure you can understand that we can’t afford to devote our time to tire-kickers when we have much more distinguished guests such as yourself to attend to.”
“See that it doesn’t happen again,” I say, taking my turn at this rich bitch thing. It’s kind of fun.
“Of course not,” Mr. Berkshire says. “Can I show you around the space and answer any questions you might have?”
Cole and I look at each other and pretend we’re mulling it over for a second before he nods. “I suppose we’d still like to see what you have to offer.”
“Very good,” Mr. Berkshire says with a nod before turning on his heel. “Right this way.”
What follows is a very in-depth tour of the place and though I’m not fond of the man in charge, I really think Tahlia will love how regal this place is. Cole continues to act like we’re the happy couple—either holding my hand or with his arm around my waist the entire time we’re checking the place out. It feels natural and it’s easy to slip into the role of Cole’s fiancée. So much so that I have to remind myself not to get too carried away.
As we finish up it seems that Mr. Berkshire may have saved the best for last. He motions behind us. “For the ceremony, Tahlia, you can make quite the dramatic entrance down our grand marble-and-steel staircase.” He’s smiling and he should be, because I can totally envision Tahlia in a large ballroom wedding gown inching her way down the stairs while all the guests look on from below.
A slow smile creeps across my face and Cole squeezes my hip with the arm he has slung around my waist, drawing me from my revelry.
“What do you think, sweetheart?”
I lock gazes with him. “I think it might be perfect,” I say in a gentle voice.
“Why don’t you head to the top of the staircase and see what your entrance will be like?”
“Oh, that’s okay. I can picture it and it’s lovely.”
“You should give it a try,” Cole urges.
“I insist,” Mr. Berkshire says. He steps forward and takes my hand, leading me to the bottom of the steps. “Head on up and pretend it’s your big day.”
I nod and take the many steps up to the top of the grand structure.
“Now, picture yourself in your wedding gown. Music is playing announcing your big entrance. The man of your dreams is waiting for you to make him the luckiest man in the world.”
I close my eyes briefly and do as he says. Instinctively I position my hands in front of me as if I’m clutching a bouquet of flowers.
“Now, take the stairs slowly, one at a time.”
I open my eyes and do as he says. My eyes are trained on Cole the entire time. Each step brings me closer to him and his gaze doesn’t waver either. Step by step I near him and the closer I get the stronger the connection between us feels. The imaginary swish of a wedding dress sounds each time I step down, I smell the pretend scent of the flowers I’m not carrying, and I can almost hear the classical music playing in the background. I have bought into this fairy tale one hundred percent.
By the time I reach the final step Cole’s hazel eyes are blazing and I can’t look away.
We remain there, staring at each other, until our tour guide clears his throat. I blink a couple of times and then turn my attention back to the older gentleman.
It’s so easy to get caught up in this with Cole and forget that this is not real. We are not the happy couple and I’d do well to remind myself of that.
I blink a couple of times and let my hands drop before I take up my position beside Cole again.
“How many guests can you accommodate?” Cole asks in an authoritative voice that belies the moment we just shared.
“Up to three hundred and fifty.”
“Perfect,” Cole responds.
There’s silence then as the two of us glance around the place again, committing it to memory. I pull out my phone to take a few candid shots for Tahl.
Without warning, my stomach growls and I swear the sound echoes throughout the cavernous room, bouncing off the walls and reverberating so that it’s too loud to pretend it didn’t just happen. I place my hand over my stomach, but it’s too late. Cole is already chuckling beside me.
“We’d better be going. It seems my fiancée needs to be fed.”
My cheeks heat, but I ignore it and try to continue to play the high-society bride-to-be. “Thank you for taking the time to show us around.” I extend my hand and shake Mr. Berkshire’s and then Cole does the same.
The older man walks us to the exit and holds the door open for us. “Before you go, if I may be so bold as to say so…” Cole nods at him and he continues. “I see a lot of couples come through these doors and it’s clear to me that you two are the real deal. I can always tell by the way the bride and groom look at one another. It’s always in the eyes.” He taps his temple with his index finger. “Congratulations on your upcoming marriage. I know you’ll spend many happy years together.”
Cole shifts on his feet for a second and mumbles out a thank you before leading me down the many steps at the front of the building.
Hmm. Maybe I don’t dislike Mr. Berkshire as much as I thought. Then again, he’s pr
obably just blowing smoke up our asses to try to land us as clients.
Still, as I walk away holding Cole’s hand I can’t help but wonder which it was—truth or lie?
And that’s when I realize that the bigger problem is that I actually care about the answer.
15
Cole insists on feeding me before dropping me back off at home and so we each grab a sandwich from a take-out spot and he drives us to the top of Twin Peaks, an elevation that sits almost in the center of the city, to take in the view. We sit on one of the rock walls looking out over the city, our feet dangling below us.
It’s the first time in a long time that I’ve felt at peace… content.
“My grandparents used to take me up here all the time when I was a little girl.” I smile, reliving the memories in my mind, and then take another bite of my sandwich.
“I’ve always liked it up here,” Cole says. “Well, when it’s not the middle of tourist season.”
We both laugh because it’s so true. If it were in the middle of summer this place would be crawling with people and you’d be lucky to find a spot along the edge to see the view of the city. But since it’s fall there’s only a scattering of people here. Well, at least until the next tour bus comes by.
We eat in silence for a few minutes, but Cole keeps glancing over at me.
“Just ask.”
“What?” he says, feigning ignorance.
“I can tell there’s something you want to say. Just say it.”
He purses his lips together for a moment. “You seem very close with your grandparents.”
Immediately I know what he’s getting at and I decide to save him from coming right out and asking. “My grandparents raised me.”
“Oh,” he says. I hear the unanswered questions he’s too afraid to ask and I feel the need to explain.
“My mom isn’t in my life. Hasn’t been since I was an infant and she left me with her parents then never returned.” I put my sandwich down to the side of me, quickly losing my appetite as the sting of that rejection bites into my chest. After all these years, you’d think I’d be used to it.
Cole reaches a hand out and places it over the top of the one I have sitting in my lap, giving it a small squeeze. “I’m sorry. That’s tough.”
I shrug. “I was lucky really. Rather than being stuck in some orphanage or foster home I had family to go to. My grandparents are amazing. I owe them so much.”
“What about your dad?” There’s hesitancy in his tone, but there’s no sense in hiding anything now.
“I don’t know who my dad is. My grandma told me once that she wasn’t even sure if my mom ever knew. I guess she was quite the free spirit.”
“So that’s why you share the same last name as your grandparents…”
“You picked up on that, did you?” I’m impressed. Most people don’t even give it any thought that I have the same last name as my mother’s parents.
“Not at the time. I’d just assumed they were your dad’s parents.”
I shrug. “Hard to take the name of someone when you don’t even know who they are.”
He’s quiet after that, reflective. I shift my positioning and swing my legs back and forth, waiting for him to say something.
“It couldn’t have been easy growing up without your parents in your life.” His voice is filled with so much sympathy that it pierces a layer of my hardened heart. Which is ridiculous, because this is not news to me. It’s something I’ve lived with and thought I’d made peace with decades ago.
I swallow past the growing lump in my throat before I answer. “I’ve never known any different,” I say, trying to play my emotions off.
Cole shifts his body so that he’s straddling the low concrete barrier we’re sitting on. He’s facing me now. God, he’s gorgeous. Like we’re magnets drawn to each other, my own body angles to his in response.
He reaches forward and clasps both my hands in one of his. His other hand cups the side of my head, his thumb tracing a slow path back and forth across my cheek.
I close my eyes for a moment and when I open them Cole is only a few inches away. His hazel eyes are locked on mine and my heart picks up pace. When he drops his forehead to mine my fingers itch with the need to touch him and so I do. Slowly I reach forward and place my hands on his hard pecs. His muscles flex under my touch and Cole lets out a short burst of air as if in relief. It fans over my face and I become more aware of his scent. Yes, it’s partly the masculine cologne he wears, but it’s also in a lot of ways just him. His own natural scent and I realize for the first time how addicted I’ve become to it.
“Just because you don’t know what you’re missing doesn’t mean it didn’t leave any scars,” he says in a soft voice.
Tears pool in my eyes, but I refuse to shed them. I don’t know why I’m letting myself get so worked up. I feel safe and free to be vulnerable with Cole and vulnerable is something I don’t do.
“Whitney, where are your scars?” Both his hands thread through my hair, holding me to him.
“Whit,” I practically whisper.
“What?”
“You can call me Whit now.”
He groans like I’ve just granted him everything he ever needed and without warning, he brings his lips to mine. His tongue traces a path along the part of my lips and, unable to resist, I open to him. Our tongues slide and my breath hitches, stalling out somewhere between my chest and my throat. The slow exploring kiss soon turns hot from our undying need to quench the thirst that’s been brewing.
He releases my hands and cups my cheeks with his palms. I let my hands roam from his pecs to his strong back. His fingers weave through my hair making a tight fist. Cole’s teeth nip at my bottom lip before his tongue slides back into my waiting mouth.
Fireworks explode in my veins and the incessant throbbing between my legs demands to be sated. The kiss is so euphoric, Cole is throwing all the baggage I carry over the edge of this peak. If there was a bed and a mattress handy I’d allow him to strap me to the headboard to see what those lips can really do. No questions asked. No thoughts about the aftermath.
When Cole finally pulls away his hands are still in my hair and we sit there, both of our chests heaving while we try to gather air into our lungs. Our gazes take each other in.
“Where are your scars, Whit? I want to see them.” He runs his nose along my own. “All of them.”
I don’t even think before I respond, don’t filter my response to the bland, rehearsed one I normally would. “When someone who’s supposed to love you treats you as if you’re disposable, it’s difficult not to see your value as less than nothing.”
Cole squeezes his eyes together like I’ve caused him physical pain. When he opens them, he pulls back just enough to pin me with his stare. “You are so much more than nothing, sweetheart. You’re the opposite. You’re everything.”
He leans in and kisses my forehead, his hand at the back of my head.
“It’s okay to lean on someone,” he mumbles against my skin before pulling back to look at me. “Sometimes. When it’s the right person.” He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip, stares at me for another second.
“Excuse me… could one of you take a picture of us with the view of the city behind us?”
Both of us separate quickly with wide eyes as if we’ve just been caught doing something we shouldn’t have. And I suppose that’s true.
I turn to see a middle-aged couple beside us holding out a camera toward us.
“Uh, sure.” Cole gets up off the ledge and follows them a little farther down the railing, where they strike a pose for the camera. He takes a few shots, directing them a little to make sure they get the best picture, and then returns the camera to them. They thank him before heading on their way.
Without mentioning the kiss, he returns and takes his seat beside me, picks up his sandwich and continues eating his lunch like nothing of consequence just happened. And maybe it didn’t for him.
But
my entire world just shifted beneath me the same as if another catastrophic earthquake struck the city.
We both gaze out over the city while we finish eating. The fog rolls in off the Pacific Ocean, swallowing the Golden Gate Bridge until just the red steel tips are visible. I feel a lot like that bridge—everything I see, feel, and touch seems to be Cole. I’m surrounded by him, overcome and overwhelmed every time I’m around him, and I’m left gasping for air, barely surviving the deluge that is this man’s power over me.
16
I sit in the booth at the pub—not the Thirsty Monk, but a different one around the corner from my grandparents’ house—waiting for Lennon to show.
She’s late. No surprise there.
I asked her to meet me here because Tahlia is still out of town dealing with a business crisis and I need to talk to her about what’s going on with Cole. Or isn’t. I don’t know what to think given how he acted after that kiss at Twin Peaks. Lennon has more experience with the opposite sex than Tahl and I combined, so she’s a good person to mine for knowledge. Hell, she might have more experience than a Playboy bunny, now that I think about it.
She’s ten minutes late already so I decide to do something productive while waiting for her. I pull out my phone to look up the latest job listings. Maybe something new has been posted that I can apply to. Yes, I still want my dream job at the news station, but I haven’t heard anything from them yet and I can’t afford to sit around with all my eggs in that basket.
The bartender comes over and I order myself a rum and seven, steering way clear of any whiskey because this guy is cute, though nowhere near as hot as Cole. Still, I don’t need any more bartender problems than I already have.
I check another job site, but there’s nothing suited to my talents that I haven’t already applied for. I sigh and shove my phone back into my purse, just about to pull my journal out of my bag to record some of my thoughts, when Lennon arrives.
In she comes, sauntering over to the booth like she’s not at all running late. Her coat is in her hand and she’s in a pair of skinny jeans with stylish rips down the front and a clingy t-shirt that reads ‘Fries Before Guys’.