The flame flickered and died. The lead weight of reality sunk to the pit of her stomach. Her smile, thankfully, slipped easily into place. “Right? You and I would be like War of the Roses, only worse.”
He shot her a lopsided grin before shifting gears and gunning the engine as he finally broke free of the barely moving line of vehicles and found a stretch of wide, open road. “More like Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”
Jillian nudged his bicep with her elbow. “Are you secretly an assassin trying to kill me?”
Dean let out a short bark of laughter. “Nah, but the chemistry on that one was hot as hell.” He puffed out his chest. “And you gotta admit with a fine specimen such as myself it would be damn near impossible for you to keep your hands off me if we were living together.”
“Oh, yes.” She clasped both hands together over her heart and gave a deep sigh. “It’s a struggle I face all the time. I barely restrain myself from jumping your bones on a daily basis.”
He clucked his tongue. “Now, now, Ms. Monroe, whatever would the Ice Queen and her merry band of loyal yes women say if they heard you talking that way?”
Jillian groaned and sank deeper into the seat closing her eyes. “I wish I had the guts to find out.”
Dean reached over and grabbed one of her hands, lacing his fingers through hers and pulling it so they rested on the center console. “Look on the bright side, in three months you’ll be two hundred and eleven miles away from the Glass Castle and the Ice Queen’s rule.”
She rotated her head and lifted one lid to look at him. “You counted?”
“Hell, yeah,” he tightened his grip on her slightly. “Gotta figure out the fastest route in case I need to kick some frat boy’s ass.”
Jillian laughed lightly and some of the stormy emotions inside settled. No matter what he’d be her best friend and that was what mattered the most.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dean
Present Day
He may be twenty-seven, a partner in a successful business, and—as far as everyone on the outside of their marriage was concerned—son-in-law to the great and powerful Monroe family, but he still hated standing outside of the imposing monstrosity Jillian called home.
An involuntary smile pulled at his lips. Not anymore. Home was his house, with him. And he’d do anything to keep it that way. But first…
The door swung wide in front of him and Henry’s stoic veneer cracked for a fleeting moment when he saw Dean standing on the other side. All too soon the older man composed his features into the same cold, professional expression he always wore. He bent slightly at the waist. “Good morning, Mr. Carlisle. May I ask why you’re calling?”
Over their twenty years of friendship, it never failed to amuse him how different their lives were. And the fact that Jillian basically grew up in the kind of home that he once thought only lived on in movies or books. “Hey there, Henry. Is Mr. Monroe available?”
Henry merely nodded and stood to the side, holding an arm out for Dean to come in.
Dutifully, Dean followed the older man down the hallway, and every memory of his brief and infrequent visits here played through his mind. He knew the massive house well enough to know they were heading exactly where he expected, to Edward Monroe’s study.
Henry knocked twice, and at the grunted “come in” that filtered through the door, he opened the thick oak plank and gestured for Dean to enter.
Edward held his forehead in one hand, his elbow propped on the ornate wooden desk. “Henry, I need to speak with—Dean? What are you doing here?” The older man stood. “Is something wrong with Jillian?”
Dean immediately shook his head. “Not…not like that. May I sit, sir?” Although she may have had four rowdy boys to corral, and probably let them get away with more than they deserved far too often, manners were one thing Tracy Carlisle insisted upon. And he knew better than to allow them to slip in this household.
There were probably ghosts of genteel ladies and refined men waiting in the wings to pounce if he dared step out of line. A shiver ran down his spine. He really did hate this place.
Edward nodded and then lowered himself back into the leather chair. “Then why are you here?”
Dean glanced over his shoulder as he took a seat on the opposite side of the desk, making sure they were alone. “First, I want you to understand that I say this with all due respect, but I am also here because of Jilly.” The tight band around his heart constricted at the mere mention of her name. Damn, he was hopeless.
Jillian’s father frowned at him, his thick, bushy, gray brows drawn tightly together. “So far I don’t like where this conversation is going.”
A war of emotions raged inside of him from contempt for the man who created a situation that caused Jillian even a moment of stress, to empathy and understanding, to a rather overwhelming urge to deck the guy.
Instead he cleared his throat. “Sir, Jillian told me everything. I knew about the will before the wedding, but she also explained why it was so important.” He left out the tiny detail that she was completely shit-faced when she made the confession.
Edward’s face turned an ugly shade of red. “So, that’s what this is about? You’re married to my daughter for two days and you think you have the dirt and the power to bring the hundreds of years of our family’s legacy to its knees by exposing us or forcing us to give you part of the trust?”
Anger and distrust and projection were all reactions he was used to, but the difference this time was they carried with them the implication that Dean would even entertain the idea of doing something to hurt Jillian.
Hell to the no on that one.
He took a deep breath and pushed down the frustration and irritation inside. He held up both hands, palms out. “That isn’t what I said at all. In fact, I am completely in favor of keeping this quiet because Jillian doesn’t need any more stress than what you’ve already given her.”
Her father’s once mottled face drained of all its color. He dropped his head. “Then what the hell do you want? My gratitude?”
“I want to help you.” It was partially true. He wanted to help the other man—but not for him, for Jillian. Despite her family’s total lack of support for her career and life choices, he knew she carried the weight of obligation and loyalty. She was devoted to the people and the legacy, not only because of them, but because of her grandfather.
Edward turned in his seat, grabbed a decanter from the shelves lining the wall behind him, and filled the crystal glass on his desk with the rich amber liquid. “Exactly what kind of help are you offering, young man?”
Dean shifted slightly in his seat. He probably should have talked to Jillian before this, and he definitely should have clued her in to all the things he did on the ranch, but he was nearly certain she’d brush him off. And he knew deep down that this would be the best option for the entire family. “Do you know what I do? As a career, I mean.”
The older man took a long drink, nearly draining the glass in one gulp. He set the nearly empty crystal down on the desk softly and gave a sharp shake of his head. “No, can’t say I do.”
Dean smiled, this was definitely his comfort zone. He may have spent far more years than he cared to admit floundering around for his purpose in life, but now that he’d discovered it, he loved to talk about nothing more.
He made a mental note to actually talk about it to his wife. And soon.
“I run a program with my cousin Mat at my brother’s ranch. He’s a psychologist that is trained in helping those who are recovering with addiction. We utilize equine therapy as part of their rehabilitation process.” Dean leaned forward in his chair slightly. “We have worked with a wide variety of addictions including drugs, alcohol…and gambling.”
Edward’s eyes widened, but he stayed silent and Dean took that as an encouraging sign.
“I’ve already told you that Jillian explained everything to me and I know all too well that admitting you have a problem is the hardest and biggest s
tep, but your addiction has gotten to a point where your family was in jeopardy. Your home was in jeopardy. Hundreds of years of the legacy you are so proud of was in jeopardy.”
He rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. “I came here to invite you to RA Ranch and join us. There is no judgment, only an offer of help.” He swallowed down the inexplicable lump that formed in his throat. “Please, consider the option.”
Silence took over the room as he ended his short, but familiar speech, slightly modified each time he gave it. The only sounds beside their breathing that filled the large space was the tinkling of the ice on the crystal as Edward swirled his cup.
Dean stood and rubbed his palms down the thighs of his jeans. “Thank you for giving me the time to talk to you.”
With that he crossed the room, knowing from experience that it would take time before someone as proud as Edward Monroe was ready to face his failures and admit he needed help.
Just as his hand landed on the finely etched iron handle, Edward called out to him. “Dean, wait.”
He turned slightly and looked at the older man over his shoulder, brows lifted in question.
“I…” Edward stood, resting his fingertips on his desk. “Can you tell me more about your program?”
***
Jillian
Present Day
Jillian topped off Angela’s glass and set the wine bottle on the coffee table as she folded a leg beneath her and dropped down onto the couch beside her friend. “You just got here. It sucks you’re leaving again.”
The other woman took a long draw from her glass. “Don’t you have a husband that you need to give some attention to? He couldn’t have been happy to have me here cramping your style and forcing you two to keep it down last night.”
Heat pooled near her collarbone and crept up her neck. With their guest sleeping a few feet away on the sofa, nothing happened that required intentional silence. However…
An avalanche of dirty and delicious memories from their wedding night cascaded through her mind and caused a knot of desire to form low in her belly.
She was a damn fool to suggest they try out the whole “friends with benefits” bullshit. She loved him. As much as she tried to deny it since the realization first hit in high school, she still did.
Taking their relationship to that level of intimacy once was stupid. Flames of condemnation slowly moved closer to her cheekbones. Twice was idiocy. Desire dried every drop of moisture from her mouth. But the third time they’d had sex that night was totally on Dean. He’d woken her from a deep, dreamless sleep with his lips on her neck and…
Holy hell, she was hopeless.
“Dean and I…” Her words trailed off and she quickly downed a large gulp of the red wine. “Things are different for us. I can guarantee you that he didn’t utter a single complaint about having you stay here.”
Angela set her now empty glass on the coffee table. “Different and boring are not synonymous. Why the hell didn’t you two take a decent honeymoon?”
Because it was a fake wedding and it’s a fake marriage and the only real thing that will come of this is my completely and totally shattered heart. Oh yeah, and my super proper southern family is the reason this all happened so I could save them from ruin and rejection.
She wasn’t certain if it was the nearly empty third glass of wine or desperation to let out all the half-truths and deception she resented carrying, but the truth danced dangerously close to the tip of her tongue, threatening to be spoken any second.
“We’ve known each other forever.” She offered with a small shrug. “Our marriage came from twenty years of friendship.”
Angela pulled her legs up on the sofa and wrapped her arms around them, hugging her knees to her chest. “Mmm, and is there any specific reason why you failed to mention that your bestie was hotter than Hades in summer?”
Jillian tipped the wineglass back and the last drops of the sweet crimson liquid slid down her throat. “Possibly because I spent many, many years of that friendship pointedly ignoring that small detail.” She set the crystal on the coffee table beside the bottle and mirrored Angela’s position. “Do you have any idea how miserable it is to be seventeen and madly in love with your best friend who basically can’t see you as anything even resembling a real girl?”
Angela laughed and grabbed a throw pillow, tucking it between her head and the back of the couch as she pushed a few errant dark curls behind her ear. “I’m sure he outgrew that phase pretty quick. That boy is devoted to you.”
She sighed and stared out the front window in the fading light of the evening. Arguing with Angela was pointless and would only end in her heart aching even more.
In some ways, she was right. Dean was devoted, and that was never more evident than when he agreed to give up nearly two years of his life for her.
But none of that translated to Dean loving her the way she’d always dreamt, giving her the kind of marriage his parents had and her grandparents had. It just meant that she would need to fall back on all the years of etiquette training and pretend to be fine for as long as it took for her to land another assignment and run as far away as she could to lick her wounds.
And even though she may live to regret it, right now she would greedily take every second she had with him and hope the memories would comfort her rather than destroy her when she tried to rebuild her life.
She ground her molars together and questioned if her family was truly worth this in the end.
Just as quickly as the thought popped into her head, it was answered as an image of her grandfather floated through her mind and reaffirmed her decision. He was so proud of all their family had done over the years and was proud of her. Something her mother and father never had been.
So she would suck it up and be the adult she needed to be to get through this. And she’d take every moment of their carefully crafted deeply in love public persona as well as their private friends-with-benefits arrangement and imprint it on her brain to pull out on the lonely nights when she’d attempt to sleep under a mosquito net in the bush. Because that would be the only way she could possibly survive.
A single bright headlight and loud, roaring engine cut through the dark thoughts plaguing her mind and her aching heart immediately thumped back to life. Dean was home. She fought the urge to run and greet him at the door, fairly certain that would be overkill even for the couple pretending to be entwined in wedded bliss.
She caught the clock on the far wall just as the doorknob turned. It was after seven and the damn little voice of darkness taunted her with the idea that he stayed away longer than needed to avoid coming home. Regretting everything from the wedding to the sex.
His face was a little drawn, but his countenance brightened as soon as he caught sight of her and a measure of the weight bearing down on her shoulders lifted. He crossed the few feet separating them and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. A perfectly normal act for newlyweds. “Honey, I’m home.”
Jillian patted the day’s worth of facial hair growing along his jawline. “My hero, bringing home the bacon for his little lady.”
“Soy bacon,” he corrected as he disappeared behind the kitchen cabinets. “Did you guys eat yet?”
Angela held up the empty wine bottle and popcorn bowl. “Does this count?”
Dean poked his head out and lifted a single brow. “Okay, are you two making up for Georgia being out of commission? Popcorn and wine are her designated meals of choice, not yours. I’ll make…something.”
Jillian popped off the couch and followed him into the kitchen, pulling him deeper into the small space, away from Angela’s prying eyes. She scanned his face closer, taking in the dark circles under his lower lids. She cupped his cheeks in her hands. “You look exhausted.”
“I am. And my head is killing me.” He leaned into her touch and her heart ached with desire to care for him. “I had a new client today and…it was a bit more than I expected.”
Th
e comment served as a reminder to ask for more detail about his job. Later.
She gave him a tight hug that was far briefer and far more friendly than she wanted and spun him around on his feet, facing him toward the hallway and his bedroom door. “To bed now. Angela and I are perfectly capable of feeding ourselves.”
He took a few steps away then turned back to her. “And you promise it’ll be something more than popcorn and wine?”
Jillian stuck her tongue out and her middle finger up. “Keep up those smartass comments and you’ll wake up to find your hand in a bowl of warm water.”
Dean glanced into living room and made a face at Angela. “Clearly cotillion classes worked wonders on my wife.”
He made his way to the bedroom and her heart tumbled to the floor. How in the hell did two words like “my wife” manage to bring such joy and pain at the exact same time?
Chapter Twenty-Six
Dean
Present Day
He pulled the bike to a stop in front of his townhome, threw the kickstand down, and stood, taking off his helmet and holding it under his arm as he jogged up the steps and unlocked the front door. They’d quickly fallen into an easy routine over the past week and a half and damned if he didn’t find himself loving it.
Dean hung his helmet from the large hook Jillian had installed while he’d been at work because she was tired of seeing it on the floor. A small smile tugged at his lips. Apparently the fourth time she’d stubbed her toe on it had been the final straw.
He tugged open the door that led to the basement and the integral garage and descended a few steps to peek around the corner. Jillian had been taking his tiny sportscar every day to work with Sam’s community outreach project and she loved every minute.
Especially driving the fiery red car that had a tendency to entice even the most cautious driver to test the power of its engine.
Meant to be More (Meant to Be Series Book 4) Page 18