by Kelsie Rae
“You don’t understand,” I argue, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time. The flood of emotions nearly brings me to my knees. Peeking up at him, I do my best to give him an explanation. “This is the ring. The ring. The one that I want my husband to buy me. My real husband.” I emphasize the word real because we both know that isn’t what this is. It’s not real, and it sure as hell isn’t going to last forever.
Finally understanding, he drops his hands from the side of my face as if he’s been burned. Or maybe branded the same way I was since the moment he stumbled into my life and asked me to be his wife even if it was only for a little while.
The light in his eyes dims right before me. “How do you expect your perfect future husband to know about this ring?”
“He won’t. And I’ll probably never wear it again after we walk out of this shop. But I’d rather dream about a ring that signifies something real instead of simply buying it because you have enough cash in your pocket to do so. You can’t buy love, Liam. And you can’t buy happiness, either.” Hesitantly, I slide off the ring from my finger and set it gently onto the top of the counter.
“Do not buy me this ring for me,” I reiterate.
“Ever?”
“Nope,” I quip. “This ring is for real husbands only.” My tone is light and teasing in hopes of lifting the weight from the conversation. But I don’t miss the way he watches me slip on the giant diamond he’d gifted me with on our wedding day or the way his eyes dim as soon as it’s in place.
“You ready to go?” I ask, taking a step toward the exit. When he doesn’t follow, I turn around and study his odd behavior.
He doesn’t move back from the counter. Instead, he stares at the ring that holds so much more promise than any piece of jewelry ever should.
“Liam?” I call out.
Clearing his throat, he scratches the scruff on his jaw before following me outside. “Yeah. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Liam
The next few days fly by in a blur. There’s a haze of wedded bliss that almost feels real anytime I look at Skye before I remember that as soon as we get home, we get to file for divorce. For some reason, a small part of me wishes we could run away from our home and stay in Italy forever. There’s just something about the quaint country that feels like a fresh start. And if anyone needs one of those, it’s me.
That’s the problem, though, isn’t it? Skye doesn’t need a fresh start. She has a great life back home. She isn’t running from anything. She doesn’t have to. Everything she’s ever wanted is there.
Then there’s me. The guy who’s too much of a coward to face the music and admit that this marriage is a complete ruse with an expiration date that keeps crawling closer, no matter how badly I wish it would stop.
I need a damn drink.
Which is a good thing because we just hopped into the back of a private car with a driver I hired for the entire evening. Our destination? I don’t really know, and I don’t really care. All I know is that it’s headed to three different vineyards with one goal in mind––wine tasting.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t just rent a car? I feel weird having someone else drive us around when both of us are capable,” Skye whispers as she takes a seat beside me in the back of a black sedan. The smell of leather greets us.
“If we rented a car, one of us would have to be sober enough to drive by the end of the night. Where’s the fun in a wine tasting if we can’t fully enjoy it?”
“I don’t drink much,” she admits. “I would’ve been fine being the designated driver. Not a big deal.”
“Seriously?”
“You’re surprised?”
“Kind of. I never pegged you for being a stiff.”
“I’m not a stiff!” she huffs, crossing her arms and accentuating her perky breasts. Ever since our little chat before the Colosseum, I’ve been analyzing my type, and she seems to keep checking off all the boxes. Hourglass shape? Check. Sass? Check. Innocence? I’m still figuring that one out, but I’m thinking that’s a check too. I haven’t been meaning to look at her like that as if she’s a potential…something, but I haven’t been able to help myself, either. If only she knew. She’d probably laugh in my face. I drag my eyes back up to hers to see her glaring at me.
Apparently, I offended her.
“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” I scramble to defend myself. “I’m sorry. I just meant that you’re fun. And pretty laid back. I assumed you’d be fine letting loose every once in a while.”
“You don’t need alcohol to let loose,” she points out.
“Which is true. But it doesn’t hurt, either.”
Grudgingly, she agrees. “True.”
“So, why no alcohol?”
“I didn’t say no alcohol,” she emphasizes. “I just said that I don’t drink that much. I don’t have anything against it. I just have never really jumped in with both feet.”
“Well, tonight’s your chance. We have three vineyards to try, and each one comes with a few different glasses of wine. Sounds like a party to me.”
With a light laugh, she teases, “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
I hadn’t been planning on it, but now, I am.
“Maybe,” I rumble aloud as the possibilities of an inebriated Skye filter through my mind.
“Hmmm…,” she hums, giving me the side-eye. “What’s drunk Liam like?”
“Drunk Liam is a mess, but buzzed Liam is pretty fun.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Definitely a difference. I don’t get wasted anymore. Too many bad experiences.” I shudder at the thought.
“You mean like puking?” Her button nose wrinkles.
“Puking and terrible decision making.”
“Thankfully, I haven’t had to deal with either of those yet. Or at least, not while drinking,” she adds with a smirk.
“I wouldn’t recommend it, but I do feel like you have to experience them both at least once, just to say you have.”
“Hmmm,” she hums a second time. The sound goes straight to my groin, and I shift in my seat to cover the evidence.
“Noted,” she adds.
“If you decide tonight’s the night to pop that particular cherry, let me know. I’ll keep my head clear.”
“You’d be willing to stay relatively sober even though you intentionally hired a driver for the evening so that you wouldn’t have to worry about driving?” The surprise is clear in her voice.
“For you? Yeah. Besides, I think drunk Skye would be hilarious.”
“I like how you talk about drunk Skye as if she’s an entirely different person than the one sitting beside you.”
I laugh. “She kind of is. When your inhibitions vanish, there’s nothing holding you back.”
“That sounds dangerously close to substance abuse when you describe it like that. And since when do you hold yourself back from anything? You’re Liam Davis.”
“Yeah. I’m Liam Davis. The screwed up firstborn to Robert Davis. The guy who had to marry a younger woman so he could breed a more suitable heir to the family fortune since his eldest was never enough for him.”
“Brody isn’t your replacement, Liam,” she argues.
“Yeah, he is. Daddy Dearest isn’t wrong, though. Hell, I even had to hire a random woman to play my wife just to get my inheritance. Can you blame me for wanting to escape with the use of alcohol every once in a while?”
“A random woman?” she whispers in disbelief, repeating the words I’d used to describe her.
Shit.
I raise my hands in defense. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re not a random woman, okay?” I watch as she shuts down right before my eyes. Shaking my head, I try a different tactic. “Let me rephrase that…besides, we’re getting off-topic. I’m just saying that sometimes it’s hard to get out of our own heads and to let our little insecurities go. Alcohol helps. Whether it’s letting those insecurities go or having a lit
tle liquid courage to give us the bravery we need to do something our minds have held us back from doing. That’s all.” My eyes drop down to her mouth before I can stop them.
“You know what it sounds like to me?” she replies coldly.
“What?”
“That you’re scared.”
“Me?” I scoff, hating how she’s turned the tables on me. “What do I have to be scared of?”
“I don’t know,” she breathes. The inside of the car is nearly silent, and I kind of hate that the driver can easily hear our conversation back here. My only hope is that his English is as broken as I’d assumed when he introduced himself a little while ago. The air is electric, pulsing between us with an energy I’ve come to expect, yet still haven’t grown accustomed to.
“Tell me,” I push.
And even though she looks hurt, her soft voice filters through the air. “I think you’re scared because, even though you tell yourself you don’t care what your dad thinks, you do. Which is ironic, isn’t it? He thinks you spend all of your time traipsing through the world, wasting his money on booze and women. He has no idea what you’ve really been doing, and you haven’t bothered to tell him even though it would fix everything if he knew the truth. You need to stop letting your daddy’s decisions or expectations affect you. You’re your own person, Liam. Accept it. And accept yourself. If you want something, be a man and take it.”
“Is that what you want?” I seethe, prickling at her accusatory tone.
She remains silent.
“Tell me, Skye. Do you want me to push past those insecurities right now? Do you want me to follow through with what my body is begging me to do? Especially when my head is telling me it’s a terrible idea?”
Realizing what she’s accidentally suggested, she tries to backpedal. “That’s not what I meant. This isn’t about me––”
“It isn’t? So, you’re only allowed to judge me for my insecurities if it coincides with what you want?” I growl, surprised that she’s riled me up so effortlessly. And pissed that she just confirmed my suspicions. She doesn’t want me. How could she?
“Liam, I didn’t mean––”
“You didn’t mean what?”
“I’m sorry––”
I shake my head. “You can’t be sorry. Not right now. Tell me. If I pushed past those insecurities of rejection that were pounded into me as a kid, and I kissed the shit out of you right now, would you accept me anyway? The broken boy with Daddy issues?”
“This isn’t about me. This is about you and your dad.”
Probably. But this is about her too. I want her. But I want to know if she wants me back before I make a fool out of myself. She didn’t agree to the real thing with me. She agreed to a ruse. And don’t even get me started on the whole ring debacle from a few days before. I’m just as insecure as she is when it comes to the entire situation, and I hate that she can’t see that.
“Answer me,” I push.
Her lower lip trembles as she releases a shaky breath, uncomfortable with my scrutiny. I don’t blame her. I’m being an ass right now. But can she really blame me? She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know what I’ve been through. What I’ve dealt with my entire life. The rejection from those who were supposed to love me. The unrealistic expectations that were shoved down my throat before I could even walk. Yet, here she is, telling me I’m a coward.
And the worst part? She’s right.
“Do you think you’re the only one with insecurities, Liam?” she replies a few seconds later. “The only one who wonders why she isn’t good enough to be seen as the real deal instead of a temporary sham? Especially when you just called me a random woman who you asked to marry you?” She laughs dryly. “Hell, I wasn’t even your first choice, was I? I had to practically force myself into the position. That does great things for a girl’s self-esteem, by the way,” she adds sarcastically. Her tiny hands clench into fists in her lap as the anger and frustration threaten to take hold. With another shaky laugh that’s far from humorous, she spits, “You wanna see drunk Skye? Congratulations, I’m pretty sure you’re about to get a front-row seat. But you damn well better believe she won’t be stupid enough to let her barriers down. Not around you. And not when she knows it’ll only bring more heartache.”
Giving me her back, Skye looks out the window. The hills on both sides of the vehicle are painted with vineyards, giving the entire horizon an almost unearthly beauty. The last time I was here, I didn’t even notice it. And even though my blood is boiling right now, I still can’t ignore the way the sun seeps in through the window, casting a soft glow along Skye’s freckled cheeks and blonde hair while she continues stewing at me in silence.
I feel so much for her, yet I can’t do a damn thing about it. Why? Because she doesn’t know the real me. That our marriage isn’t the only sham I’ve woven together. My sober brain is practically screaming at me about all the reasons my hands are tied when it comes to Skye in hopes of finally dashing the glimmer of hope that sprouted in my chest as soon as I saw her walk down the aisle. Toward me.
The most undeserving man on the planet.
We sit in silence. Skye stews over my asshole behavior, and I stew over my insecurities and the spotlight she shined on them.
A few minutes later, the driver pulls the car up to the side of a little brick building. Once it’s in park, Skye swings the door open and stomps outside.
“I wait here,” the driver announces from the front seat. “Your next appointment is one hour. I collect you when is time to go, si?”
“Si,” I mutter before following Skye’s retreating form into the building.
My steps halt near the entrance when I see a suave Italian man a few years older than me. His hand is outstretched to Skye. She takes it with a shy smile, her cheeks still tinged pink from our argument. If you even want to call it that. I watch his thumb slowly dance across the back of her hand a few more times. He still hasn’t released her from his hold. When she tilts her head back in laughter, I finally snap.
Stomping toward them, I wrap my arm around her tiny waist and practically smash our sides together. Hell, I’m surprised I didn’t just pound my fist against my chest like a damn caveman with how over-the-top my entrance is.
Gritting my teeth, I offer my hand to the man in front of me. “Excuse me. I’m Liam Davis. I see you’ve met my wife, Skye. And you are…?”
“Married?” He turns to Skye, tsking under his breath. “I should have known. The most beautiful ones are always snatched away before their good sense kicks in.” He gives her a flirtatious smirk that makes me want to knock it off his face.
Clasping my offered hand, he shakes it firmly before dropping it and introducing himself. “My name is Gabriele. You may call me Gabri. This is my family’s vineyard. I will be your guide. The rest of the group is waiting outside. You were the last to arrive. Now, if you will, please follow me.” Turning on his heel, he heads to the exit while Skye shrugs out of my hold, still pissed from our argument in the car.
Good riddance. I’m still pissed at you too, I want to say, but I bite my tongue. I watch the skirt of her dress sway back and forth along with her hips as she walks beside Gabri, completely ignoring me. The sight only fuels my frustration. And my jealousy, though I don’t want to admit it. With a deep breath, I count to five in my head then follow them.
Looks like it’s going to be a long afternoon.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Skye
Fun fact. Italians are fun to flirt with.
Second fun fact. Especially ones that have access to copious amounts of alcohol.
Third fun fact. Liam was totally right. Getting bombed is super-duper fun. I can tell.
“I think that’s enough,” Liam orders beside me. After a quick tour of the vineyards, we were led to a quaint little balcony with little tables scattered throughout it. That’s when the wine came, along with a practiced speech about the different alcohols and how well they pair with pasta, cheese, blah, bla
h, blah. Liam covers the rim of my now-empty glass with his hand in hopes of it discouraging Gabri from pouring any more Chianti into it.
Not just Chianti. Black Rooster Chianti.
It’s a thing. I don’t really know what it means or why it’s important, but Gabri made sure I knew that his Rooster was better than all the other Roosters out there.
Then he gave me a taste. Actually, he gave me a lot of tastes.
And I’d have to agree.
“I love your Rooster, Gabri,” I gush, letting the foreign name roll off my tongue. “Gabri. Gabri. Gabri. I love your name too. I love it so much.”
He grins down at me until Liam and his nose-butting gets in the way. Again. “Thanks, Gabri,” Liam grits out. “I think this has been fun and all, but we have another vineyard to get to.”
Standing, Liam waits for me to join him, but I’m distracted by Gabri’s smooth accent when he counters, “No, please. Stay. I insist.”
A pair of strong hands fall on my shoulders. “Unfortunately, we have plans. Thank you for your…hospitality.”
I snort. Hospitality, my ass.
“Come on, poor sport,” I say, tilting my head back and looking up at him. “Let’s stay and have some more of Gabri’s Rooster. It’ll be fun.”
I watch Liam’s nostrils flare, making me want to laugh when I can see straight up his nose before he releases a long, deep sigh.
“I think you’ve had enough Black Rooster for one day.”
“But what about the other vineyards?” I plead, sounding like a little kid who’s about to get her favorite treat snatched away from her.
“Let’s get back to the car; then we’ll talk about visiting the other vineyards. How does that sound?”
I fold my arms and stick out my lower lip, even though I keep my head tilted up. “But I wanna stay.”
“Please?” he presses, giving me the cutest damn puppy dog eyes I’ve ever seen. Still, I might be drunk, but my emotions are running hot, and I haven’t quite forgiven him for the argument in the car. After all, I’m just a random woman. Why does he care what I do?