Faking Forever (First Wives Book 4)

by Catherine Bybee

  “We’ve been looking for him for the past half hour.”

  “I would think a bar would be the first place you’d check.”

  Justin ran a hand through his hair. “He was pretty sloshed. I didn’t see him looking for more booze.”

  She waved at the empty glasses. “You guessed wrong.” With a long stretch, she stood and patted Justin’s back. “Good luck with that one in the morning. Ending the night with mezcal leaves a nasty taste the next day.”

  Justin stared down at his brother. “Thanks for keeping an eye on him.”

  “I’m a team player.” She looked to the other guys. “If my friends were here, they’d be taking pictures. Just a suggestion.”

  That’s all she needed to say, and the phones came out.

  On her short walk to her room on the opposite side of the hotel, Shannon lifted her chin. It felt good, a little vindictive, even, to know Victor would wake up with a nasty hangover. She might even send over a Bloody Mary as a peace offering.

  Nawh . . . let him figure out his own cures.

  Because in all the things Victor had said that night, what he failed to proclaim was any love for his former fiancée.

  Corrie was right in running off, and even if Victor didn’t realize it yet, he was lucky she did.

  If anything Shannon had said to the former would-be bride made Corrie flee, then Victor should be thanking her for all the money he didn’t have to part with after the divorce.

  She doubted that would ever happen, the thanking thing. In fact, she was fairly certain the man’s lips would curse her as soon as he realized she’d happily fed more fuel to his already drunk body.

  Those were curses she could live with.

  Chapter Seven

  Something crawled in Victor’s mouth and died.

  The ceiling fan spun in slow circles over his head, moving air gently around the room.

  In careful measures, he scanned the room and his body from head to toe. With each beat of his heart, a solid knock hit his temples . . . hard! The pasty film on the roof of his mouth contributed to the aforementioned death inside. His dress shirt was bunched up around his shoulders, with several buttons missing from the fabric. He was still in his dress pants. The bottoms were damp, and he didn’t have any socks or shoes. Rolling over on the bed, he saw his wallet and cell phone on the nightstand, but no evidence of his shoes on the floor. A vague memory of throwing them in the ocean sometime the previous night surfaced. It was one of those “screw the world, I’ll be a beach bum” moments.

  He forced his body into a sitting position and smacked his lips together in an attempt to find some moisture.

  Beside his bed was a bottle of water and a small package of headache medicine, along with a note. Call me when you’re awake. Justin.

  He tore open the packet and washed the sour pills down. He hit the bathroom and then stood over the sink, watching the water run down the drain.

  Corrie bailed.

  Left him at the last possible minute without one word.

  Victor shrugged his shirt off, tossed it in the corner of the bathroom, and walked back to the bed. Sitting on the edge, he looked at his phone.

  It was still early. Eight o’clock was entirely too early to wake up after the binge he’d managed the night before.

  A text from his mother had come through at six. His parents were on their way to the airport, said Justin was staying an extra day to make sure he was okay, and that if he needed them, to call before they boarded the plane and they’d come back.

  He fired off a quick note telling them he was okay and that he’d call them later that week.

  Other than his mom, his phone was painfully silent.

  No word from Corrie. He’d be damned if he would text or call her first.

  No messages from his extended family who had shown up to witness his humiliation. Nothing.

  Arwin and Kurt where probably still sleeping, and Justin was probably piling in breakfast.

  Victor plugged his phone in to charge and headed to the shower.

  Twenty minutes later, he found his brother in the hotel restaurant, sitting in front of an empty plate and a cup of coffee.

  When Justin saw him, he put his phone down. “I didn’t expect to see you until noon.”

  Victor pulled out a chair. “I won’t be running any marathons this morning, that’s for sure.”

  Justin laughed. “I’m glad to see you up.”

  “I’m a little surprised I’m vertical. I don’t remember going to bed.”

  “That’s too bad. The strippers we hired were top-shelf.”

  Victor narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, right.”

  They both laughed.

  The waiter brought him a menu and he ordered coffee. His head still had a band playing inside, but his stomach didn’t seem any worse for the night. “Thanks for keeping me from following my shoes into the ocean.”

  “I’m not sure what thought bubble prompted that rebellion. It isn’t like Corrie left because of your footwear.”

  He didn’t know where that came from either.

  “You made us crazy, taking off like you did last night,” Justin said, taking a drink from his coffee.

  “I took off?”

  “Yeah. One minute you said you were going to take a leak, the next thing we know, you were gone.”

  The image of the moon hitting the water the night before surfaced in his head. He remembered being pissed the view was perfect. A perfect view on an imperfect night. Then he remembered sitting at the bar with her.

  Singing.

  “Please tell me that photographer wasn’t part of last night.”

  Justin sat in silence.

  “Hell, no.”

  “Sorry, Vic. But you’re lucky she stumbled upon you. Or you on her, however that may have been.”

  “We were drinking at the bar.” And singing.

  “That you were.”

  Victor shook his head. “She told Corrie to leave. I know it.” Her conviction on the plane, the words she told him when she didn’t know who he was. The strength and confidence in her couldn’t understand how a woman would want a man like him.

  Justin sat forward. “You said that constantly last night . . . sober, drunk. What if she did, Vic? No one put a gun to Corrie’s head and told her to flake. In the end, she did that all on her own.”

  “Still . . .”

  “Do you remember what you were saying seconds before you realized Corrie wasn’t walking down that aisle?”

  His back teeth met and didn’t let go. “That was nerves.”

  Justin fixed him with a look. “That was second thoughts. We both know it. So what if Shannon nudged Corrie to walk away? What if her best friends drug her away? It doesn’t matter. Her second thoughts stopped her. Why didn’t yours?”

  “Nerves, not second thoughts.”

  Justin shook his head. “I call bullshit. If Corrie was the end all, be all, you would have run after her and begged her to come back. But you didn’t do that. Did you?”

  Victor swallowed. The thought had never occurred to him.

  “You’re getting a do-over, Vic . . . a new start without going through all the crap that happens when you marry the wrong person for the wrong reasons and end up giving up half your shit for the effort. Trust me on this. Count your blessings.” Justin had married in his late twenties and was divorced by thirty-four. No kids, thankfully. His ex did take half.

  Victor turned his gaze to the beach outside the open doors of the restaurant. Maybe his brother had a point. “I should just go back to work and forget all this happened.”

  Justin blew out a frustrated breath. “Or maybe you should take the two weeks you were supposed to be on your honeymoon and figure out why your priorities are all messed up.”

  He snapped his eyes to his brother. “My priorities are just fine, thank you.”

  “The hell. You didn’t fly in with Corrie like you planned. Why?”

  “I had a meeting.”

 
; “Did anyone die at this meeting?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m not being anything. You blew off your fiancée the day before your wedding for a meeting. I don’t care what was going on . . . a gazillion-dollar deal, a peace offering between the Israelis and the—”

  “It was important.” Tensions in China were messing with his future.

  Justin sat back. “I don’t get it. I just don’t. You’re so damn smart when it comes to finance and futures. You saw Dad working his ass off day and night at the shop, always struggling. When we were old enough to jump in and learn the trade, you were like, ‘Hell, no. There’s a way to make money on the scraps.’ But you’re so damn ignorant when it comes to personal relationships.”

  Their father was a machinist. A master at twisting raw pieces of metal into something that ended up in airplanes flying at thirty thousand feet or rocketing into outer space. With every part he created, there were shavings all over the shop floor.

  Shavings of valuable metal that needed to be recycled.

  His father had a company come in to pick up the shavings for a price. Only Victor wanted the cut for himself. By the time he graduated from high school, he’d laughingly started Vic Corp. His father and several of his friends gave Vic their shavings . . . for a price, and Victor negotiated contracts with recycling companies to turn a significant profit. Where Justin joined his father at Brooks Incorporated, making parts and working long hours, Victor took a different direction.

  He accepted his two-year associate’s degree in business from his local community college and went into business for himself full-time. Taking two more years out of his life to accomplish what he was already doing didn’t fit his schedule. Vic Corp started with him in his childhood bedroom, he moved to an apartment before he was old enough to drink a beer legally, and by the time he was thirty, he’d stretched his shavings into recycling boats full of garbage to countries that needed the resources.

  He was greener than any Prius-driving tree hugger out there.

  At least when it came to his business. He knew business. He understood the politics of the game. He negotiated contracts better than anyone on his team. So when there was a last-minute meeting that would mean an annual profit bottom line of five million, he delayed his flight by a few hours.

  Victor didn’t see the problem.

  Only now, his wedding called off and fiancée gone AWOL, he blinked out over the blinding sun just beyond the doors of the restaurant and questioned his own behavior.

  “What the hell is wrong with me?” he asked more to himself than his brother.

  “Is that a rhetorical question, or do you want me to answer it?”

  Victor met his brother’s laughing eyes. “I don’t have the time to hear your laundry list of answers.”

  Justin sighed. “Take a break, brother. Enjoy the beach. Maybe find some cute someone to erase Corrie. Or find a cute someone that makes you realize Corrie wasn’t the one.”

  A cute someone.

  Yeah . . . he could do that.

  Shannon blinked her eyes open and found Justin standing over her.

  “Someone is hitting the beach early,” he said, smiling.

  “Might as well be me.” She scooted up on the lounger and pulled her cover-up across her lap. “How is everyone this morning?”

  She’d been thinking about Victor, Corrie, and the whole mess from the minute the light penetrated her room.

  “If by everyone you mean Victor, he’s fine. Annoyingly unhungover.”

  “That’s too bad.” The man deserved to be cursing liquor all day after the binge the previous night.

  Justin shook his head, laughed, and pulled up a seat in a chaise next to hers. “You have an unassuming sadistic side.”

  “Says the man laying bets on how long his brother’s marriage would last.”

  “Yes, but he’s my brother. It’s expected. You hardly know him.”

  “I know his type.”

  Justin sat back and stared out at the sea. “He’s really not that bad. Misguided right now, but not bad.”

  Shannon wasn’t about to debate that with him. She changed the subject. “So when are you pulling out?”

  “Tomorrow morning. What about you?”

  “A friend of mine is flying in, and we’re staying for almost a week.”

  “Here? Or are you going to Cancun?”

  “Here . . . well, not this hotel, but one up the way a bit. I haven’t had a beach vacation in a while.” She glanced toward the ocean. “You can’t beat the view.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. There could be more women walking around topless. That would beat it.”

  Shannon rolled her eyes and leaned back. “Men.”

  They were quiet for a few seconds.

  “I owe you fifty bucks.”

  Shannon waved him off. “Keep it.”

  “No, no . . . I won’t welch on a bet. But tell me, did you say anything to Corrie?”

  Shannon kept her eyes on two kids playing at the water’s edge. “If by anything you mean did I tell Corrie to leave, the answer is no.”

  “So she did say something to you.”

  Shannon paused, unsure of what she should reveal. “She was beside herself the night of the rehearsal dinner. Between the rain and Victor taking a later flight, Corrie didn’t see the silver lining. She was having second thoughts.”

  Justin kicked his feet up and leaned back. “At least one of them was smart enough to call it off.”

  She considered him from the corner of her eye. “Was Victor questioning his decision?”

  “He called it nerves. I called bullshit.”

  She settled her sunglasses more comfortably on the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. “Well, at least he can make his Tuesday meeting without skipping out on his honeymoon.”

  “His what?”

  “Every passenger in first class had the pleasure of hearing Victor tell someone that he’d be at his meeting on Tuesday. And no, before you ask . . . I didn’t tell Corrie about the meeting. Although I’d have loved to be a fly on the wall when he explained his need to leave his honeymoon early. Betting the marriage wouldn’t last the week was a little like insider trading. Hence why you don’t need to pay up.”

  “In that case . . .”

  Shannon smiled.

  A few minutes later, after she thought the conversation had dried up, Justin’s sigh grabbed her attention. She looked over, found him staring at her.

  “I’ve recently started seeing someone,” he told her.

  Where had that come from? “That’s nice.”

  “What I meant to say was, I’m seeing someone, but if I wasn’t, I would have asked you out. Learned what kind of idiot let you slip away.”

  The weight of his stare met with a hint of her insecurity. “Well, thank you. I’m flattered. I’m in a strange place right now and probably would have said no.” Because starting a relationship while attempting to get pregnant might kill both deals.

  “Probably?”

  She attempted a smile. “Sorry.”

  “No, no . . . it’s okay.”

  Shannon returned to the study of the underside of her eyelids.

  When Justin remained quiet, she glanced his way. His eyes were closed, his frame stretched out. Team Victor won on the attractive scale, but the man needed a neurorectologist to remove his head from his butt . . . where Team Justin, while still attractive, skipped out on a certain something that she couldn’t put a finger to.

  Not that it mattered. She’d likely never see either one of them again by morning.

  Chapter Eight

  Victor noticed Shannon sitting in the open dining area of the hotel the next morning, drinking coffee and reading on her e-reader. He’d spent most of the previous day licking his metaphorical wounds and nursing a headache. Kurt and Arwin flew out the day before, and Justin was an hour away from jumping into a taxi to the airport.

  It was Monday, and most, if not all, of the wedding guests
had already left the country.

  Dressed in cotton pants that went midcalf and a light shirt, she looked like she was dressed for a long plane ride home. As much a pain in the ass as the woman had been, he felt compelled to say goodbye. After all, he was the reason she was there.

  He walked up quietly behind her. “If it isn’t the woman who fed me mezcal.”

  The sound of his voice made her jump.

  Too bad she wasn’t holding her coffee.

  “You have got to stop doing that.”

  Without an invitation, he sat and smiled. She took a deep breath and looked away, came painfully close to rolling her eyes. For some reason, he appreciated the fact she held back and wondered just how much it would take for her to disregard him with such a gesture.

  “Please, sit down,” she said.

  He glanced at his chair. “Thank you.”

  She set her e-reader aside. “I thought for sure you’d be back at the office by now.”

  So did he. “I couldn’t fly yesterday even if I’d found a flight.”

  “Oh?”

  He didn’t miss the tiny shine in the corner of her eye.

  “No. I had one too many the other night. Inflicting that on whoever had the misfortune of sitting next to me on the flight home was more than I could take after my flight here.”

  She smiled, briefly, and lifted her chin. “I’m glad to hear you’ve evolved since Friday.”

  Unable to help himself, he laughed.

  Her smile returned.

  Victor felt a twist in his gut, a pull to something he didn’t want to name. “I guess you’re leaving today,” he said.

  She shrugged. “I am.”

  He nodded. “Justin informed me you made sure I didn’t decide to go for a late night swim.”

  “It was tempting. But then I realized you wouldn’t be able to pay me if you swallowed too much water.”

  “Self-preserving. Very smart of you.”

  “It’s a gift.”

  When the woman wasn’t tossing barbs at him, she was beautiful. Perfect lines in her face, high cheekbones . . . he couldn’t tell if her olive skin was from an ancestor or the byproduct of living in Southern California. Not anything like Corrie. Nothing like anyone he’d been attracted to before.