She bites that lip and looks away from me, her eyes glistening, and I pause; shit, is she going to cry—
“That isn’t true, Elena. She was never pregnant. I’m not like that. I may have grown up with a man who slapped me around, but I respect women.”
“I believe you.” Her words are quiet.
Thank God.
Her ocean-blue eyes are clear when they land back on me. “I will never tell a soul about our night. I will go back to Topher and Aunt Clara and swear them to secrecy. If I stumble across you at a restaurant or a VIP room—which is highly unlikely—I promise to not even give you a second glance. Besides, you have plenty of other options, don’t you, Jack? Why not ask one of those supermodels at the VIP room to be your penthouse girl?”
Been there. That road is bleak and empty.
And those girls aren’t Elena, with her pouty lips and little skirts and glasses.
She scoffs. “Tell me, what do I get out of signing the NDA? Jewels, evening gowns, galas, an allowance, a new car—”
“Stop. It’s not like that. It’s not a transaction.”
“Well, it sure seems like it. What happened to good old-fashioned hanging out and seeing where it goes? Maybe a date. Maybe more conversations about who you are and who I am? Because I refuse to be some girl you bang when you’re horny and need a warm body who’s signed some stupid papers. I’m a person. And full disclosure . . . ha ha . . . I don’t want to be your hookup, okay? I don’t! I’m team boyfriend all the way, Jack.”
Her chin is tilted up, eyes blazing at me, and I wonder how I ever thought she was shy.
My throat tightens. Here’s the part where I should say something right and good and fix this mess, maybe tell her that she makes me feel like no one ever has . . . but fuck, I don’t know how to even be myself with a girl anymore. She’s right. My walls are up. I’m living in a fortress.
She looks at me. “I’m waiting, Jack. I just said some real stuff. Say something.”
Several moments pass as we stare at each other, and I’m racking my brain to figure out how to get us out of this conversation, to get her on my side—and back in my arms.
“Whatever,” she mutters.
Dammit. I’ve waited too long, and she grabs her purse and shoes and stalks to the door.
I should beg her to stay. I should. Because it feels like that—like I’d be willing to walk across hot coals just to get her to be with me.
Shit.
That is just . . . crazy.
I barely know her!
I clamp my lips together as she opens the door.
She looks back at me, a flash of vulnerability on her face, as if waiting for me to stop her.
I just stare at her, getting a good look at her face, that long auburn hair, those big eyes. Fuck. I’m never going to see her again. She’s done. I feel it.
She lets out a sigh and darts out, brushing past the concierge fellow who’s in the hall holding our food.
Dammit.
Chapter 18
ELENA
“Alert, alert! Douchebag and fiancée approaching the library!” Topher calls to me from the front desk as I shelve a new shipment of YA books. My hands tighten around one as I come out from behind the stacks and glance out the tinted windows.
Preston and Giselle. They’re arriving in his Lexus in the parking lot. I watch as he walks around to her side and helps her out. She wraps a hand around his arm, and they march toward the door.
Someone stops them on the sidewalk, and Giselle holds up her ring. Glowing.
I let out a sigh. I’ve been avoiding them all week. Not in the mood to deal with something I clearly should. Preston started calling on Monday, leaving voice mails and texting again. I never responded. Giselle took up the cause on Tuesday evening, coming by the house, but I didn’t answer her knock.
On Wednesday, Mama barged in and asked me to talk to them. She was businesslike about it, reminding me that Giselle is my sister and always will be, and I need to make things right.
My lips tighten. Why should I make things right? He dated me first!
On Thursday evening, Aunt Clara popped over, surprising me in the middle of a sewing session. I slammed the door to my secret room and joined her in the kitchen, where we shared some bourbon. We barely talked about the engagement, but I knew that was her mission, to convince me to sit down with them. Instead, I told her about Jack and the stupid NDA. We ended up outside on the screened-in porch, a little tipsy, talking about men and sneaking cigarettes she’d brought.
And now it’s Friday, and Preston and Giselle are here to double-team me. Perfect.
Topher slides in next to me and pushes up the sleeves of his Nirvana shirt. “I’m gonna protect you, Elle.”
“I know you would, but I don’t think it’s going to come to blows. Preston isn’t a fighter—or much of a lover.”
Topher’s eyes never leave Preston’s face as they continue to chat outside. It’s a sunny day for the end of February. “He’s an uptight prick. I bet he never got hugs as a baby.”
“She did, though.” Mama especially doted on her. Pretty is key to her, and she showered Giselle with attention, the good daughter who’s now working on her doctorate in physics.
I watch as she gazes up at him, a soft expression on her face, the way her eyes glitter. Love. I want to spit.
I’ve been extra . . . not really angry . . . but disillusioned since I walked out of Jack’s penthouse several days ago. I almost thought . . . he might try to stop me, but he didn’t.
But he’s been back to Daisy. I heard all about it at the Cut ’N’ Curl yesterday when I popped in to get Sun Drops for me and Topher.
Why, he’s just the sweetest man. Polite and gracious! He signed over three hundred footballs for all the kids at the elementary school! Little Timmy right next to him. Such a handsome fellow! That came from Birdie Walker, the school secretary. She was getting her roots touched up by Aunt Clara, who met my gaze in the mirror and grinned like a loon.
I just rolled my eyes and sat down in a chair, pretending to read a magazine, and listened.
Every student and teacher got to meet him one on one with Timmy and Laura! It took almost all day!
Oh, so Laura was there. Nice. Why don’t they just get married?
I hear Ms. Clark even slipped him her phone number! I wonder if he’ll call! She’s so pretty. He looked interested!
That was it. I groaned and maybe glared a little at the mouthy secretary. Ms. Clark is barely twenty-two and gives everyone her number. She’s also his type.
Whatever.
I flounced off from the Cut ’N’ Curl, part of me . . . annoyed that he hasn’t tried to find me.
Is that crazy?
But he was in Daisy and didn’t even come by the library. It’s right across from the church! If he was so gung ho about me, then why not try harder? Where’s that competitive nature of his?
But . . .
It’s over between the football player and me.
I wadded up that NDA and almost tossed it in his face.
I walked out.
And he didn’t follow.
Right.
Aunt Clara appears like magic next to Preston and Giselle, her eyes darting to the library windows, but the windows are tinted for the sun, and anyone looking in can’t see me and Topher.
Because if they could see our dagger eyes, they’d run.
“They’ll be here in a minute.” I head to the front desk and position myself behind it. Thankfully, it’s noon, and the place is quiet, with only a few patrons here—some at tables, some at the computers for the free internet. I pat down my hair, tamed and up in a french twist. I fix my glasses and reapply my red lipstick quickly, squaring my shoulders.
The three of them walk in, gazing around at the space. It’s an old building, but it’s beautiful, completely renovated since I took over—pristine, shiny tile flooring and new crisp-white shelves. The walls are a cool gray, the artwork from talented students at the
high school, drawings of historic buildings in Daisy. Even the church is on the wall. To the right is a carpeted kids’ area, complete with toys, puzzles, and puppets for story time.
Giselle’s eyes glance over everything, but I doubt she really sees it. Her brain doesn’t work that way. She’s all about facts and equations.
Preston meets my gaze, his brown eyes searching my face, and I . . . I feel absolutely nothing.
He takes in Topher’s glare, pauses, and walks over to a shelf and pretends to look at the audiobooks. Pussy.
“Can we talk?” Giselle asks, an uneasy smile on her face as she reaches the desk. She’s wearing cream slacks and a soft blue blouse. If I squint a little, she’s almost Mama.
“Sure,” I say brightly. “I’ve been waiting to see that ring! It’s all everyone is talking about!”
I can do this!
Aunt Clara comes around the desk like she does it every day—she doesn’t—and aligns herself next to me. Giselle grimaces, moving her eyes from me to Clara.
“Alone?” Giselle asks.
Aunt Clara frowns.
“It’s fine,” I tell Aunt Clara, still smiling. “Giselle and I have barely had a minute alone since she got back and started dating Preston! Why, I can’t wait to hear how things are. Weddings are so exciting!”
I mean the words to be as real as possible, but when she winces, I know I struck a nerve. Maybe I need to tone down the peppiness.
Aunt Clara pats me on the arm. “I’ll go check out the romance. Got any hot-vampire books? I want full-on sex scenes.”
I nod. “Sure do. J. R. Ward. Read the whole collection. You’ll love it.”
She gives me a final look and heads to the shelves.
Giselle stands stiffly, looking uncomfortable. “Elena. I’m sorry.”
Plain and simple.
It’s what I expected.
She’s a direct person.
“For what? Stealing my boyfriend or the engagement?”
Her face flushes. “I know we haven’t really talked about everything, and thank you for never telling Mama that. I didn’t tell her about seeing you with that football player. I keep secrets, too, Elena.”
I recall the day when I caught them kissing in his office. It was mid-July and scorching hot when I walked from the library to his office on my lunch break. My head churned with how our relationship was floundering. Between Topher living with me and the lingerie—things weren’t right between us.
I expected to find him behind his desk, working, excited to see me bringing his favorite club sandwich from the Piggly Wiggly deli, only she was in his arms. My first reaction was shock, and I gaped at them in disbelief. Then hurt slammed into me. Then anger roared to the surface, and I yelled at them and slammed down his food, splattering ham and cheese and tomato all over his desk, and stormed out. I marched right over to the Cut ’N’ Curl, fists curled, ready to tell my family what they’d done, especially Mama. I fumed with glee, picturing Giselle falling off her pedestal.
I got all the way to the doors of the beauty shop and stopped.
I pictured Mama’s crestfallen face, how angry she’d be with Giselle. Part of me relished the idea, but I paused, battling with emotions, thinking hard about how their betrayal might change our family forever. My daddy died way too soon in a car accident, and even Nana’s husband died in his forties from a heart attack. For years the women in the Riley family have stuck together, carved out a life, the Daisy Lady Gang. Although Giselle always rolled her eyes when Aunt Clara called us that, deep down, she was part of our group. Did I want to rip that apart? Did I want Mama upset? Mama might have gotten over it after a while, but Aunt Clara never would have. She’s closer to me than anyone.
Family is all I have, really. It’s been entrenched inside me since I was little. It’s why after Nana died, I stayed in Daisy. Christmases at Nana’s, Mama’s meddling, Aunt Clara’s love life. All those memories swirled in my head. I didn’t want to break us up or cause a rip in the fabric of our lives—and that kiss was definitely a tear.
I didn’t want it to ruin everything we’d had for years—over a stupid man.
So I composed myself and walked in and announced that I’d broken up with Preston, and it was over. I made sure all the old ladies heard. Then I texted Preston and Giselle and told them to do whatever the heck they wanted. I used a few curse words.
Now, Mama believes Giselle picked up right where I left off. She didn’t like it at first, always sending me anxious looks at Sunday lunches, but I played it off as best I could.
“Let’s see this ring,” I say, leaning over the counter, shoving books out of the way.
Giselle moves stiffly, placing her long elegant fingers on the desk.
“Wow. Princess cut. A full carat?” I ask, inspecting it like it’s a bug. Not my taste. I like emeralds or rubies. Color.
“Yes. I—I didn’t know he was going to propose, or I would have told you first, Elena.”
“Uh-huh. I’ve been busy this week. Sorry I haven’t gotten back with either of you.”
She swallows, her face tight. “I never wanted to hurt you . . .”
“Yet you kissed him anyway.” I smile.
She closes her eyes briefly. “Yes. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t.” Her throat moves, her voice cracking just a little, and I cock my head, not used to emotion from her. I’m the emotional one. That’s my thing. She’s the cold one. “You walked in on something I didn’t plan to even happen.”
A lone tear falls down her cheek, and I blink. This is not like her at all.
“Then why did you do it?” I ask curtly.
We should have had a heart-to-heart months ago, but she’s been busy, living in Nashville since she got back, studying at Vandy, while I’ve just buried my head in the sand and sewn my heart out.
“I swear, that was the first time in his office. He asked me to stop by to talk about your birthday in August. I . . . I . . . don’t know what happened. He just . . . kissed me . . . and . . .” She blows out a breath, hands wiping at her cheeks. I grab a box of tissues and hand one to her. She takes it and dabs at her eyes. “Do you have any idea how hard it was growing up in your shadow? How the whole world gravitated to you when you walked in the room? Funny, sweet Elena with all the creativity.”
I sputter. “What on earth are you talking about? You’re the pretty one. You’re getting your PhD at twenty-three. I couldn’t even do medical school.”
She shakes her head at me. “You burn bright, Elena. Nana saw it. She loved you the most. I’d see it on her face when she showed you how to sew, when she taught you how to drive, when she gushed over your adventures in New York.” She pauses. “She left you her house! You have all her things: the clothes, her little knickknacks, the whiskey, the beautiful staircase we used to play on, the sofa where we took naps, the swing outside on the tree . . .” She bites her lip. “Even Aunt Clara. You’re so close to her.”
Oh.
Nana left me her house. Mama and Aunt Clara got shared ownership of the Cut ’N’ Curl as well as monetary gifts. Giselle was bequeathed farmland in Daisy.
“I am the oldest, Giselle. And that land is worth a lot of money. Close to Nashville, beautiful hills. It appraised at two hundred grand. I’m sure it will only increase.”
“It’s not about the money. You got the house because Nana wanted you to have it. She loved you more.” I hear the jealousy in her tone, and I start. She never acted like she cared at the reading of the will.
She sniffs. “I didn’t want to cause any rifts, so I never said anything.”
Ah, and that’s where we’re alike. Peacemakers.
Only we’ve been avoiding a real conversation for months.
And maybe Nana did love me more. I don’t know. She did gravitate toward me—and me to her. Two peas in a pod.
“You never wanted to learn to sew. Daddy taught you how to drive.” I pause, feeling silly for trying to contradict her feelings. People feel how they feel. You can’t change that.
I sigh. “You’re welcome to any of her things, Giselle. I never meant for you to not have a personal item.” I glance over at Preston, who’s out of earshot. “Are you saying you were interested in Preston because you were . . . jealous?” There’s always been that little competition between us. While I came in second at the county spelling bee in middle school, she won her year three years later. While I got a partial scholarship to NYU, she got a full ride to the University of Memphis.
NYU is much more prestigious, a little voice whispers.
She frowns. “You say you didn’t go to medical school, but you could have if you’d wanted to, but you chose what you love. You always stand up for what you believe in. You’re . . . brave.”
No, I’m not. I think about my lingerie.
“And I know about your lingerie.”
My eyes fly up to hers. “Preston. Asshole. You better keep your trap shut.”
She huffs out a laugh. “Of course I won’t tell.”
“Good. ’Cause I might have to pull all that pretty blonde hair out.”
I might be serious.
She smirks. “There it is. Fire. And here’s the thing; if you’d really cared about Preston, you would have told Mama the truth, and you would have confronted me months ago! Do you know how many times I waited for you to snap at Sunday lunch? But you never did. Because you didn’t really love him.”
“And you do?”
She nods. “From the moment we met, I knew there was something there. I tried to ignore it, but he kept texting me, and I didn’t . . . know how to handle it.”
Instant attraction—at my own house. It stings.
She must read my face. I can’t hide anything. “It wasn’t about taking what was yours, Elena. I hate that he and I happened like that. I do, so much. It’s going to haunt me forever. If you hadn’t sent that text to us, I never would have dated him, you know. I would have walked away.”
Maybe. But he and I were already ruined after that kiss.
“I found a hot one, Elena!” It’s Aunt Clara, who’s been hovering near us, yet she’s managed to grab a romance book.
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