Pretending

by Shanna Clayton

  “I didn’t think you really wanted to hear about that.”

  He’s half right. At the time, I was only thinking about getting away from him, but that doesn’t mean I’m not extremely curious. “Are you kidding me? I live for this kind of stuff.”

  He takes two glasses out of the cupboard and fills them with water from the fridge. “That’s right. I forgot you were studying archeology. My dad told me you used to help him with his research.”

  I nod, thinking of all our late nights together. “I loved helping him. I wanted to go on that Egypt trip, but…” I bite down on my lower lip.

  Wesley sets a glass of water in front of me. “But what? Why didn’t you go?”

  “There were things I couldn’t get out of.” I chew my eggs, shifting uncomfortably on the barstool. “You should tell me about it though,” I say, trying to move on.

  Leaning against the counter, Wesley looks into his glass, a distant smile tugging at his lips. “Have you ever been to a Bedouin wedding?” he asks me.

  “No.” I scoot closer to the counter, getting the feeling a good story is in the works.

  “Well they take place during a full moon,” he begins. “And they last anywhere from two to five days.”

  “Sounds like one heck of a party.”

  “It is.” He grins. “But in order to go, you have to bring the bride a goat or a sheep.”

  “And where exactly did you get one of those?”

  “The desert isn’t full of goat stores,” he says, scratching his chin. “Tyson had to steal one from a nearby tribe.”

  “He did what?”

  “And the people from that tribe ended up at the wedding, which is a whole other story.”

  I place my hand under my chin, listening quietly as he talks. He tells me all about the wedding, the expedition, and other adventures he had while he was in Egypt. I could sit there and listen to him all night, enjoying the sound of his voice. It’s deep and a little rough, but he builds excitement in just the right places, and there’s something lyrical about the way he talks.

  I try to dig for information to find out how he came by the cut on his stomach, but he dodges my attempts. Finally, I just come out and ask him.

  “You know that saying, ‘If I tell you, I’d have to kill you?’”

  “Don’t tell me you’re about to use it,” I groan.

  He smiles, then looks down at his stomach, placing his hand over his cut. “One day I’ll tell you that story, babe. But not tonight.”

  I’m disappointed, but I don’t push for more. I can’t get past the way he said one day. As if it were imminent. My heart pumps a little faster. I study Wesley closely for a minute, really seeing him for the first time.

  “Do I have something on my face?” he asks, noticing my intense stare.

  “You’re beautiful, you know,” I tell him, my voice turning serious. “Underneath your disguise.”

  Wesley stills, holding his breath. He looks at me as if he isn’t sure he heard me correctly.

  Blood rushes to my face and neck, my words surprising me too. What made me say something like that?

  I hop off the barstool. Apparently I’m way too tired to keep from speaking my thoughts out loud, which means I should probably leave.

  “Thanks for the omelet.” My eyes drift to the stairs behind me. “I should head up to bed.”

  Wesley circles around the counter, moving in front of me. He stands there for a long moment, making me question what he wants. Then, lifting his hand to my cheek, he traces the side of my face. Every inch of skin he grazes comes alive beneath his fingertips.

  “You’re welcome,” he finally says. “Do you need help getting to your room?”

  No. Bad idea. If he follows me to my room, I may not want him to leave. “I’m good now, but thanks.”

  There’s a hint of regret in his eyes, thrilling me even more. I need to get out of here before I change my mind.

  His hand drops away from my face. “See you later, Dahlia.”

  “Good night, Wesley.”

  I turn around, quickly heading for the stairs. A huge smile spreads over my face as I’m climbing them.

  See you later.

  Why do those three little words make me so deliriously happy?

  CHAPTER NINE

  DOLL

  “Come on, Doll. Wake up.”

  Someone is prying at my eye mask and lightly slapping my face. Whoever it is, I hate them.

  “Wake up.”

  I open my eyes. Resentfully.

  It’s dark. My curtains are sheer, which means if it were time to wake up, the room would be bright and sunny. My blurry vision focuses in on a narrow face shaded by unkempt pieces of blonde hair. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and stares me down.

  “Hayes?” I croak out in a voice that doesn’t sound like my own.

  “Oh good, you’re awake.”

  I glance at the window, seeing it’s been left open. Telling Hayes about the ladder I keep perched outside was clearly a mistake. This is what I get for being lazy; it’s easier to park my car by the side of the house and use the window than to go through nine thousand square feet to get to my room. Now I’m learning it’s more trouble than it’s worth.

  “Go away,” I groan, turning over on my side. “I’m tired and hungover.”

  “You’ll be glad I woke you up once you’ve heard what I have to say.” His weight lifts from the bed. I hear him shuffling around, but I don’t care what he’s up to. As long as he does it quietly.

  Light floods into the room, feeling like the power of a thousand suns burning through my eyelids. “What the crap,” I screech, furrowing my head beneath my pillow.

  “I’m sensing some adversity from you.”

  “No kidding,” I say, but it comes out muffled. He always uses intellectual words like adversity, and right now I don’t feel like translating Hayes. Listening to him speak can be as difficult as deciphering hieroglyphics.

  “I’ll get right to the point,” he says. “Styler has the other half of the map.”

  I sit up too quickly, my head spinning from the movement. When I swallow, my throat feels scratchy and dry. “Hand me that water bottle,” I say pointing to the dresser next to Hayes.

  He tosses me the water, then quietly waits while I drink the entire thing. “Thank you,” I say, feeling a million times better.

  “Next time you should intersperse your drinks with water,” he tells me in his monotone, know-it-all voice. “Alcohol is a diuretic.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Back to what you were saying about Styler.” Just saying that name makes me cringe. “Is it true?”

  He nods, looking around my slightly messy room. Clean by most people’s standards, but Hayes has OCD issues. His eyes drift over clothes I left strewn along the floor, his fingers practically itching to tidy up.

  “It’s true. I saw it with my own eyes.”

  “Did you take a picture?”

  He lets out a small snort. “Styler’s not that stupid, Doll.”

  No, he isn’t. Styler is a conceited jackass that I wasted a year of high school dating, but by no means is he stupid. He knows I’ve been looking for the other half of that map, and I told him myself I’d do anything to get it.

  “First of all, how and why did he show you?”

  “We’re both in an ancient collectibles group online.” Hayes picks apart my closet’s beaded curtain, separating all the strands until they’re in perfect order. “He’s kind of an Egyptologist. Did you know that?”

  “Yes.”

  It’s one the things that attracted me to Styler in the beginning. Shame he lets his ego get in the way of his good qualities.

  I sit up straighter, sliding my legs off the bed. “You said you saw the map with your own eyes. How?”

  “He showed it to me.” Hayes sits in my desk chair, swiveling it around to face me. “Styler’s here in town, Doll.”

  My hands drift to my temples as I try to grasp everything. H
e was telling the truth? How is this even possible?

  “He only showed me for a few short moments,” Hayes adds. “Just to validate the map’s existence. It’s the real deal.”

  My heart speeds up. If anyone could identify an ancient treasure map, it’s Hayes. He is literally a boy-genius, and the most versed on ancient artifacts out of everyone I know. If he says it’s real, it is.

  “My God,” I whisper. “What does he want?”

  “You.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He was very clear about that. If you meet a few stipulations, he’s agreed to give you the map.”

  Meet a few stipulations? What the hell does Styler think this is—a business transaction? I stand up, shaking with the need to hit something. At the same time my heart is still racing. The possibility of finally getting my hands on that map thrills me beyond anything I could ever dream up. I’ve never been this close before. I’m not sure if I hate Styler for finding it, or if I want to hug him until he can’t breathe. He always said he knew where he could find it. I never believed him. For years, I’ve thought the other half of the map was lost forever, destroyed over time. Now to know it’s out there within my grasp…incredible.

  “What’re the stipulations?” I ask, my voice skeptical. It almost seems too good to be true.

  Hayes looks up at me, his eyes worried. “Remember I’m just the messenger.”

  “Just tell me what he wants.”

  “Well…he’s here. In town.”

  “You already said that.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t mention that he transferred schools. Or that he moved here.”

  I nearly choke on my next breath and have to cough a few times before I can speak. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  Hayes shakes his head, looking like he’s going to be sick. “He’s rented a condo close to campus. Real nice place, too. Three bedrooms, two bath—”

  “Out with it, Hayes. What does he want?”

  “He wants you to move in with him.”

  The words ring in my head, but I want to push them out, pretend like I can’t hear him. This isn’t happening. Styler’s playing a prank on me. A sick, evil prank. Something to grab my attention. That’s all it is.

  “Is he serious?” I say, afraid to ask.

  Hayes nods, and looks at the floor. He doesn’t want to tell me this anymore than I want to hear it. “Afraid so. Moving here, finding the map—it was all for you.”

  All for me.

  Me.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” I say between short, uneven breaths. “He cheated on me in high school by hooking up with some softball player—Frankie something or another in the girls’ locker room. I don’t remember her name. My point is that he didn’t care about us then. Why does he care so much now?”

  Hayes shrugs, looking helpless. “I don’t know.”

  My knees go weak, and I clutch the bedpost. It feels like a tidal wave is crashing over me, and I’m struggling to stay grounded. How can Styler do this to me? Doesn’t he know what he’s asking me to give up?

  Hayes crosses the room to where I’m standing. “Breathe, Doll,” he tells me. “Take a few deep breaths.”

  I do what he says, inhaling through my nose. “If I leave, I’ll have to break the agreement in Harland’s will.” I’d have to leave Kent House forever. I mean, it’s not as if I’ve lived here long. We didn’t move here until the beginning of my senior year. But still…

  This is the only home I have.

  This is where Harland helped me finish up my last year of high school. It’s where we researched ancient texts together. It’s where we both healed over the loss of my mom. I always thought I’d be excited to get away, but I’m not sure where else I belong.

  I never cared about the money. But there are things here Harland knew would entice me to stay, things Wesley wouldn’t care about…like the library. Although, I planned to give up my share of the money, I’d hoped Wesley would let me have a few of the books. Something to remember Harland by.

  Ugh. This is all his fault. If Harland didn’t spend those last few years of his life teaching me how to analyze artifacts and read hieroglyphics, I never would’ve become so interested in archeology. I spent my rebellious teenage years complaining to him how I couldn’t care less about “all that old crap.” He wouldn’t let it go though, and over time, I fell in love with his work. The more he taught me, the more passionate I became. All that old crap transformed into priceless treasures.

  After I graduated high school, we were planning to go to South America on a real expedition. We would grow famous together, the next Howard Carter and Gertrude Bell. But then his cancer came back…destroying everything. Just like it destroyed the plans my mom and I made together.

  “Did you make copies of the other half of the map?” Hayes asks me. “The one Harland left you?”

  I nod, staring at the carpet blankly.

  “It’s a big decision, and it kills me to tell you this, but you have to make that decision now.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking helpless. “Styler doesn’t want you sitting on this for long. He said if you have too much time to think about it, you’ll never agree. He’s out front, Doll. He’s giving you an hour.”

  “He came here in the middle of the night?”

  “We were here earlier, but you were out. He’s been waiting at my house.”

  I walk to the window, searching the grounds for Styler’s car. Sure enough, it’s parked a few feet away from my window, the same black Mustang GT he had in high school.

  “How long do I have to live with him?”

  “One semester.”

  “And then he’ll give me the map?”

  “Then he’ll give you the map.” Hayes lets out a breathy sigh. “I’m sorry, Doll. I tried to explain your situation to him, but he doesn’t care.”

  I’m not surprised. Styler never cared about anyone except himself.

  “You don’t have to do it, you know. You could still find the treasure on your own. I’ll help you. I’ll do everything I can to help you find it.” Hayes wraps his hand around mine, surprising me. He’s not big on affection or touching people in general. “We’ll research together.”

  “The two of us have been researching that map for years, Hayes. I can’t pass this chance up.”

  “I figured you’d say that.” His hand releases mine. “I almost didn’t come over here because of it.”

  “I would’ve hated you for keeping it from me.” I want to hug him, to let him know this isn’t his fault, but he’s not the hugging type. So instead I pat him on the arm.

  “What about Wesley?” he asks, nodding toward the door. “Do you need to speak with him?”

  I stare at the door wistfully, thinking about the amazing night I spent with him. There’s so much that could’ve been, so much that will never be. I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter.

  Any relationship that could’ve happened between us, friendship or otherwise, seems entirely based off of him believing I was someone else. I can’t get around the fact that he might never have spoken to me if he hadn’t mistaken me for a maid.

  Maybe it’s too little too late. I mean, we graduate this year. What’s the point of trying now?

  “I’ll write him a note.” It’s a little impersonal, but it’s not as if I can go wake him up in the middle of the night to give him the news. I scribble a few lines down in a notebook on my desk, letting him know I’m leaving and how I understand it exempts me from the will. I don’t tell him where I’m going.

  Partly because it doesn’t matter. But mostly because I’m embarrassed.

  If I know Styler, and I do, I’m walking into a bachelor pad with kegs in every corner.

  “He knows I’m not giving it up, right?” I look Hayes directly in the eye. “I’ll live with him, but we’re going to be in separate rooms.”

  “He knew you would say that too.” Hayes winces. “He thinks he can win you over.”

  Hearing that makes me w
ant to gag. “There will be no winning me over,” I sputter out, holding up a finger for emphasis. “I can promise you that.”

  “Again. I’m just the messenger.”

  Shaking my head, I go into my closet to get my suitcase. Styler is delusional if he thinks anything will come of me living with him. The only reason I’m doing it is for the map. I wouldn’t leave for anything less.

  Hayes helps me pack. Since we only have an hour, I run around the room, throwing and stuffing clothes into my suitcase, only to have Hayes go back and fold them into neat, organized stacks.

  As we’re finishing up, there’s a knock at the door. My body freezes into place. I have no idea who it could be.

  “Doll?” Gwen’s voice comes from the other side.

  I let out a breath and direct Hayes to the window. “Will you take my suitcase down for me?” I whisper. “I need to tell her what’s going on.”

  “Sure.” He swings over the windowsill, and I hand him the suitcase. “You’ve got five minutes,” he reminds me as he climbs down.

  “Doll, please say you’re in there.” Gwen knocks again, louder this time.

  I open the door to find her standing there, mascara running down her face. She throws her arms around me. “Thank God,” she breathes. “I’ve been calling you all night. What happened?”

  “I lost my phone,” I say in a rush. “Gwen, there’s something I need to tell you, and I don’t have much time.”

  She scrunches her lips to the side, studying me. “Is everything okay?”

  “I’m fine.” I’m lying. I’m not fine at all, but I don’t have time to go into that. “Sit down. You’re going to need to sit for this.”

  I tell her about Styler, about the map, about his conditions, everything. She listens quietly, but I can see all the questions in her eyes. She doesn’t understand.

  “Why do you want that stupid map anyway?” she asks. “What’s so important about the treasure?”

  I think about how I should answer. How can I say it in a way she’ll accept? “It’s the life-changing kind of treasure, Gwen.” I press my lips together and look toward the window. “It’s my Luscious.”