Pretending

by Shanna Clayton

  ~ ~

  DOLL

  Wesley’s eyes graze over the various plates we’ve spread across the bed. “You ordered too much food.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I charged it to Tyson’s card.”

  He swallows a large bite of rice, smiling. “I take it back. You should’ve ordered more.”

  “Maybe I will. Dessert isn’t out of the question.”

  Wesley watches me while I’m eating. His gaze is so intense it makes me feel self-conscious. I readjust my hair and pull it all to one side, then focus on my food, hoping he’ll look away. He doesn’t. “Stop it,” I say, throwing a napkin at him.

  “I can’t help it. You’re so beautiful like this.”

  “Are you kidding?” I stare at him like he’s out of his mind. “I’m wearing sweats, and I have no makeup on.”

  “No offense, but your version of makeup should be banned.”

  “Ha ha.” I pick up a carrot and toss that at him as well. He catches it in his hand and eats it.

  “In all seriousness, I like you better this way,” he says between bites. “There’s no guard up.”

  “Guess I don’t need one anymore,” I say, shrugging. “Then again, with you I never did.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I’m unsure how to put it into words. “You’ve just always…seen through it.”

  I think back to the night of Graffiti Bash, remembering the way he saw straight through my disguise. Putting up pretenses with Wesley is impossible. He sees past them. When Styler blackmailed me into living with him, he was right there to bring me home. When I told him I was dating Hayes, he never believed me for a second. He may have ignored me for the first three years of living together, but the last few weeks he’s more than made up for it.

  “I swear I’m gonna get us out of this mess, babe.” He’s still watching me, most likely mistaking my faraway look for fear.

  “I’m not worried,” I assure him. “I just want to get it over with.”

  “Me, too.”

  After dinner, we both clear the plates from the bed. Wesley lays down beside me instead of getting in the other bed, but I don’t say anything about it. Without a word, he pulls me close to him and wraps an arm around me. I lay my head against his chest. Being this close to him feels so natural, making me feel more at peace than I have in days.

  Yawning, I draw my arm across his chest. He grunts, and I immediately move my arm, wincing. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. Any pain is worth it when you’re touching me.”

  That was cute, but I don’t believe him for a second. I’m careful not to touch that part of his chest again. This time when I close my eyes, I fall straight to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  WESLEY

  The next day Tyson has two jeeps waiting for us outside. I pass by the guy who groped Dahlia, and he smirks at me. “Nice mug.”

  I don’t give him the pleasure of a reaction. He’s not worth it.

  Dahlia and I hop inside the jeep along with Tyson and James, and I shut the door behind me.

  “Might as well get comfy,” James informs us right away. “It’s an all day trek into the desert.”

  Dahlia isn’t paying any attention to him. She’s drinking in our surroundings, a captivated look in her eyes. I forget how this place looks to newcomers. It’s a huge contrast to America, a fantasyland in comparison. Everywhere you look, you find the ancient world meeting the modern one.

  Once we get on the road, we pass by a blur of Islamic medieval buildings. Dahlia turns her whole body, trying to see them. I begin to see the city through her eyes, all the things I’ve seen a hundred times before are suddenly new. We pass by the Medina, and I notice the clambering mule carts, the snake charmers, the veiled women selling their wares, catching the way Dahlia’s mouth parts in awe of them.

  “It’d be nice if you gave me back my phone, Tyson,” she grumbles. “Maybe I could take pictures and actually enjoy part of this experience.”

  “Nice try.” Tyson glances at Dahlia through the rearview mirror. “But it ain’t gonna happen until that sword is in my hands.”

  Dahlia narrows her eyes, scowling. She goes back to looking out the window, a contemplative look settling across her features.

  I nudge her side with my elbow. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes.” Lowering her voice so only I can hear her, she says, “It’s just…for so long I identified with my mom’s side. White American, grandparents from Pennsylvania, German and Irish descendants—that’s who they were. Who I was. I refused to acknowledge my dad’s side, but now that we’re here, and I’m seeing all of this…”

  My eyes widen as I grasp what being here in Morocco means to her. I feel like an ass. It never even crossed my mind she would be thinking about those kinds of things.

  “He doesn’t represent this entire country, Dahlia. He’s one person among millions.” I reach for her hand, linking mine with it. “Someday we’ll come back here and get the full experience.”

  One corner of her mouth curves into a half-smile. “Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep, Wes. You’ll break my heart.”

  “When I say something, I mean it. We’ll come back here one day, and we’ll do Marrakesh like it was meant to be done.”

  The sad, lost look disappears from her face, replaced with excitement at the idea of returning. “It’s a deal.”

  Leaving the sights and sounds of the city behind, the drive becomes long and boring. Dahlia naps most the way, her head in my lap. I can’t fucking stand her being stuck in the middle of this, but I’m glad she’s here with me instead of the hellhole I found her in on campus.

  During the drive, the jeep gets stuck in the sand. The tires lose traction. They sink so deep that it takes all three of us to push it out while Dahlia steers it back onto the paved part of the road. This is how I know we’re getting close. We’re venturing deeper into the desert now, in the heart of Berber lands.

  The sun is setting on the horizon by the time we make it to the small village where my uncle is living. Tyson parks the jeep, and the movement wakes Dahlia. She yawns and stretches her arms above her head.

  “Oh my God,” she says, looking around. “This is like stepping back in time.”

  She’s not exaggerating. The village is comprised of tiny huts, outdoor stoves, herds of roaming goats, children running around chasing each other with sticks, all of which could’ve been there hundreds of years ago.

  “What next, Kent?” Tyson asks me.

  “We find my Uncle Rooney.”

  It isn’t hard to find him. He’s the only white geologist in the village, and even with the language barrier, the natives immediately sense who we’re searching for. We stop in front of his hut, and I find him around back, standing in front of an assortment of labeled rocks. “Wesley, m’boy! Is that you?”

  I grin, almost unable to recognize him. He’s lost weight and grown a great red beard since I’ve last seen him covering almost all of his face and neck. “Uncle Rooney.”

  He reaches out for me, clapping my back. “How’ve ya been, kiddo?” Leaning back, he rests his hands on my shoulders to get a good look at me. “Hell, what happened to your face?”

  Before I can respond, Tyson cuts me off.

  “Let’s save the reunion for later and get straight to the point.”

  Uncle Rooney eyes Tyson distrustfully. “Who’s this guy?”

  “He’s uh…” I think about how to introduce Tyson to my uncle, not wanting to say too much. “An old friend.”

  “Well your friend is rude.”

  You have no fucking idea.

  Dahlia steps around me, holding her hand out for Uncle Rooney to shake. “I’m Doll,” she introduces herself. “Also a friend of Wesley’s—but much more polite.”

  My uncle’s eyes light up as he takes Dahlia’s hand. “Well, well, well. It’s nice to meet you, young lady.” He lifts her hand to his mouth and kisses it, causing her to giggle.


  I roll my eyes. He was always a sucker for a pretty face.

  “Kent,” Tyson says through clenched teeth.

  “I need the sword, Uncle Rooney.”

  “The sword?” he asks, his voice raising a notch. He takes stock of all of us, his eyes roaming over James and the rest of Tyson’s accomplices. His lips thin into a frown beneath his beard. He knows what’s going on; he’s not a fool.

  “Sword’s no longer here,” Uncle Rooney informs all of us gruffly. “I handed it over to the local government.”

  “He better be fucking kidding, Wes.”

  “Shut up, Tyson, and let me handle this.” I turn back to my uncle. “Seriously. I know you’ve got it here, and I need it back.”

  He lifts his arms in an uncaring shrug. “Sorry guys, but the sword was a valuable piece of history. My nephew was wrong not to turn it over as soon as he found it.”

  “Uncle Rooney, we’ve come a long way. I swear it’s okay for you to give it to me.”

  Several clicks sound off from behind us. When I swing around, there’s a line of Berber soldiers holding up rifles and pointing them straight toward us. My first instinct is to grab Dahlia and push her behind me. Then I stick up my hands to let them know I’m unarmed. Tyson and the others do the same.

  “Guess not everything is ancient around here,” Dahlia whispers in my ear.

  “Yeah, no kidding.”

  “What’s going on, Wes?” Tyson growls at me, keeping his arms raised above his head.

  “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

  My uncle speaks to the men in Arabic, pointing at us as he does. I don’t know Arabic very well and the dialect is strange. I’m only able to make out a few words, but if I’m hearing them correctly, they sound like directions. Bind their hands.

  I’m not sure what is going on, but whatever it is, I hope my uncle gets us out of it.

  “Wes,” he calls to me, then begins speaking in French. “The girl is with you, correct?”

  I nod once.

  “And the others? They’re blackmailing you, aren’t they?”

  Several thoughts come to mind after he asks me that question. I could lie and say they’re not, but he’d never believe me. I could explain what’s happening, but my uncle knows me, and he’d never believe I fear for my life. He wouldn’t understand why I’m going to these lengths to protect a girl. I peek over my shoulder at Dahlia, who is watching my uncle intently.

  Her eyes flick to mine. “He’s asking you about them, isn’t he?”

  I nod.

  “Tell him the truth.”

  “He’ll turn them in.” I whisper back. “He won’t give them the sword if I do.”

  Dahlia presses her lips together, looking from me to my uncle and back again. Shaky, long seconds pass as I wait for her to say something. A slow smile curves her lips, the fear and anxiety suddenly gone. “Tell him the truth.”

  My heart leaps at her words, and if I could I would pick her up and crush my lips to hers with an Earth-shattering kiss, but I don’t because there are still several guns pointed our way. Instead I speak to my uncle in French, tell him what’s going on, and in the next instant he signals the men with guns.

  They force Tyson and the others to their knees, binding their wrists with a coarse rope.

  “What the fuck is happening, Wes!” Tyson screams. “You fucking set me up! I know you set me up!”

  His screaming results in him getting kicked from behind, knocking his face into the sand. They find his gun in his pants, confiscating it. I lower my hands, watching the scene unfold in a state of shock.

  Dahlia leans around me, grinning. “Serves him right,” she says, looking the happiest I’ve seen her in days.

  James looks over his shoulder at us as he’s being taken away. His voice is low and menacing. “Make no mistake, Kent. This isn’t the end. You better hope your uncle turned in that sword.”

  The soldiers drag them toward a group of vans in the distance. “They’ll be taken back to the city,” Uncle Rooney says to Dahlia and me. “Probably jailed for a night or two, but after that, you’re on your own.”

  I shake my head at that. He isn’t use to me being afraid of anything or anyone—he’s used to me being prepared.

  “Did you really turn in the sword?” I ask him.

  “God, no,” he scoffs. “I’ve got it tucked away in my work room. I’ll get it for you later. First, we should have some tea.”

  “Tea?” Dahlia asks in disbelief. “We move on from being held at gunpoint to drinking tea?”

  “Of course, m’girl!” Uncle Rooney says proudly. “It’s tradition. If you’re a guest, you get greeted with tea around the campfire. Besides, it’s the Sahara. No one stays shell-shocked for very long here.”

  “Oh, I’m not complaining. I’m all for tea around the campfire.” She turns around to face me. “Can we stay?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  She smiles and my uncle runs off to fetch the supplies. I reach for Dahlia’s hand, drawing her beside me. “What was that about back there?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You told me at the hotel you didn’t want to risk it.”

  “I guess I changed my mind,” she says, shrugging. “I think the desert has made me more adventurous than usual.” She beams.

  “Thrilled to hear it,” I say, grinning. “So are you saying you’re willing to claim the discovery?”

  She shakes her head. “No. I’m still where I stand on that.”

  “Well we can’t keep it. Not now.”

  “I’m not saying we should keep it either. I’ve got a better idea.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I think we should tell people Sam found it right before he died.”

  I’m so stunned, I can’t speak. Out of all the things I expected her to say, that wasn’t one of them.

  “Think about it, Wes. His existence won’t be just a memory anymore. He won’t be a photo tucked away in the back of your closet. He’ll have a legacy, even if it’s just a small one. People will get to see his name in books…so what do you think?”

  “I think…”

  I think I’m embarrassed as hell that this girl has the capacity to leave me at a loss for words. Because I can’t get my damn voice to work, I take her face between my hands, pulling her lips toward mine. I kiss her with so much emotion that words aren’t needed.

  After a lengthy heated moment, we break apart. She has to catch her breath before speaking. “I take it you like that idea.”

  ~ ~

  WESLEY

  “You really care for her, don’t you?”

  It’s a loaded question. I’m thankful Uncle Rooney chose that moment to switch to French because I haven’t approached that subject with Dahlia yet. I turn around to search for her, and find myself unable to look away. Firelight dances across her skin, and she’s wearing the most peaceful, relaxed expression I’ve ever seen. She’s so fucking beautiful it kills me—I swear she’s becoming more beautiful everyday.

  “Yes,” I finally answer him. “I care about her.”

  “I can’t believe you two spent three years in the same house without talking.”

  “It’s a big house,” I say, feeling the need to point that out. “But yeah, I know what you mean.”

  I’m not sure how I went so long ignoring Dahlia. I couldn’t do it now if I tried. Her presence is everywhere inside Kent House. I can’t not think of her anymore.

  “Anyway, I’m glad you’ve come here in person. I have some exciting news.”

  I look away from Dahlia, turning to face him. “What is it?”

  “The Flor de la Mar.” He wags his brows at me excitedly. “The name ring a bell?”

  “I don’t live under a rock, Uncle Rooney.”

  “So then you know it’s the most valuable shipwreck still lost at sea?”

  I nod. My dad told me the story behind it when I was a kid. The ship set sail for Portugal during the sixteenth century, was c
aught in storm somewhere in the Malacca Straight, never to be found again. Treasure hunters have been searching for it for centuries.

  “We think we found it, Wes.”

  I stare at him for a long moment, thinking it’s a joke. He doesn’t so much as flinch. My pulse quickens. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding!” I say this in English, causing Dahlia to glance over at us curiously.

  My uncle continues using hushed tones in French. “I have a contact in India, a marine archeologist, who has sent me irrefutable evidence of the ship’s whereabouts. He’s putting together a team.”

  I sit up straighter. “Are you going?”

  His lips curve into a wide smile as he nods. “Me, a full crew…and you. I convinced him to bring my budding archeologist nephew aboard for the excavation.”

  “Are you serious? When?”

  “A few weeks maybe. However long it takes to get the right equipment together.”

  I feel my face drop. There’s no way I’ll be able to go. I’m bound to Harland’s will. I’d have to give everything up and put my degree on hold.

  “What’s the matter?” my uncle asks.

  “How long will the excavation take?”

  He shrugs. “A few months I suppose. Why?”

  “If I go, I’d lose my inheritance.”

  He stares at me like I’m insane. “Two point six billion dollars, Wes. That’s the estimated value of the Flor de la Mar. You can’t pass an opportunity like this up. Take a semester off and finish your degree later.”

  “Uncle Rooney, it sounds like a dream come true. But…” I glance at Dahlia. The will isn’t the only thing I’m bound to.

  “It’s the girl,” he says, an understanding in his voice.