by Erika Rhys
“Talk to me,” I said. “But before you begin, there’s one thing I need to say.”
She reached for the remote and turned off the television. “What’s that?”
“Thank you for last night. You’re an amazing lover, and I need to be straight with you. All I’ve thought about since waking up is how much I want to make love to you again.”
She gave me a tentative half smile. “You’re the one who’s amazing, and I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t want to have sex with you again. But it isn’t that simple. We have to consider our agreement, because it ties us together for the next two years—and there’s too much at stake to fuck it up with…well, fucking.”
“Agreed,” I said. “What would you propose?”
She met my gaze. “A few ground rules. They don’t have to become part of our written agreement—but if we’re going to do this friends-with-benefits thing, we need to make sure we’re on the same page.”
Relief washed through me. Ava’s focus on setting rules confirmed that she was already leaning my way. All I needed to do now was avoid screwing up.
“What rules would you suggest?” I asked.
She shifted her position on the couch but didn’t speak, and I sensed her unease. “You seem nervous,” I said. “If there’s something you want to say, just say it.”
“It’s just that this kind of relationship is new to me,” she said.
“It’s new to me too.”
“I suppose I’m still trying to figure it out.”
I gave her a relaxed smile. “Don’t sweat it—we’ll figure this out together.”
When she opened her mouth, I understood her hesitation. “Safety, for one. I’m on birth control, and I know I’m clean, but—”
To spare her the stress of searching for a polite way to ask that question, I cut her off. “No worries on that count—I’ve always been a safe-sex kind of guy.”
“When was your last test?”
“When I had my annual checkup last month. You’re the only person I’ve been with since then. If you’d like to see my results, I don’t mind showing them to you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said. “I trust your word—but we still need to discuss a few more issues.”
“Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I’d like to maintain separate bedrooms and continue sleeping in my own bed.”
“Not an issue,” I said. “Sleep wherever you’re most comfortable.”
“I’m just trying to be clear,” Ava said. “If this is going to work, we need to be on the same page about what we expect from each other.”
“That makes sense,” I agreed.
“If we’re going to add sex to our arrangement, it needs to be a one-day-at-a-time thing,” she said. “If either of us wants to stop that aspect of our relationship, or take time off from it, all we should have to do is say so.”
“That’s fair,” I said. After last night, she wouldn’t want to stop anytime soon. If she changed her mind down the road, I’d face that when it happened. “Anything else?”
“Just that we really can’t afford to let our sexual relationship interfere with our marriage arrangement. There’s too much on the line.”
“Agreed,” I said. Based on everything Ava had already told me, I had a decent sense of what she needed to hear from me, so I did my best to reassure her. “Our marriage arrangement is business, and nothing about the agreement we signed needs to change. Just think of sex as a bonus. Anytime you don’t feel like being with me, all you have to do is say so. I’ll always respect your wishes, and if you want to stop having sex at some point in the future, that decision won’t change the rest of our relationship.”
I didn’t have any issue with saying those words, because I meant them. In my own way, I was a gentleman. Unlike some guys I knew, on the rare occasions that a woman gave me a firm no, I didn’t push back. I just moved on to a more receptive audience.
Ava’s lips quirked. “A bonus. That’s a hell of a description for what we did last night.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “There’s more where that came from.”
“I’m well aware of that—and you’re a good salesman.”
Since the mood seemed to be lightening, I gave her a suggestive look. “Should I take that to mean you’re sold?”
Her voice turned teasing. “Let’s say I’m considering your offer. But before we close the deal, I’d like a full list of features and benefits.”
“Let’s see,” I said, playing along. “I’m offering honesty, a decent sense of humor, freedom from expectations—and a big cock.”
“Nice features,” she said. “What about the benefits?”
“Unless what I’m remembering was a truly mind-blowing dream, we both experienced the benefits last night.”
She gave me a wry look. “You could say that again.”
I grinned at her. “Want another test drive before you make up your mind? Because if you do, I’m ready to go.”
27
AVA
Over the next few weeks, my life was a nonstop flurry of activity. Between planning our wedding and running our respective businesses, Ronan and I were on the go virtually nonstop.
But despite our busy schedule, we found time for sex.
Lots of sex.
And in between having our way with each other, we talked—sometimes deep into the night. Mostly, we chatted about day-to-day things, but gradually, Ronan opened up to me. And as he did, I understood him better.
One night, when we were stretched out on his bed, relaxed and replete from the orgasm we’d just shared, he spoke of his mother.
“I wish you could have known her,” he said, spooning his body behind me and wrapping a strong arm around me. “She was the opposite of my stepmother—gentle, soft-spoken, and kind. Everyone adored her—including me. When I was five or six years old, I used to pick flowers from the estate’s gardens and bring them to her.”
“I remember doing something similar when I was a kid,” I said. “Since we lived next door to a farm, I used to pick wildflowers for my mother in the fields. Maybe that’s when my interest in arranging flowers began.”
“I don’t remember bothering to arrange the flowers I picked,” Ronan said. “But one of the great things about my mother was that when I handed her some lopsided bouquet or half-assed drawing, she always acted as if I’d given her the best gift in the world.”
I reached for his hand and squeezed it, remembering my own mother. “My mother was the same way. She understood that scribbly drawings and fistfuls of flowers are offerings of love.”
“What about your father?” Ronan asked. “What was he like?”
“His work as an engineer kept him on the road a lot,” I said. “But he called my mother and me every night, and when he was at home, he went out of his way to plan special outings with us—like a trip to the beach or the zoo. My favorite was playing minigolf at one of the parks near where we lived. I suck at most sports, but I love badminton and minigolf.”
“Sounds like your parents got along well,” he said.
“As far as I know, they did. They were affectionate with each other, and I don’t remember them arguing.”
“Mine didn’t argue either,” he said. “At least not in front of me. But Mom often seemed sad, and a few times, I saw her crying. It wasn’t until years after her death, when I caught Dad cheating on Veronica, that I began to understand my mother’s unhappiness.”
In that moment, I began to grasp the paradox that was Ronan Kingsley. The mystery of why a thoughtful, caring man had chosen the life of a Manhattan playboy.
As a child, he’d witnessed his mother’s pain due to his father’s infidelity and then watched his father treat his stepmother the same way. After that experience, it wasn’t surprising that as a man, he’d avoided relationships and the commitments that went with them. Maybe he didn’t believe in love—or maybe he feared hurting someone the way his father had hurt his mother.
/> As the rhythm of Ronan’s breathing shifted, telling me that he was drifting toward sleep, I lay awake, imagining the five- or six-year-old boy who he would have been when he began to grapple with the rift in his parents’ marriage and considering how traumatic his exposure to his mother’s suffering must have been for him.
Was everyone broken in some way? Did we all carry scars that made us wary of love, fearful of the pain it could bring?
In the aftermath of discovering my ex-fiancé’s betrayal and breaking off my engagement, I’d seen a therapist for several months, a wise and kind woman who had helped me see my own scars. For months before the breakup, there had been warning signs that Brian was cheating on me, but due to the strength of my desire for commitment and family—a desire that my therapist connected to the loss of my own family—I’d overlooked and dismissed those signs. I’d explained them away.
I’d wanted to believe in Brian, so I’d fooled myself—until reality smacked me in the face.
In my relationship with Ronan, I’d managed to deviate from my old pattern—at least to some degree. Unlike with my ex-fiancé, I wasn’t expecting Ronan to fulfill my dreams of home and family. I knew better than to indulge in that fantasy. Still, no amount of self-discipline could keep me from wishing that he returned my feelings.
Patterns were tough to break—and I had to admit that I hadn’t fully broken mine.
But by coming home to me every night, Ronan was breaking his pattern too. Beyond that, he was starting to share parts of his past, revealing more of himself to me. Our intimacy didn’t feel one-sided.
Was our growing closeness as mutual as it felt, or was I fooling myself as I had with my ex? Was I projecting my own desires onto Ronan?
Or was our fake relationship slowly becoming real?
28
RONAN
“I just got back from the fitting for my best-man monkey suit,” Jack said. “It’s hard to believe, but in two weeks, you’ll be a married man.”
I leaned back in my office chair, closed the laptop on my desk, and regarded my business partner as he shut the door of my office behind him, crossed the room, and settled his tall frame into the chair across from me.
“It was hard for me to believe it myself at first,” I said. “But at this point, I’m used to the idea. It feels good to know that we’ll soon be able to put our financial troubles behind us. After the wedding, the lawyers will need a few days to do their thing, but once the paperwork goes through, I’ll have full access to my trust money.”
Jack gave me a mischievous look. “It can’t hurt that Ava agreed to sweeten the deal.”
I grinned at him. “Trust me, I’m feeling no pain.”
“Lucky dog,” Jack said, shaking his head. “How the hell did you manage to find a fake wife who not only checks all the boxes but also signs on for the porn movie you call your life? She’s even got that sparkle in her eye—the look of a woman who knows how to give a guy the ride of a lifetime.”
“Get your dirty mind off my fiancée,” I said mildly. “She’s mine.”
He eyed me, and his expression turned thoughtful. “Ava’s different, isn’t she?”
“Of course she’s different. For one thing, she’s a Harvard grad and an entrepreneur, not a party girl. For another, she and I have a business agreement—the one you helped me write.”
“Maybe,” Jack said. “Or maybe you really like her.”
“I do like her—just not in the way you mean. You know I don’t do relationships.”
“You never have. But there’s a first time for everything.”
“You know I’m not that kind of guy,” I said. “Women like Ava and my sister deserve better than the likes of you and me. I can’t imagine limiting myself to one woman for the rest of my life.”
“That makes two of us,” Jack said. “Although my older brother is proof that meeting the right woman can change a guy’s thinking. Ever since Marc met Julia, he hasn’t so much as looked at another woman.”
“Maybe that can happen for some,” I said. “But I’m too much like my old man. I’m just grateful that Ava and I are getting along well and that our fake-marriage arrangement is working out better than I could have imagined. Fortunately, she’s a better actor than I am. She’s saved my ass with Veronica more than a few times.”
“How’s your stepmother these days?” Jack asked.
I shrugged. “Bitchy. Annoying. Difficult. In other words, her usual self. But Ava’s great at handling her. Whenever Veronica tries to stick a knife in her, Ava dodges it like a pro.”
“So things are going smoothly,” Jack said.
“As smoothly as they can, given that between wedding stuff and work, the past few weeks have been crazy. But that’s winding down, and I’m nearly caught up on work. Today’s Friday, and if nothing blows up between now and the end of the day, I’m hoping to take the weekend off.”
“It’s the next-to-last weekend before your wedding,” Jack said. “As your business partner, I’m ordering you to take it off. If there’s anything that can’t wait until Monday, dump it on my desk. I’ll deal with it.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate that. Unless Ava has other plans, I’d like to take her out to do something fun tomorrow. She’s had to put up with my stepmother throughout the wedding arrangements, and I want to do something to thank her, but I haven’t managed to come up with any good ideas.”
Jack raised an eyebrow at me. “It’s called a date, bro. You’re talking about taking Ava on a date.”
“Call it whatever you like. I just want to do something nice for her.”
“What’s Ava into? What kind of things does she enjoy?”
“Movies. Art. Flowers. Good food and wine.”
“You could take her out for dinner and a movie,” Jack said. “Or the two of you could hit the Metropolitan Museum of Art. That place is so huge, there’s something for everyone. As for flowers, now that spring’s here, you could always include a walk through Central Park in your plans.”
When Jack mentioned the park, an idea struck me. “Ava likes minigolf. Isn’t there a minigolf course in Hudson River Park?”
Surprise flashed across Jack’s face. “There is. I think it’s at Pier Twenty-Five.”
I opened my laptop, Googled Pier 25, and skimmed the information on my screen. “The course looks well-maintained, and it just opened for the season. There’s also a nearby restaurant that looks pretty good. We can go for a stroll, play minigolf, and then have dinner.”
“What’s the name of the restaurant?”
“City Vineyard.”
“I’ve been there,” Jack said. “It’s a nice place, with good food and a great view of the river.” He gave me a thumbs-up. “Sounds like you’ve got this under control.”
“Thanks for the ideas,” I said. “I think I have.”
29
RONAN
Fortunately for my Saturday afternoon outing with Ava, the day turned out to be gorgeous. As we strolled hand in hand down one of the sidewalks that led through Hudson River Park, a broad strip of greenery that ran along the Hudson River, the sun felt pleasantly warm on my skin, and a breeze from the river ruffled my hair.
We were far from the only New Yorkers taking advantage of the fine weather. As we moved through the park, we passed joggers, young parents pushing strollers, and couples of all ages. The shouts of children rang out from play areas, and when we passed the park’s large skate park, a dozen teenagers on skateboards zipped around its ramps, polishing and perfecting their stunts.
When we reached Pier 25, a long pier that stretched far into the Hudson River, Ava glanced at the playground to our left and then at the boat-charter business to our right.
“I’ve never been here,” she said. “Is your mysterious surprise going out on a boat?”
“No,” I said. “It’s still chilly on the water at this time of year. But we’ll definitely go for a sail this summer.”
We turned left, walked past the playgrou
nd, and as we approached the minigolf course, I watched Ava closely, anticipating the moment when she realized what it was. When an angular kiosk with a large GOLF sign came into view, her face lit up.
“This has to be it,” she said.
I smiled at her. “It is.”
As we approached the course and glimpsed the first few greens, she turned to me with a visible excitement that confirmed I’d made the right choice.
“This course is totally different,” she said. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Most minigolf courses are all about windmills and waterfalls, but this looks like an actual golf course, only much smaller.”
“I see hills, rocks, and sand traps,” I said. “But overall, the course designers seem to have gone for a park-like look. Want to play a round?”
“You know I do,” she said, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Thank you for thinking of this and bringing me here.”
“My pleasure,” I said and stepped up to the kiosk to pay the attendant.
After I paid and received our golf balls and putters, I handed one of each to Ava, and we headed toward the first hole. When we reached it, a family of four occupied the green, and while we waited for them to finish, a thought occurred to me.
I turned to Ava. “What would you like to bet on the outcome of our game?”
“Loser buys dinner?” she suggested.
“Come on. We can do better than that.”
She gave me a mischievous look, before leaning against me and whispering in my ear. “Winner chooses what we do first when we get home tonight.”
“That’s more like it,” I said in a low voice. “But let’s raise the stakes. Winner ties loser to the bed—and has his way with her.”
She made a face at me. “You mean her way with him. Because this is one game I’m actually good at, and I’m going to whip your ass.”