Don't Marry the Enemy: A Sweet Romance (The Debutante Rules Book 2)

by Emily Childs

  One thing I appreciated about my friends is their ability not to pry when it isn’t time to pry. Olive would sigh sadly, Dot would hug me, Jace will bring me cookies, but at least for now, I can wallow without anyone digging the ache out of me.

  I disconnect and turn my attention back to the lined paper from the notebook I purchased at a gas station down the road. The lobby of Jo’s apartment is nice. Tiled floors with veins of gold, potted ferns, and gilded elevator doors. Nicer than my two-bedroom rambler that enjoys a gnat infestation every summer. I don’t need to guess why she didn’t want to leave this place.

  Still, there are things that need to be said.

  I’m not a man of great words, but I saw the letters my dad wrote to my mom, usually for anniversaries or birthdays, but now those letters were my mama’s cherished possessions. What can it hurt? She’d either toss the letter out, or she’d know everything I thought.

  “Turned you out too?”

  My blood chills. Emmitt stands a few paces away.

  “Seems that way,” I say.

  Emmitt chuckles, and plops into the leather lobby chair next to me. “So, Zac, right? I’ve got to say, I’m a little surprised seeing some guy showing up here like he’s chasing my girlfriend. What gave you the right to go after a taken woman down in . . . wherever you live?”

  “I’d say when she broke up with you.” Emmitt’s face tightens. “Surprised she said anything about that?”

  “Leave her alone. We’re working things out.”

  “Sounded like it.”

  “Jo is emotional, and now it’s obvious why. You did something to her, hurt her, or whatever. She isn’t thinking straight, but she will. She always does.”

  I shake my head and fold the letter. “I’m not here to mess with Jo, and you know what, you’re right. I did hurt her. I’m man enough to admit when I screw up.” I push off my knees but pause. “Maybe you aren’t lying and you are trying to work it out with her, I doubt it, but if you are—she deserves better than what you’ve given her. Either be a man and respect her, or maybe you should be the one to leave Jo alone.”

  “Why do you even care?” he snaps.

  I point at the elevators as if Jo is standing there. “That woman started out as a thorn in my side but became the most important person in my life. You should know I’m going to make sure she knows that before I leave. What she does with that will be up to her.”

  I tap the back of the chair and stalk to the elevator doors, leaving Doctor Emmitt stunned, and thankfully, without words.

  Glancing at my watch, I sigh. I’m out of time. Crouching at her welcome mat, I tuck the note under the corner, making sure it’s positioned where she can see it, and with a gaping hole in my chest, I leave.

  26

  Jo

  Gray light cascades across the ceiling from the open curtains like a cool river of dawn. I stare at the lines in the spackle. My eyes burn as if I’ve stared at nothing all night. Maybe I did. Across my chest was the crinkled paper with Zac’s small handwriting. My heart thuds thinking of it again, and I unfold it for the umpteenth time. Short, sweet. Perfect.

  Jo,

  I told myself seeing you would be enough for this stupid guy, but I have a confession: I don’t think it is.

  Before I leave this incredibly overwhelming and huge monstrosity of a place, I need to tell you everything. I think I can look at the sky someday, knowing it’s the same sky above you, if I know I’ve said everything I should’ve said. If I know you’re happy and content.

  Don’t tell my mom this, but for at least a year—probably more—I heard her cry herself to sleep after my dad’s accident. I saw the pain love brought to those it leaves behind. I think that’s when it started, my indifference to relationships. Honestly, I probably didn’t even notice it was happening. Not until I met you. Something changed inside me, almost immediately. Even meeting under such . . . interesting circumstances, you changed me.

  I never planned to open up to anyone, Jo. Why risk it when I’d seen what happened to a broken heart? I’m a simple man, so I say simple things. Simply put, I would risk a thousand broken hearts to be with you. Loving you, no matter how long, would be worth all the risk in the world. It is worth it.

  I love you, Josephine. You’re right, I should’ve fought for you. I should’ve taken you in my arms that night in my truck and promised to never let you go.

  You have me. Unconditionally. No job, no house, no state will ever compare to you.

  I’m running out of space now, but I love you.

  Always yours,

  Zac

  I fold up the letter again, wipe away a tear, and consider calling him. But I don’t. I can’t, not yet at least. I need to make sure I’m finally taking steps forward because it is the right step. The step I want to take. Not just to please someone else. I called in my numerous sick days, stayed home, but the sinking pit in my stomach makes it hard to think of ever returning again.

  “I wish you were here, Dad.”

  What would he do? There would certainly be ice cream involved. Dad would curse Zac for hurting me, then make a list with me. Pros and Cons. He’d give me two cons at most before he’d flip it to the pros and go on and on about the amazing man Zac Dawson is.

  “I think you’d love him too,” I whisper to the dark. I giggle because if I wasn’t convinced, my dad would start adding eccentric qualities, like Zac has perfect eyebrows, or he doesn’t blow his nose in public, or he doesn’t have dark earwax. I can almost feel my dad squeezing me now.

  A buzzing on my floor stirs me from the moment. My phone glows with a text. I roll my eyes. It’s the fourth text from Emmitt’s father droning on about the ridiculous accusations on his son’s motives.

  Enough is enough. I shoot back a reply: Any legal questions regarding how I use my inheritance can now be taken up with my attorney. Please don’t contact me again.

  I grin and send it before I lose my nerve. There is a bit of satisfaction that comes from standing up to the man.

  I read the first few lines of Zac’s letter again. Then the last few. I bury my head under my quilt. Shower. Slurp coffee. Stare at the files and documents John sent over regarding my newly padded pockets.

  What was I supposed to do with this? I get why my dad waited for me to turn twenty-six. He always said it was his favorite age. Because he was twenty-six when I was born.

  Now I’m crying again.

  Decked out in fuzzy socks, messy top knot, and ultra-sexy flannel boxer shorts, I start to wander aimlessly, musing, thinking. Problem solving my entire meaning in life. It’s a lot to take in sometimes, but long overdue. Having a mind of my own. Until an idea starts to shape. One that clings to me like a new layer of skin. I can’t shake the thought, my heart races with adrenaline. Even more, I’m smiling. My stomach flutters with wings and by the time the sun starts to set, I can hardly stand the agonizing wait of John’s reply for my idea. My email dings with a response and I devour his every word. Followed by a few phone calls, two days after my escape into the life of a hermit and agoraphobe I’ve never been so sure before. The decision is risky, but I feel lighter than I have in almost two weeks.

  All I need to do is make another phone call.

  * * *

  Flameless candles flicker on a shelf above my bed, lighting the scattered cardboard boxes I took off my new neighbor’s hands this afternoon. This was insane. I don’t even have a confirmation, but everything feels so amazingly right I’m practically giddy.

  I ruffle through two stacks of blouses, one to keep, one to donate, when my phone rings. I take a deep breath. This is it. I smile because people can hear a smile, I say.

  “Dot, it’s good to hear from you.”

  “Mylanta, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever hear your voice again. I saw you wanted me to call, and as soon as I got off work, well—I’m calling you.”

  “Yes, I wasn’t sure if you got my message.”

  “So, what’s all this about? Want me to spill about how Zac’
s moping all over the place?”

  I wince and twirl a lock of hair around my finger. “No, this isn’t about him, not completely.”

  Dot frees an exaggerated sigh. “That’s too bad. He’s a good one, Jo, and seems pretty torn up. The grapevine said he got in last night and wasn’t a glass of cheer this morning.”

  “The grapevine meaning Rafe to Olive and Olive to you.”

  “You understand the system.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek. “I’m glad he made it back okay. We’ll talk about Zac in a second, but I needed to talk to you about something else.”

  “I’m intrigued.”

  “This is more on a professional note.”

  “Really? Like do you need my folks in these professional talks, because you realize I work for them.”

  I grin again, stomach tight. “Yes, this might be something your parents would want to know.”

  27

  Zac

  Mama and Uncle Kent asked me to stay longer, but I’m suffocating wherever I go. Even at Sunday dinner. I hate how everyone looks at me like I’m a kicked puppy. Like I’m about to break. Everyone is down and somehow that makes everything worse. I’m glad my family and friends liked Jo, but it also cements in my brain that she was different. She’d been the real deal.

  And now it’s over.

  The sooner I accept that, the sooner I can move on. Except this ache is so palpable I feel like I might be on the brink of puking all the time. Time will heal it, logically I know that, but part of me doesn’t want to be healed from Jo. I don’t want to forget what it was like to be with her.

  The day is humid, and my shirt sticks to my back the second I step out of the car. Beams of the sunset leap and dance through the gaps in the oak branches. A bit of weight lifts off my shoulders. I wander around Angel Oak for a moment, buy a woven basket from a Gullah Geechee woman near the gift shop, then sit. I study the basket, not sure why I bought it. Jo had found the religion interesting, and I think of her all the time. Probably a good guess. I’ll give it to my mom.

  I’ve done a lot of visiting to this place since I came back home. I’d hoped Jo would call, but by now I don’t think she will. I wanted an answer from her, and I think I got one. At least this place will be unchanging, and I silently tell the oak that I’ll need its steadfastness for an unforeseeable amount of time.

  As tourists wander then leave, I thumb my truck keys and lean over on my knees. My back aches from sitting on the bench for so long, but my body is too fatigued to even move. I close my eyes, if only to imagine her eyes a little more. Her smooth lips, her gentle touch. The way her nose crinkled when she laughed. Just one more time.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  Adrenaline is a funny thing. It’s sort of a jerk, honestly. Sucker punching you in the gut when you least expect it. My heart hammers until I think it might snap a rib. I’m afraid to look but do anyway. Standing five feet away, Jo smiles shyly. Like all my thoughts of her manifested her here for one perfect moment.

  “Jo.” My voice croaks as I stand.

  She takes a few cautious steps. “I thought I’d find you here.”

  I try to smile, but I’m positive I’m in shock. So whatever smile she gets is likely a grimace. “Out of all the places in Charleston I could have been, you picked this place.”

  Her cheeks flush, she takes another step closer, standing only inches away. I can smell the sweet vanilla of her perfume. See the glisten of shine on her lips as she smiles. “I might have had a little help with the directions. Olive.” Jo clears her throat and sits on the bench. “I got your letter.”

  I free a ragged breath and rake my hands through my hair. “Good, I wasn’t sure when—”

  “I didn’t call.”

  I nod and sit next to her. Should I touch her? I’d like to kiss her, no mistake, but I think I can hold back for a second. Our legs brush, and that makes the lack of kissing her a thousand times harder. Until she rests her hand on my knee and I’m undone.

  I slip my fingers into hers and press her knuckles to my lips, hardly believing she’s here. Hardly believing I let her walk away.

  “My dad left me an inheritance, Zac.” The words spill out as if they’ve been dancing on the tip of her tongue all this time.

  “What does that mean?”

  Jo sighs. “Emmitt knew about my dad’s money. He kept it from me all this time and was cashing in because I gained access to the trust at twenty-six. He was goading me to sign the papers and using a joint savings account as the cover for actually using my inheritance to invest in that clinic.”

  My blood boils, and I have heavy regrets for not punching that guy in the lobby. “He was stealing from you?”

  She doesn’t deny it. “For two years he let me believe my dad lost everything. The day you showed up was the same day I found out. Zac, I was a mess, I could hardly see straight. Your letter was . . . perfect. Beautiful. I didn’t know what to do, though, in all the chaos.”

  My jaw tightens. “I wish I would’ve known.”

  “So you could’ve given Emmitt a piece of your mind, macho?”

  “Maybe. Mostly because I don’t like the idea of you hurting alone.”

  “I needed to,” she says abruptly. “For years, I’ve hidden everything I wanted, with my dad so he wouldn’t worry and would focus on rehab, or with relationships like Emmitt, where I trusted his goals more than my own. I forgot how to think for myself in a lot of ways. I needed approval instead of living my own life. I forgot how to break. Pretty pathetic, honestly.”

  “You’re not pathetic, Jo.”

  “It’s okay because now I’ve remembered how to pick myself up after breaking. I needed to hurt, Zac, so I could know without a doubt that my next decision was the right one.”

  I squeeze her hand tighter. “And what decision is that?”

  “Leaving the big city for a po-dunk town, of course.”

  I close my eyes, and draw a short, harsh breath. “What are you saying, Jo?”

  She rests one palm on the side of my face, urging me to look at her. “You, Zachariah. I chose you. If you’ll still have me.”

  Time moves slow and swift all at once. I cage her face and pull her mouth to mine. Like an electric shock, the kiss leaves an impression, unlocks a need I was afraid to face. My arms curl around her waist until she’s pressed to me as closely as she can be. When I pull back, it hurts to breathe. Jo drops her forehead to mine and smiles through a swell of tears.

  “I’ll have you, Jo. I always will.”

  “Good because I think you might be seeing me around town a lot more.”

  I stare at our entwined fingers. “Jo, I don’t want you to give up any opportunities for me.”

  She tilts her head. “Even if there was still an opportunity in New York I would choose this, Zac. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t make my own opportunity down here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, the clinic was struggling right? Dot only had limited funds to work her marketing magic and get qualified staff, plus with that nasty billing error, financially it wasn’t going to pull out. Well, that’s changed. The Gardeners found some hotshot investor from up north or something.”

  My eyes widen. “Are you buying the clinic?”

  She grins shyly. “Partnering with Dot’s parents as a co-owner, actually. But yes. My dad left me the money for something exactly like this. His attorney showed me his will, and he specifically said use it to live the life I always wanted. He knew I wanted to follow in his footsteps, to open a place where people received care, but it was more like a big family. If you’re on board, it’s what I’d like to do.”

  I squeeze her shoulders. “It’s your money, Jo.”

  “Well, if we’re together, I think it’s important to talk about things, right? Get each other’s input and all that.”

  I don’t know why the thought chokes me up, but I slowly nod and kiss her sweetly. “Yeah. I want to do it all with you. Talk about it all, even the s
mall things. If you want my opinion, I honestly can’t imagine you investing in anything better.” I brush the hair off her face, and study her for a long moment. “I love you, Jo.”

  She leans in for a soft kiss. Smiling against my lips, she wraps her arms around my neck. “I love you, Zac. It might have been annoying at the time, but I’m really glad I crashed into your shop.”

  Epilogue

  Dot

  * * *

  Oh, Mylanta!

  This isn’t happening. Not today.

  I pull over to the side of the road, staring—gawking—at the text message. Why did my daddy think this was pertinent today? Am I even reading it right? There’s no way this is happening.

  The image is a flyer, printed right in the local paper. A new company branching into the small-town markets and an app. I rub the bridge of my nose. Of course there’d be an app it’s just so . . . him! Modern healthcare, that’s the tagline. Are we all living in the dark ages? I shake my head, so a few curls slip from my updo. I simply can’t worry about this right now. My presence is needed, and one thing I refuse to be is late.

  I start the ignition on Maribelle, my baby blue Mazda, the cutest car in the south, and peel onto the main road, hoping Trooper Willis isn’t on patrol because he has it out for me. I swear he does.

  Only once the brilliant magnolias and fragrant wisteria of the Cutler mansion come into view do I breathe right. No more of those short, gaspy things. I reapply a bit of color to my lips, then hurry through the side door, dodging caterers and florists putting the final touches on the outside. With gray skies filtering in, though, some have the foresight to dress up the inside too. Just in case. I take it all in, a smile breaking over my lips. Everything is vintage, and soft, and perfect for Zac and Jo. And lands, I’m glad we’re here. For a second, I wasn’t so sure we’d ever see Mr. Zachariah tie the knot. I sniff. Get it together Dorothy-Ann, I think and dab the corner of my eye before my mascara runs. Sometimes it’s funny to think that I’m at Zachariah Dawson’s wedding. There’s no question he thought little of me in high school, now he has become like a surly, playful, deliciously beautiful older brother. Jo is fully aware we single ladies think her man has a lickable face. She agrees.