by Frankie Love
Claire looks down in her lap, and for a second I’m scared she’s going to be upset and run off again. But then I see the slight upturn of her mouth and realize she’s suppressing a smile.
“Don’t laugh at me,” Fiona says to Claire. “You with your blonde hair and skinny legs and perfect eyebrows. You aren’t a real Englishwoman, and you never will be.”
“I don’t intend on being one. I intend on being myself,” Claire says smoothly.
“Oh, no you don’t, we know your game. You and Landon waltzed in here together for one reason and one reason only.”
Claire’s eyes meet mine. Fuck, they’ve found us out. What did they do? Scroll through our text messages or listen at the door to learn of our plan?
“And what’s that?” I ask.
“To get your Mum and Dad to pay for your wedding. And your life. Obviously you need your father to bail you out, now that you’ve committed yourself to a wife and child. Everyone knows you have no prospect of supporting anything, or anyone.”
Geoffrey raises his arms. “Fiona, just calm down a moment. Our marriage has nothing to do with them, you know that. They have nothing to do with our engagement, so let it go. Don’t get so defensive. And why do you care what sort of sex they have? We have plenty of it ourselves.”
“I know we do, darling, it’s just … it’s not fair the way he thi—”
I cut her off. “I’m here because it’s a family summit,” I tell her, seething, unable to restrain my feelings. “Because I’m trying not to be such an asshole like I’ve been my entire life. Because I wanted you to meet Claire, and because I want to make Mum and Dad happy, okay?” I shout. “So enough with calling me out for being a money-grabber. For being nitwit. For being a prick. We all know what I have been, but maybe for a moment, we could think of what I might be.”
The room is quiet. I don’t think I’ve ever given a speech quite like that in my life, and the only problem is I now need to dissect it to see what parts were real and what parts were false … and what parts became true halfway through.
“So then, what might you be?” Geoffrey asks.
His question stumps me for a moment. I can’t say I might be the owner of The King’s Diamond, because that’s what he’s just accused me of wanting. Which it is.
And because what I want more—much more—is for my parents to be proud of me. For my brother to think I’m more than my sum. And maybe ... just maybe ... I want Claire to think that of me, too. The company just seems the only logical way for me to get everything I want.
“Maybe I could be a man everyone here is proud to know.”
Chapter Nineteen
Claire
His speech brings tears to my eyes.
He wants us to see him as someone we are proud to know.
I’m proud to know him. Beyond proud.
But I’m not very proud of myself.
For the way I’ve been to my friends. For the secrets and the lies.
I can’t tell them everything, just like I haven’t told Landon everything ... but they need to know about Sophia.
After the fight, we go our separate ways, and I pull Landon aside to speak with him privately. We find an empty den at the end of the hall, and close the door.
“Your speech was so amazing, Landon, and it made me realize that I need to tell Emmy and Tess the truth.”
“I agree; you should do that.” He pauses, his brows furrowed. “And ... you liked my speech even though it was full of lies?”
“Was it?” I ask, because I think that on the surface he’s been saying he wants to trick the family into getting the company... but deep down I see the truth in his words.
That this isn’t about the money, because Landon isn’t a money-grabber at all. If he were, he wouldn’t be playing blackjack, that’s for sure. Blackjack players aren’t in it for big wins, they’re in it for fun. Poker and craps—now those players are looking for a jackpot. But not blackjack. Not Landon.
He came to his family estate to prove something. And I think he brought me because he was scared to do that alone.
At least, that’s what I’m telling myself … maybe foolishly.
“I think you’re the only person who can see through me,” he says. “Through my bullshit.”
I step toward him, letting my heart flutter in anticipation. Wanting another kiss, wanting him to pull me close. Knowing that kisses lead to sex … and sex with him makes me forget everything else. Which is what I want.
I’m not ready for reality. For real life. I want to stay in this make-believe place a little longer.
“Claire, I do want my father’s company. I didn’t say it in my speech because that’s what Geoffrey was droning on and on about ... but I want my dad to give it to me. I need him to.”
“Really?” I ask. “I guess I thought this might be about more than beating your brother.”
“Well, maybe in some ways it is about more than that. But you and I both know I need to fucking grow up. I can do that. I can be the guy who’s responsible and has his shit together.”
“Landon, I’m not asking you to be anything. Not for me.”
“So you don’t want me to be that guy? For you?”
“I don’t know what I want.”
I take a step back; suddenly feeling like this is all happening too fast. The idea of him and me is fun in theory … but the reality?
I just feel like if I gave in to that–gave in to him–it would end with me heartbroken.
“Are you trying to prove something to me?” I ask him. “That you can be man enough? Because I’m not asking you to be my man. To be my anything.”
“Shit, Claire. You are seriously fucking with my mind. I thought you and I were more than—”
“More than a job? You don’t even know me,” I tell him, my words blunt but true. “You have no idea what a life with me would be like. You are in no place to commit.”
“That’s bullshit, Claire. You’re just scared to let anyone in. You don’t tell people who you really are, and then no one can hurt you, because no one can see you. I don’t know who screwed you over so you became this way, but they must have seriously fucked with you.”
“Don’t talk like that to me, Landon. You don’t mean it. So don’t get all ugly with me now, when I’m speaking the truth. When I say you can’t handle me. Because we both know you couldn’t handle life as a father. You don’t even know how to be a man.”
“Fuck that, Claire. I know how to be a man.”
“No,” I tell him. “No, you don’t. A real man never would come to his parents house trying to trick them.”
“Well, you know what, Claire? A real woman wouldn’t have agreed to it.”
The words we exchange cut into my heart. I want to pretend they aren’t true, but they are. All of them. His and mine. This isn’t pretty and this can’t be love. Because love doesn’t hurt; love heals. Love doesn’t destroy; love protects.
And right now, it feels like whatever we were—whatever we might have been—is gone.
Landon
One day.
One single day can build you up and then tear you down.
One day can make you feel like a fucking King and then make you feel so small. Make you feel like nothing at all.
Claire’s face is streaked with tears, and so is mine.
Our fight is what has kept me from ever letting a woman into my heart.
Winnie and I would fight. We’d throw ugly words at one another when we were drunk or high or both.
But this is worse, because Claire and I are both sober. We know exactly what we just said. We will remember every word. Every line.
Maybe it was better with Winnie. Because at least the next morning would be a fuzzy haze of forgotten exchanges. We’d know we said things we shouldn’t have ... but nothing about the sentences would be clear enough to hinge another fight on.
The words Claire and I spoke won’t be forgotten. They ruined whatever we may have found.
Possi
bility.
One another.
Love.
“I’m going to bed,” she says, stepping further away from me. “My head hurts and I don’t want to fight anymore.”
“I’ll sleep in a guest room.”
“No, you won’t.” She sighs as if this exhale of breath takes all her energy, all her heart. “It will raise too many questions.”
“So you aren’t leaving right now?”
“I may be an awful woman, Landon, but I’m not giving Fiona and Geoffrey what they want.”
“Really?”
“Really, what?” She raises her hands in front of her, physically creating a barrier between us. “Landon, my heart hurts so bad right now. I feel like a monster and a bitch and cheat. I feel awful inside. But I’m also too tired to fight with you anymore. I don’t want to fight with you at all. I hate this.”
“I feel pretty shitty, too. Which is why I thought perhaps we should just confess to my Mum and Dad.”
“Is that what you want?” she asks.
“It sounds like what I really want isn’t something you want.”
“It isn’t that simple. I’m not that simple.”
“Fuck that, Claire—you’re just scared.”
“So what if I’m scared?” she whispers, opening the door, walking away. “We both know there are worse things to be.”
After she leaves the den I make the executive decision that she may hate ... but in my gut I know it’s what she needs. A way to forgive herself for keeping Sophia a secret.
I make a phone call and then go to our bedroom. She’s curled in a ball on the bed looking at her phone.
I get in beside her, trying to give her as much space as possible. Wondering if I should even be here at all.
“Do you want to see a picture of her?” she asks, rolling over to face me, her phone in hand. I love that she doesn’t play games where she refuses to speak because she’s upset. She isn’t running from me, from our fight.
“Yes.” My voice is so quiet, because I feel like I don’t deserve her trust ... her anything ... but I want it so badly. Want her so badly.
She passes me her phone. “That’s her at the first day of kindergarten.”
The photo is of a miniature Claire. Blonde hair and tan skin and bright green eyes. Sophia wears a pleated skirt and knee socks and a button-down shirt.
“She goes to a private school? I assumed....”
“That I couldn’t afford to send my daughter somewhere nice?”
“No ... well, yes. You’ve been so adamant about needing the money I figured—”
“She’s on scholarship. But I want the money so I can give Sophia more. I never feel like I can give her enough. What she really deserves.”
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, scared she’ll swat my hand away any moment. But she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away. And in that choice, I know she doesn’t hate me. Our words may have been ugly, but neither of us is ready to give up without another fight.
“You don’t think what you give her is enough?” I ask.
“Not even a little.”
“What if it is?”
“If what is?”
“What if you being her mother is enough?”
Claire sighs and takes back her phone, using her fingers to zoom in on her daughter’s face.
“I think that Sophia deserves more than a room in her grandma’s house, sharing a bed with her mother,” Claire says, staring at her daughter. “I think Sophia deserves a yard and a dog and a mom who isn’t always running around from work to school to dishes to laundry. She deserves a mom who’s better than me.”
“What if you’re missing the point, Claire?” I ask, my voice tender, because it’s so clear she’s hurting. She’s putting things on herself no one is asking her to.
She drops the phone on the sheets. “You’re going to give me advice on how to be a parent?”
“I’m not giving advice on bloody parenting, Claire. I’m giving advice on being a person.”
“Right, because you have life so well figured out.”
I don’t answer, because her words keep hitting me hard in the chest, knocking the wind from me.
I wrap my arms around her anyway, and we fall asleep, neither of us wanting to let go, even though we have no bloody clue what it means to stay.
The next morning we sleep late, the time zone differences hitting us hard–but also, the night was so heavy. I don’t think either of us wants to wake up and face one another ... or remember the words we said.
“Is someone knocking on the door?” Claire asks, her outstretched hand hitting my face.
“Fuck, yes. What the hell?” I moan. Looking at the clock, I’m shocked at the time. “It’s eleven in the morning, Claire.”
“No way. I’m always up before six.”
“Not today you’re not.” I stand from the bed to answer the incessant rapping.
“Tell them to leave unless they have coffee. Tea isn’t gonna cut it today.”
I pull open the door and my eyes grow wide, remembering my phone call.
“Um. Claire,” I say.
“What?” She peers through the heavy curtained bedposts. “Holy shit.”
“You didn’t tell her we were coming?” Emmy asks, smacking me in the chest before walking in the room, Tess and Ace in tow.
Chapter Twenty
Claire
I can’t believe he called them without telling me. What the hell?
Last night Landon and I had a fight that could be more aptly described as a mind-fuck.
Am I ridiculously in love with him or just completely cracked out because I’m staying with him at a castle in my dream destination a million miles from my responsibilities?
Obviously, I think it’s the latter ... but what really scares me is the idea of it being the former.
Of me actually being this spun out of my mind because I love this man.
I don’t want it to be true, because it’s easier to pretend my feelings are all made up. It’s easier to tell myself that the way he looks at me and holds me is part of the fake fiancée charade.
The door to the bedroom swings open and Emmy and Tess walk toward me, wide-eyed in disbelief, scanning back at Landon and then again at me.
“Sorry, boys, you’ve gotta go. We need girl time,” Emmy says over her shoulder.
I meet Landon’s eyes and he bites his lip, caught. I don’t know how to feel.
“I’ll get you some coffee, Claire,” he says, not giving me a chance to decide if I’m mad at him. He pulls on a tee shirt and then hastily exits to where Ace is waiting in the hallway.
I take a deep breath, not even knowing where to start. However, I don’t need to be the one start the conversation—Tess has no problem jumping right in.
“Um. What the heck is going on?” Tess asks, plopping on my bed once the door in closed. “We got here like five minutes ago and have zero clue what is going on.”
“Did he call you?” I ask.
“Landon?” Emmy nods. “Um. Yeah. He said you were here, with him–which, Claire, we knew nothing about that.” She smacks me on the side of my head.
“Ow,” I say, pushing her away.
“He called to tell us you were having a meltdown and that he needed backup. I tried to ask what the meltdown was over, but he refused to give me details.”
“So you three just hopped on a plane and came? Across the world?” I sit up in the bed, trying to gather my bearings. Never in a million years did I expect to wake up to this.
“Of course we did, weirdo,” Tess says. “Well, I mean, Ace flew us here in a private jet, which honestly was a big help. My credit cards are completely maxed out, so having a free ticket helped with the speed of travel.” She grins, but I just bite my lip, not knowing how I feel.
“You haven’t answered our calls for four days,” Emmy says, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “And then we find out that you–our best friend– ran off with Landon to England.”
/> “Yeah, a heads-up that you had fallen in love with him would have been freaking considerate,” Tess barks at me.
Do I tell them the reason I’m there? How it has nothing to do with love. How the potential paycheck has everything to do with my daughter.
My daughter.
I need to lead with that. I cover my face with my hands, totally ashamed and totally over my head.
“What the fuck!?” Tess grabs my hand, shrieking. “You got engaged? To Landon?”
“Ohmigod,” Emmy says. “Why in the world did you hide this from us?”
“It’s complicated, and—” Before I can say anything else, Landon is back in the room with a tray of fruit, coffee, and mimosas.
“For the ladies,” he says, setting the tray on the bed.
I smile, a really fake smile because I actually want to scream.
Instead, I stand and pull Landon into the bathroom.
“Sorry, girls, just need to speak with Landon for a sec,” I tell them. They’re both too stunned to speak, so I shut the door behind me.
“Hey, Claire ... now don’t be mad,” he says as I back him into the corner. Literally.
“Landon, what were you thinking?” I hiss. “This is going to end badly.”
“No. It doesn’t have to be bad. You kept saying how terrible you feel about lying to them. And I hate that you are carrying that around. I thought—”
“You thought they were just gonna think it’s cute that we are engaged?”
“Well, we can tell them it’s a fake engagement.”
“No, we can’t.”
“What do you mean? Of course we can. They won’t care.”
“I care, Landon. Me. I don’t want my friends to know I’m okay with deceiving your family for money,” I say.
“They will hate Geoffrey and Fiona, which means they’ll be happy I’m taking the business.”
“No,” I say. “They’ll think I’m a shitty person. Which just confirms how I already feel.”