by Holly Rayner
And how can I tell the difference?
I need to slow things down. I need to take some time to think—to clear my head, and hopefully figure out what’s going on in my heart, too.
Because soon it will be time to propose to her, and our engagement will become front-page news. I better figure out where I stand before then. If I thought it was hard to keep my head straight during a thirty-minute conversation, what’s going to happen to me when we’re pretending to commit to each other for life?
This whole act is about to get a whole lot bigger.
If I keep confusing our pretend roles with reality, I could get seriously hurt.
Or, I could hurt Shelby. And that would be so much worse.
Chapter 14
Shelby
“Hi, Martina, this is Shelby Bright. I got your email with the endorsement suggestions, and I have a few follow-up questions for you. Call me back at your convenience. Bye!”
I hang up the phone and look out over the city. I’m on a balcony off of my hotel suite, and the view is gorgeous. The city of Amsterdam lies spread out before me. I see blocks of old and new buildings alike, divided by streets and canals. People bustle around, seven stories down. The mid-afternoon sun feels warm on my bare legs.
Despite the fact that I’m supposed to be on vacation, I have my computer propped on my lap. Like a compulsive addict, I’ve been checking my email throughout the day.
Am I a workaholic?
I click into the next email. It’s from one of my coworkers in the States.
Hi Shelby, I know you’ve extend your stay in Amsterdam, and won’t get to this until next week, but I wanted to send it while it’s on my mind.
What follows is an in-depth analysis of one of our latest digital ad campaigns, and I notice that I feel soothed as I start to read.
This is familiar. This is something I can control. This is safe.
And, most of all, the numbers detailing our click-through rates, new leads, and return on investment numb me to the pain that I’ve been feeling since yesterday.
He didn’t call. He didn’t text. And, worse yet, when I texted him yesterday, expecting that we would get together, he blew me off with a canned response about work. I even called last night, before dinner time, and left him a voicemail asking if he wanted to grab a bite.
He didn’t call back.
It shouldn’t be upsetting me this much.
The thing is, I let myself feel everything that was happening…too deeply. My mother said to open up, and I really did. I really tried. I put myself out there, and I wore my haven’t-seen-the-light-of-day-in-a-decade heart out on my sleeve.
And this is what I get. A slap to the face.
While I was feeling every little glance, every touch, every sentence of our fake interview, Julian was only thinking about the end result: getting his hands on that ring.
And now that he has it, of course he doesn’t need to call—not until it’s time for our “proposal”, anyway.
The time we were spending together was so that we could pass our interview, and we did. With flying colors. He even deposited $200,000 into my bank account, a fact that I picked up on when I checked my balance the next morning.
I should feel happy right now. I’m sure Julian does.
But I don’t. Not at all.
And what’s even more frustrating is that I can’t even feel angry at him for not calling. He’s sticking to the plan that we agreed to, following the contract to a tee, while I’m the one going off-script and falling in love for real!
Falling in love. The term seems so appropriate now; I really do feel as though I’ve fallen down a steep incline, and am now at the bottom of a gully, bruised and battered, nursing the scrapes on my hands and knees.
My cellphone rings, and for a second, my battered, fragile heart leaps. Though I’m bruised and scraped up, it’s like a part of me is willing to stand up and give it another go. That’s how far I’ve fallen.
Is it Julian? Did he finally decide to call?
It’s Martina. I sigh and answer.
We end up talking for an hour, and by the time we’re done, I feel some of my old familiar self returning. I’m a successful businesswoman. What Julian and I have is part friendship, part business deal. I can handle that, can’t I?
I stand up and stretch by the railing, lifting my hands up high and leaning from side to side.
There’s no reason for me to sit here feeling sorry for myself.
Satisfied that I’ve done enough work for the day, I walk across the balcony and close my laptop resolutely. I march into the hotel suite, through the sitting area, and into the master bedroom, where I’ve hung some of my clothes in a beautiful mahogany armoire.
After rifling through my remaining clean items, I decide upon simple gray pants and a baby blue blouse with ruffled, capped sleeves. It’s feminine and pretty, and I’m hoping that putting it on will lift my spirits.
Since it’s such a lovely, warm afternoon, I decide to walk down the street in search of a cafe, instead of looking for a cab. Following my nose is fun, and I poke around the side streets for a full hour before finding the cutest little cafe imaginable.
I’m sipping a fresh squeezed green juice, scrolling through my phone, when a message on my social media account catches my eye. It’s one I haven’t opened yet, and I can’t see who it’s from.
When I open it, my interest peaks further. It’s from Fleur, Julian’s cousin. What could she possibly want?
I set my mason jar of juice down and put my full attention on the words before me.
Hi, Shelby. It’s been a while! I spoke with a dear jeweler friend of mine this morning; she was desperate to tell me of the buzz around The Hague. It seems that my cousin stopped into a jeweler’s on Monday, to have the Meijer Ruby resized ready for his “fiancée-to-be”. You. Ha.
I’m immediately hurt that she’s laughing in my face, through a message! Is it so laughable that I might be worthy of Julian’s hand in marriage? Curiosity forces me to set aside my upset and keep reading her lengthy message.
Well I did some research and I wanted to let you know that I’m on to your little scheme—pretending to marry just so that Julian can inherit the ring. I’m sure he’s offered you a substantial sum of money so that you’ll play your part.
Play my part—she has that right. I’ve been a puppet on Julian’s strings.
I keep reading.
I don’t blame you, Shelby. I remember how smart you were back in school. I know you’re a businesswoman, and you can see a good deal when it’s presented to you. Therefore, I have a new proposal for you.
I’m not trying to do anything malicious here—I love my cousin as much as you did back in school—and I’m not trying to hurt Julian. My desire for the Meijer Ruby goes much deeper than that.
I have been searching for this piece of my family history for years. The search has given me a sense of purpose, and I can’t give up on it just because my cousin thinks—in typical, male-entitlement fashion—that he is the rightful heir. I am just as eligible as he is, and I’m not going to back down just because I’m a woman. Rather, I’m going to keep fighting because I am a woman—a woman who knows what she wants. I’m sure you understand this.
I have to look up from the message after I read these words. Do I understand? Have I ever felt the power that comes from being a woman who knows what she wants? Somehow, Fleur’s words have touched on something deep inside of me. “A woman who knows what she wants”—will those words ever describe me? When will I stop doubting my desires? When will I discover what I truly want?
I recall Fleur in our boarding school days. She was tall, with supermodel-like good looks. She held herself with confidence, gliding in and out of rooms like she owned them.
Perhaps I could learn something from her.
I tilt my head down and shade my eyes so that I can read the final lines of her message.
Now, for my proposition. Once you have the ring in your possession�
�which you surely will, since Julian is required (so I hear) to propose to you with it—you will offer it to me as a gift. If you do this, I will compensate you to the tune of double whatever my cousin has offered you. I know that you, as the intelligent businesswoman that you are, will consider my offer seriously. If not for the material gains, then as a show of sisterly support in a world ruled by men.
Whew! I set my phone down and look around me. Though I feel as though I’ve just witnessed a drama unfold before my eyes, everyone else at the cafe is carrying on as if nothing has happened.
People sip drinks, smiling and laughing together. Others are hunched over laptops, busy with work or surfing the net. The cafe is filled with the sounds of happy chatter, clinking glasses, and soft, coffee-house music.
The peaceful buzz around me is in complete contrast to what I’m feeling inside. Anxiety now dwells inside of my gut, alongside the hurt I feel from Julian’s lack of contact these past few days.
He only wanted the ring. I was a means to an end for him, so why should I treat him differently?
Fleur has offered me double what Julian is going to pay me, and all I have to do is hand the ring over to her after Julian proposes.
A million dollars. The thought overwhelms me, and I blow a burst of air out through puffed cheeks.
Standing, I grab my purse and abandon my expensive juice as I head for the door. I knock into an elderly gentleman because I’m so preoccupied by what I’ve just read.
“Excuse me,” I say, shaking my head.
Keep it together, I tell myself. I burst out of the cafe seating area and out onto the sidewalk. I don’t know where I’m heading, but I know that I have to walk.
A million dollars. What could I do with that amount of money?
I’ve never even considered having that much available to me, and the thought of it seems almost surreal. I’d be a millionaire at thirty. If I’d thought half a million could improve my mother’s life, what could a whole seven figures do?
A relationship with Julian is uncertain, as he’s shown me over the past few days. One minute, he seems to care about me, and the next, he’s too busy to return my calls.
Money, however, is certain. It’s stable. And once it’s mine, no one can take it away from me.
Fleur’s offer is a good one. I’d be a fool to turn her down. I should write back to her. Screw Julian, his cousin is right—I’m more than just a pawn he can move around his chessboard. I’m a woman who can make moves of my own.
I pull out my cellphone and look for somewhere to sit so that I can type out a response.
I find that while I’ve been lost in thought, I’ve walked towards the canal that Julian and I floated down last weekend. The Keizersgracht flows lazily. The pace of the pedestrians around me seems to slow; instead of professionals hustling to the next meeting, I am now surrounded by mothers pushing baby strollers and tourists lounging by the water’s edge.
My frantic thoughts seem to slow as well. I slip my phone back into my purse and take a deep breath.
I can’t rush into responding to Fleur. I need to slow down, breathe, and think.
I keep walking for another half a mile, focusing on the breath filling my lungs. I don’t have to simply react to this unexpected message from Fleur. I can stop and make a choice.
A stone bench catches my eye, and just as I’m approaching it, the couple that is sitting there gets up and leaves. I take a seat, grateful for the cool surface and the view that stretches out before me.
What do I want?
The river glides by, flowing steadily, sure of its destination. But what about me? What is my destination?
I sigh and take out my phone. Carefully, I read over Fleur’s message, two more times from start to finish.
She’s trying to manipulate me with compliments. I can see this, now that I’m in a less reactionary space. I don’t have to do what she wants just because she’s stroking my ego.
What do I want? The question haunts the edges of my thinking, no matter where I focus my attention.
What would my mother do if she was in my shoes?
I’ve been upset at Julian, but what if he was just as deeply affected by our interview yesterday as I was?
It was so powerful, to sit there at his side and tell him exactly what I loved about him. And he said what he loved about me. We didn’t make those words up. We couldn’t have. I really said what I felt, and somewhere deep inside of me, I know that Julian did, too. He was speaking from his heart.
For once, we weren’t dancing around the issue, sidestepping our feelings for the sake of staying safe. Maybe that scared him.
I close the message from Fleur. What I want, in this quiet moment of clarity, is to talk to Julian.
I want to speak honestly. I want to tell him how I feel—how I’ve felt for years. Because maybe there’s hope for us. Maybe we can survive this fake relationship, and if we allow it, something real can come of it. Real love. A real relationship.
If I don’t tell Julian how I feel, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
I find Julian in my contacts and hit “call”. It rings three times, and then goes to voicemail. Damn it. I hang up before leaving a message, and let my hand that’s holding the phone fall into my lap.
For a moment, all feels lost.
I’m trying, Julian, I think silently, as if he’s in my head and can hear me. I’m trying to give you a chance. But I can’t do this alone. You have to meet me halfway.
In the silence that follows, I see a boat that looks like the one Julian and I rode in on Saturday night. There’s a couple sitting in it, towards the front, just like Julian and I were. The woman is tucked in the man’s arms, and he’s leaning his cheek against her head as they look out at the scenery around them.
I sigh and lift my phone, about to place it back in my purse.
It rings, and I’m so startled, I almost drop it.
It’s Julian.
My heart starts to hammer in my chest. For all that I’ve psyched myself up for honesty, I find suddenly that I’m much more frightened than I expected.
I answer, lifting the phone to my ear with wide eyes.
“Julian?” I say.
“Shelby, hi. You called?”
“Yes.” I hesitate, trying to gather my courage. The couple on the boat kiss each other, and this feels like a sign from the universe. I press my phone to my ear and speak softly, trying to keep my voice neutral. “Julian, I think we need to talk. Like, really talk.”
“Is everything okay?” he asks.
No, I think. Everything is not okay. I feel rejected, abandoned, and frustrated. Since the moment you got your hands on that ring, you’ve been ignoring me. I think I love you Julian, and I want to know how you feel.
I don’t say any of that out loud. I can’t. Not over the phone.
Instead, I press on with my request. “I think it would be best to talk in person, Julian.”
“You’re upset,” he guesses.
“I don’t want to do this over the phone,” I say.
He’s quiet.
I continue. “I want to see you, if you’re available.”
Again, I’m met with silence. This time, I wait it out.
“Okay,” he says finally. “You’re right. We do need to talk. Where are you? Can you come to my place?”
I look around me, checking for a landmark. I’ve swiveled nearly fully around on the bench by the time I pick up on two street signs. “I’m out for a walk by the canal. I’m on the corner of Keizersgracht and Leidsegracht.”
“Okay. Wait there. My driver will pick you up.”
I agree, and we hang up without further discussion.
I expect to feel better now that we’ve talked, but instead I feel even more frightened and confused than before. What if we both speak from the heart, and Julian doesn’t say what I’m hoping to hear?
What then?
I have no answers. There’s nothing to do but wait.
Chapter 15
Julian
It’s been two days since I’ve seen her.
Our time apart was supposed to give me clarity, and I thought that it did. Yesterday, I came to a decision.
But now, as I pace around the entryway, waiting on edge for her to arrive at my home, I feel that doubt about what I’ve decided.
She’s going to be here, standing right in front of me. Am I going to be able to have the resolve to stick to my decision? Am I going to be able to tell her that we have to stay true to the contract, as it’s laid out, and focus only on the ring?
It’s going to be better for us, in the long run. This way, there’s no chance that we can crash and burn. We can part as friends, Shelby with money in the bank which will improve her life, and me with the Meijer Ruby.
Knock, knock.
My shoulders jack up to my ears with a startled reflex, despite the fact that I’ve been expecting her arrival for the last ten minutes.
I walk to the door and square my shoulders. I can get through this. It is for the best. Maybe Shelby has come to the same decision that I have. Maybe our time apart has given her some perspective, and she’s feeling calm, cool and collected.
The instant I see her, standing on my doorstep, I know that’s not true.
She takes one look at me and practically pushes past me.
“Julian,” she says, whirling around as soon as she’s inside. “Why didn’t you call me back yesterday?”
“I was…busy. At the office.”
This is a lie, and she knows it. In fact, I came home early. It had been impossible to concentrate at work, so I came home and worked out until my body was so exhausted that I had to practically crawl into bed.
She narrows her eyes at me. “Just say it, Julian. Say you didn’t want to see me. Let’s be honest with each other.”
“Shelby,” I hold my hand up at waist level, and then depress it, like it’s a foot pumping the breaks. “Slow down. I can tell you’re upset. I’m sorry that I didn’t call you back about dinner last night.”
She pushes a hand through her hair, combing it out of her face. She’s wearing a pretty, pastel blue top, and form-fitting gray pants. When she moves, the loose fabric of her top swirls around her, like water pushed by the current of her anger and frustration.