by Penny Wylder
“They’re amazing,” I say, my words barely a whisper. I can’t believe he’s just giving these to me. I don’t think I’ve ever had anything as expensive as these fabrics touch my skin before.
“I’m going to get in the shower, then tonight I’m taking you out. We’re officially going to out you as my wife in the public eye,” Marcus says.
“Oh, okay,” I stammer. That’s a big can of worms he’s going to have a hard time putting back when it’s all said and done. What will he say when this job is over? Will he tell everyone it was a fake marriage? Will he say we got divorced? I guess it doesn’t really matter, but for some reason none of it feels good.
4
The town car pulls up to the front of the restaurant and there’s a crowd of people standing in front of it. This place makes the restaurant we went to for lunch look like a hole-in-the-wall burger joint. To say it’s opulent is an understatement. I can only imagine what it looks like on the inside. I guess I’ll find out.
I feel like less of a fraud in this dress. I can’t believe how well it fits. There was no need to take anything in or let anything out. It slipped over my body like a second skin, like Marcus made it with me in mind. Who knew he preferred my body-type over the thinner models you see on the runway?
The driver gets out of the car and comes to my side and helps me out of the back seat. It’s a good thing because I don’t think I would be able to get out of this seat by myself in these heels. It’s a two-person job.
I wait on the curb while Marcus gets out. As soon as he does, the crowd is surrounding me. I hadn’t noticed the cameras at first until I’m blinded by the flashes. They yell out questions to me: who am I to Marcus, who am I wearing. It’s as if I’m on a red carpet.
I’m confused and turned around. I don’t know what to do, but then an arm wraps around my waist and whisks me into the building away from the chaos of paparazzi. We sit at a table in the back of the dining room away from everyone else.
“Is your life always this crazy?” I ask, feeling disheveled and way out of my element.
He lets out a quiet laugh. “A little. I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you.”
A warning would’ve been nice, but I just nod because it was kind of exciting at the same time.
I notice people staring at us from the different tables. It’s not just the staring that’s making me feel awkward, it’s the fact that Marcus and I had sex and I have no idea what that means for the future of this business venture. I feel awkward, but he doesn’t seem to be feeling the same. Unless he’s an incredible actor, he doesn’t seem to be changed by what happened between us one bit.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, meeting my eyes.
I look down at the glass of ice water in front of me and wipe away the condensation. “Nothing.”
He puts his hand over mine and gives me no choice but to look at him. “Tell me,” he says.
With a sigh, I say, “We had sex. That wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t part of the deal.”
“Do you regret it?” he asks.
For the briefest moment I think I see concern in his eyes, but he’s quick to shut it off and now his expression is unreadable.
I don’t know what to tell him. I do regret it in a way because this could change everything about the dynamic between us, but at the same time I don’t regret it at all because being with Marcus was one of the best sexual experiences of my life. Being with him made me feel beautiful and desired and, of course, the incredible orgasms were no small thing either.
“No. Not at all,” I say.
He grips my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing my knuckles. “Good. Neither do I.”
This night was supposed to be about us coming out as a married couple to the world, and yet we end up lost in conversation, everything else falling away as if it doesn’t exist. Before we know it, it’s almost midnight and we’re the last ones left in the restaurant. It’s so late even the paparazzi have called it a night and there’s no one around when we leave the restaurant.
We’re both exhausted when we get home, and a little drunk. We say goodnight and head to our own rooms. In seconds I’m passed out.
When I wake up the next morning there are a ton of alerts on my phone.
I sit up, not sure what’s going on. That’s when I see more than a dozen texts from Alba. They’re from last night. I forgot to check my phone after we left the restaurant. Marcus and I are all over social media.
“What the hell?” I say to myself, and grumble. It’s too early for all of this.
It’s seven in the morning and now I’m really feeling the brunt of concern about having sex with Marcus the night before. I’m about to leave for work in one of my stunning new outfits, and I don’t know how to feel. I’m so overwhelmed. First the fire, then the most incredible sex I’ve ever had, and now these feelings I’ve starting to develop for him … It’s a lot to take. I know I shouldn’t complain because what I have with Marcus is a good thing—I’m getting a new house out of it, after all—but I’m used to being background noise and now I’m the center of attention.
I leave my room, closing the door behind me. My hair is done, the new clothes fit perfectly, as if they were made specifically for me. I don’t have any makeup to put on, but my skin is clear so I guess it doesn’t really matter. Makeup would only take away the attention from this amazing outfit.
As I walk into the kitchen to grab my car keys, I startle when I see Marcus standing there. I thought I heard him leave early this morning. I didn’t hear him come back.
“Last night was a mistake,” Marcus says.
My heart plummets and I feel slightly nauseous. He regrets having sex with me? I mean, I guess I regret it too a little—not being with him, but of the repercussions of it and the effect it will have on our working relationship from now on. Still, it breaks my heart to know that he regrets it, but probably for very different reasons. I wonder what those reasons are. Was I not good enough? Did I do something wrong? I want to cry, but I hold it back.
I swallow hard and nod. “I know. It shouldn’t have happened. Things went too far.”
He frowns at first, but then his eyes widen and he starts to chuckle. “God, no, I wasn’t talking about sex with you being a mistake.” He slowly walks toward me and I get that same fluttering in my chest that always happens when he’s near. “I could never regret that. Being with you was perfection. I was talking about outing us as a married couple at dinner. I didn’t know the paparazzi would be out in droves.”
When he hugs me I melt into his chest. I wish I could capture the scent of him in a jar and carry it with me. He kisses me on the top of the head and steps back.
“It’s fine,” I say.
“You’ll have to get used to it, I’m afraid. Now that the media has had a taste, they’ll want more.” He gives me a sly, sexual look that hoods his eyes. “I know I do.”
I feel my entire body flush. If we didn’t have to get to work, I’d jump on him right now.
I shake the thoughts from my head. What are you doing, Ruby? I was just thinking how we shouldn’t have had sex in the first place and how it could ruin our working relationship, and now I’m thinking about having sex with him again. No. Just no. I have to keep my hormones under control.
“Can I take you to work?” he asks.
I hesitate, knowing as soon as everyone at work sees us together, things are going to be different for me there. I liked being invisible in the store. I liked clocking in, doing my time, then going home at the end of the day relatively unnoticed. Now if I mess anything up, everyone is going to pay attention. But there’s nothing I can do about that now. No doubt everyone has seen the photos and have heard the gossip from last night. People who work in fashion live on social media. There’s no way a story like that is going to stay a secret for long.
“That would be great, thanks.”
When we get to the office, I’m thankful that Marcus doesn’t insist that we go in hand and hand. I think i
t would be too obvious anyway. It’s better to let people think we’re trying to hide our new relationship rather than flaunt it in everyone’s face. It might not be all that believable to his ex-wife when she hears about everything.
Marcus heads to the back of the store while I head up to my new office. As I walk past my co-workers, it’s as I suspected. There are whispers of me sleeping my way to the top. They mumble terrible things behind my back, thinking that I can’t hear them, when I can hear everything. These people who I thought were friends have turned their backs on me. Well, fuck them. They were never friends to begin with, I guess.
I head up to my new office. I remember seeing a desk out front of Marcus’s door and assumed as his personal assistant, it would be mine, but when I get to the top floor, someone is already sitting behind it. She’s an older, grandmotherly type with a perm, thick glasses, and a perpetually smiling face.
She looks up and smiles at me. “You must be Ruby,” she says.
“Yes I am,” I say, confused. “Do you know where my desk is?”
For a moment I’m struck with the fear that maybe he intends me to keep working out on the floor with the co-workers who just basically slut-shamed me for all to hear. I start to feel light headed and wish I could take it all back.
“Of course, it’s inside Mr. Steere’s office. He had a desk brought in yesterday for you.”
Relief washes over me. “Thank you,” I say before going in.
I’m alone in the office for most of the day. I’ve confirmed our flight to Paris tomorrow, and spend most of my time orienting myself to my new office and new tasks. I like it here, with the view, surrounded by nice things. And better yet, no Leonard constantly looking over my shoulder and telling me all the things I’m going wrong.
When Marcus finally comes back to the office, he’s holding his phone in front of him, the screen facing out for me to see. He has the most handsome smile on his face that lights up the room. I feel happier just seeing it.
“Have you seen these?” he asks. When he gets closer, I see that they’re the pictures of us from last night. We’re in a tabloid magazine! I’m not one of those people who takes selfies. I don’t even have my own Instagram account. So seeing my face plastered all over the internet is pretty jarring.
“Oh my God, that’s so embarrassing,” I say.
He sits on the corner of my new desk and looks at the photo he’d brought up. “You think so? I was thinking we made a pretty good looking couple.”
My whole body feels light as a feather at the sound of those words. Us, a couple. I have to admit we do look good together. I almost don’t recognize myself in those clothes. They change my whole appearance. I look like I belong in his world, like I fit right in. No one would look at that picture and think I’m some kind of imposter.
“We do look awfully handsome together, don’t we?” I try not to let the longing seep into my voice.
He’s staring at me now, watching my expression. I immediately feel like I’ve said too much and start fidgeting with the papers on my desk.
Clearing my throat, I say. “Our flight is confirmed on your private jet. We’re set to take off for Paris first thing in the morning.”
He’s still staring at me. Why are you staring at me?
A smile creeps to his lips. Now he’s looking at my mouth and for a second I think he’s going to kiss me, but then his secretary walks in. She apologizes for interrupting and he lets out a little huff of annoyance, but it doesn’t last long. She tells him he has a meeting and he’s off to do business for the rest of the day.
I decide to take my lunch break to go see Alba. She’s been texting me non-stop and it’s better to just go see her in person since I can’t type fast enough to answer all of her questions. As I’m leaving, I let Marcus’s secretary know that I’m taking my lunch break.
“Have fun taking that beautiful thing for a spin,” she says, all smiley and sunshine. I wonder if she ever gets mad. I can’t imagine her with a frown.
“What thing?” I say as I pull up the app for an Uber.
“The new car Mr. Steere had delivered for you.”
My finger pauses of over the app. “Say what?”
“Oh shoot, I forgot to tell you. Mr. Steere told me to tell you this morning about the car and it slipped my mind. It’s downstairs waiting for you.”
She hands me a key fob for a Jaguar. I just stare at it dangling from her hand from a personized key chain with a diamond studded R on it. When I reach out my hand she drops the fob in my palm. It’s heavy.
I think she might be hard of hearing because Marcus is the one who drives a Jaguar. I’m sure she meant he left his car for me to borrow. But still, letting me borrow his new Jaguar. That’s insane! I’m a good driver, but he doesn’t know that. He’s putting a lot of trust in me.
I go downstairs to the parking lot, and when I get there, I see Marcus’s car parked in a spot designated for him. There’s a sign with his name on it too: ‘Marcus Steere Parking Only.’ But next to it, there’s a different car. The same car for the most part, only instead of black, this one is silver and the sign reads ‘Ruby Steere Parking Only.’
I let out a bleat of laughter and look around to see if anyone is watching me. I seem to be alone and so I don’t feel entirely embarrassed when I start jumping around and squealing.
He got me a car? Is it a loaner until our fake marriage comes to an end? I really don’t care. I’m just excited to drive a freaking Jaguar! This is crazy. Why didn’t he tell me? I guess it was meant to be a surprise. Well, I’m damn surprised and elated.
I take the long way to go see Alba, wanting to drive the new car as much as possible before I have to get back to work. I feel everyone watching me as I drive by. This thing is a dude magnet, just as I’m sure Marcus gets plenty of attention from women (and probably men too) when he’s driving his. I get all kinds of smiles and waves. But I don’t care about any of that. I’m just happy to bask in the luxury of a car that won’t breakdown at any moment.
I get to the diner and luckily find a spot where the car won’t get dinted or towed away. Inside Alba freezes when she sees me.
“I’m going on break, Ma,” she says to her mother. Her mom barely catches her tray of dirty dishes when Alba drops it into her hands.
“Holy shit, girl, what the hell?” She drags me over to the counter and scoops us each a pile of cobbler onto plates with an equally generous helping of vanilla ice cream on the side.
We sit and eat our cobbler and I spill my guts. I tell her everything about going out with him and the paparazzi, the new clothes, and the new car. What I don’t tell her is that we had sex. I know she wouldn’t judge me, but she would probably caution me to be careful with my heart. And trust me, I know I should be doing just that. But unless she was in my position, she wouldn’t understand just how hard that is. Marcus is impossible not to fall for. He’s perfect in every way—except for the fact that he isn’t mine.
We go through the pictures of us on Instagram. “Look at the way he’s looking at you in every single one of these pictures. The man is obsessed,” Alba says.
I scrunch up my face. “No he’s not.”
But when I look at the pictures, I notice for the first time that he really is looking at me in all of them. It’s not just some friendly glance either, the way someone would look at a friend if they were just hanging out. The way he looks at me is the way I feel myself looking at him. With longing. A desperation to kiss him again, to feel his skin against mine, his lips, his tongue … to have him inside of me.
How had I not noticed it before when he was showing me the pictures at my desk? Maybe I didn’t want to see it. Maybe I was too afraid. I’m still afraid, actually.
“That boy is in love and he’s got it bad,” Alba says.
This would be a good time to tell her that Marcus and I had sex, but for some reason, I don’t want to. I’ve always told her everything, but for now I want to keep it to myself. It was a special moment between
us, and I want to keep it that way for a just a little while longer.
“I have to go back to work,” I tell her after I’m finished with my cobbler.
“I’ll see you when you get back from your trip. Are you sure you’re going to be okay to fly?” she asks.
Alba was there with me when I heard the news when my parents were killed in the plane crash. Growing up, she practically lived at my house. She was just as close to my parents as she was with her own and it hit her just as hard. She’s also afraid to fly because of it, and she knows exactly what kind of mental strength it’s going to take to get me up in the sky.
“I don’t know. I hope so.”
Marcus is at his desk when I get back to the office. He looks up at me with that welcoming smiling I cherish so much.
I hold up the key fob for the Jaguar, raising my eyebrows in question.
“I hope you like silver,” he says.
“I love silver.”
“I’m glad. I thought it would complement your beautiful gray eyes.”
He paid attention to my eye color? Those are the kind of details only someone who truly cared for someone else would notice.
Stop reading so much into it, Ruby.
I don’t need to ask him if the car was on loan. It’s not. I did some snooping after I got out of the diner. In the glove box is the registration in my name. Not a rental, not a lease. Bought outright, paid with cash, with my name as the owner.
“I thought my bonus was a house. What’s with the car?” I ask, trying not to sound so suspicious. I hope it’s not a gift because he feels guilty for having sex with me.
“I thought my wife deserved to have a car that didn’t fit in so well at the junk yard.”