When I Fall

by Tamara Morgan

  Livvie glared at him with her dark circles and the wrath of a woman who loved mornings about as much as he did. “But no. You had to ruin it. You had to swoop in here with your chivalry and your tight jogging shirt and your goddamned light shining all over Becca, and now I’ll never get my life back. How can I tell her I won’t come join her stupid workout when I can see how happy it makes her to have company? I hate you, Jake Montgomery. I hate you so much I’m tempted to tell Becca about that time you hit on me and my sister at the same time.”

  Jake laughed. “You’re part of the village too, huh? I should have known.”

  Her heavy brows came together in perplexity. “What village? What are you talking about?”

  “I’ll save you a seat at the next town hall,” he promised. He’d always liked Livvie—she was one of those women who took no shit from anyone but still somehow managed to make friends wherever she went—and he liked her even more now. It seemed Becca hadn’t been quite as alone as he’d initially feared. “Tell Max I said hello, won’t you?”

  Without bothering to explain further, he made his escape out the front door. He was sure he could find a coffee shop or a park bench that would provide much more comfort than whatever Max had planned. Besides—he kind of liked the idea of being out this early, of the day stretching ahead of him, holding nothing but promise. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d opened his eyes and actually felt excited at the prospect of an open calendar.

  * * *

  “Oh, did Jake leave?” Becca emerged from the kitchen, glad to see Livvie was still here. She was half afraid her friend would escape the second she turned her back. In the end, she’d only promised to come when Becca said she feared Lulu wouldn’t want to be alone with her—and Lulu needed this. She might not know it yet, but she did. “The coward. I never knew men were such wimps until I lived with one for a while.”

  “Or maybe this particular man feels grueling morning workouts aren’t part of what he signed on for,” Livvie said archly. “It’s a bit above and beyond the call of duty, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t think.” Becca held a finger to her lips. “And neither do you. I’d rather Lulu didn’t know this is all pretend. For the duration of this morning, we have to act as though Jake is shamefully neglecting his betrothed.”

  “Oh, really? And why is that?” Her tone was more teasing than inquisitive. “It’s the perquisites, isn’t it?”

  Becca felt herself flushing. It wasn’t the perquisites—at least not just that. “No. I’m trying to convince her that I’m sane and nice and not at all likely to explode again. I don’t think disclosing my fake relationship is going to help any.”

  “No one is deluded enough to think you’re sane, darling.”

  She didn’t have a chance to say more, as they were interrupted by the sound of Max letting himself in the front door. Dressed in what looked like military fatigues this morning, he had an almost reverent look on his face at the idea of not just one, but three women to torture all at once.

  She had to laugh at the sight of him, so ebullient as to appear almost kind. It was difficult to tell whether it was she or Max who was more excited at the prospect of expanding their morning routine. It would be amazing to make this a thing, to take women like Lulu and Livvie and herself and provide an outlet, a chance to bond, a way to put all the crap in their lives into perspective.

  Men were temporary. Rehab was too invasive. Even revenge only held appeal for so long. Already she was finding it easier to feel more relief than disappointment at not seeking out Dana to force a resolution—especially since that resolution probably didn’t exist in the first place. It had been far more therapeutic to go out dancing with Jake, to accept Monty’s gesture of hospitality, to be with people she knew cared about her.

  Lulu emerged from the kitchen, her hands tucked inside the long sleeves of her shirt, a hesitant smile on her face. “Are we ready to go?” she asked, seeing Max standing there. “I’m excited to see if this magic workout of Becca’s is everything she says.”

  “Oh poor, sweet Lulu.” Livvie shook her head and shoved the sunglasses back over her eyes. “You have no idea what you agreed to. The only magic you’re going to see today is how quickly the ambulances will come when you black out from overexertion.”

  “Don’t you dare listen to her,” Becca said, taking Lulu’s arm and looping it through her own. “Ambulances take forever to get anywhere in New York. The magic is in how Max will manage to pull back just when you start to see God.”

  * * *

  “Does your dad’s chauffeur make it a habit to pick people up in sports cars?” Becca watched as the sky-blue convertible zipped their direction. Defying the laws of physics and all of New York parking, the driver managed to squeeze into a parallel slot the size of a bicycle with no more than a few turns of the wheel.

  Although impressed with the maneuver, she cast a doubtful look at the pile of luggage at her side. There was no way all those suitcases were fitting on the back of the car—especially since it looked as if that was where she’d have to sit. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to give Liam some much-needed time off after all.

  “He does when he’s vying for the role of chauffeur of the year,” Jake said, sharing none of her qualms. He rushed forward with what had to be the biggest grin she’d ever seen on his face, almost boyish in his excitement.

  Huh. Jake, boyish. Over a car, of all conventional things.

  “I can’t believe you brought Penelope.” Jake ran his hand over the hood of the two-seater, his touch equal parts reverence and glee. Becca remembered a similarly erotic movement of that hand against her body and suppressed a twinge of disappointment. He might handle cars and women with the same care, but he had definitely never looked that excited to see her. “What kind of time did you make getting here? Two and a half? Two forty-five?”

  “Two fifteen.” The driver, a stocky, blond-haired man who looked as though he spent most of his time under cars rather than inside them, tossed Jake his keys. “Though I wouldn’t recommend driving her that hard on the way back. I saw a few patrols setting up outside Hartford—I’m not sure you want to risk a ticket.”

  He noticed Becca standing there and straightened. “This must be your fiancée.”

  “What?” Jake whirled, as if just remembering he had a fiancée—let alone one standing on the sidewalk behind him. “Oh. Right. Becca.”

  His breeding finally kicked in, and he made the introductions. “Becca, this is my dad’s driver, Ryan Lucas. Ryan, Becca Clare. She’s Serena’s youngest sister.”

  Ryan’s eyes crinkled warmly at the edges as he strode forward, his hand outstretched. “I think I’ve seen you around a few times, but we were never formally introduced. I had no idea you and Jake...”

  He trailed off when Jake shook his head at him.

  “You should tell him the story of how we got together.” Becca wound an arm around Jake’s waist and looked up at him expectantly, waiting to hear what he came up with. They were going to need to figure out some kind of story. The family driver wasn’t going to be the only one wondering at the suddenness of their relationship. “I’m sure he’d love to hear it, Lambkins.”

  Ryan choked on a laugh, which soon gave way to a cough before turning back into laughter.

  “Are you done?” Jake asked when it was clear the chauffeur had no intention of hiding his amusement. “Based on the amount of coffee my fiancée has consumed this morning, we’ve got a lengthy drive and several pit stops ahead of us.”

  “I’m sorry, Jake. I just never saw you as a Lambkins before. I always took you as more of a Schmoopy.”

  “She’s trying out different nicknames, hoping to find one that fits.”

  “I see.”

  Jake raised a finger and pointed. “Don’t judge me, Car Man. I put up with the moony eyes you threw a
t my cousin for months, and you don’t hear me complaining.”

  “I won’t say another word.” Ryan held up his hands and backed away, laughing. “And you owe me one, anyway. One of your dad’s town cars is uptown getting reupholstered, so I juggled things around a little. I’ll kill some time in the city and drive it back later this afternoon. I thought you and Penelope might like to spend some quality time together. Ehrm...with your future wife, of course.” He swept a mock bow and tugged at an invisible hat on his head as he turned to walk away. “It’s lovely to meet you, future wife. I’m sure I’ll see more of you back at the Manor.”

  “Cocky bastard,” Jake muttered, but Becca could tell he wasn’t the least bit angry. “He isn’t even going to help us with these bags. Where is all this supposed to fit?”

  “I don’t take up much space,” Becca promised.

  “No, but all your crap does.”

  “It’s not crap. I only packed the essentials.”

  “Becca, you tried to pack your skis.”

  She giggled. She’d been using a ski as leverage to shove everything in when Jake walked into the room. He’d taken one look at her suitcases, all of them open and overflowing, and ordered her out of the bedroom. And for the next twenty minutes, he’d forbidden her entry while he painstakingly folded all of her clothes for her—even her bras. She didn’t even know you could fold bras.

  “Well, I wasn’t sure how long we were planning on staying away,” she said. “And my horoscope today said I need to prepare myself for a major life change. I wanted to be thorough.”

  “I thought your horoscope told you just a few days ago that you were supposed to hunt down Dana.”

  She frowned. She’d thought that was what it said, but she was beginning to wonder if Dana had been who Madame Pernaud meant. Becca hated the guy, yes. Wanted him to pay for being such a devastating dickhead, of course. But he didn’t have the power to hurt her.

  Men like Dana made it a lifelong career to prey on the weak, saw a girl like Sara—depressed, struggling, searching for validation in a world prone to judgment—and pounced. In his eyes, Sara had been nothing more than easy sex, an ego-boost, a conquest that was no real conquest at all. And when he got tired of the easy sex a few months later, he left, taking the last of Sara’s emotional self-worth with him.

  Maybe he hadn’t known how much Sara was hurting that night. Maybe he’d thought dumping her in that hotel room was a kindness, ensuring she had bellboys and room service and a concierge desk to turn to for help. But he wasn’t the one who got the phone call at three in the morning. The too-late phone call of slurred regrets and a promise to do better next time, as if next time was just a good night’s sleep away.

  Instead of the usual overwhelming urge to lash out that hit her at the memory, Becca looked at Jake and allowed herself to fall into a smile. Right here, right now, for as far as she could see in the future, there was no way for Dana to hurt her. He’d already taken away one of the best parts of her, and that gave her a kind of freedom and power over him she hadn’t recognized before.

  “You know what the great thing about life is?” Becca didn’t wait for Jake to answer, since he was probably going to say scotch or women who packed everything in one suitcase. “Every day is a clean slate. I slept like a baby last night. Lulu and Livvie are finally speaking to me again after Max tried to kill them. The sun is shining. You have the keys to an adorable itsy-bitsy sports car. I think Sara would want me to enjoy it.”

  Becca had always hated that expression—it sounded too much like a personal justification for having fun while the tendrils of mourning still clung—but she was beginning to rethink her stance.

  When Jake didn’t respond right away, she added, “It’s what I would have wanted for her if the situation were reversed.”

  “My car is not itsy-bitsy,” Jake said gruffly, but he pulled her against his chest for a quick embrace and an even quicker kiss to the forehead. “And of course that’s what she’d want for you. She’d want you to be happy—we all do. Now help me with these bags. At this rate, it’s going to take us a week to get there.”

  He pushed her away, as if the shame of having been caught in the act of such kindness was physically distressing. And in that moment, it was. Becca could only stare, her jaw slack and her heart expanding painfully into her throat, as he eyed the trunk and gauged the amount of space as if it was the only thing that mattered to him.

  Oh, shit. Oh, no. Not this.

  The pain in her throat only grew worse as she slipped a pair of sunglasses over her eyes, hoping to hide anything and everything they contained. She should have seen this one coming—Madame Pernaud couldn’t have spelled it out any clearer if she’d handwritten Becca a letter. Of course the man with the power to hurt her wasn’t Dana.

  That man was Jake.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It took some doing, but they managed to get all the bags secured—and by they, Jake meant himself, lifting and shoving as Becca critiqued his movements from afar.

  “I don’t think you’re doing it right,” she said, her head tilted as she watched. “It looks like that top suitcase will fall off if we go over a bump.”

  “What are you talking about? This is a solid pyramid.” He finished lashing the last of the suitcases on the trunk-mounted luggage rack, feeling a trickle of sweat form along the back of his neck. The midmorning sun was doing its best to counteract the brisk fall air, and he’d had to slip out of his jacket and roll up his shirtsleeves. “If it worked for the Egyptians, it should get us out of the city.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man put so much thought into the arrangement of luggage before. Watching you work is fascinating.”

  “I see you’ve changed from fun-time fiancée to shrewish wife in a matter of days,” he grumbled, though without any real malice. There was something so comfortably normal about preparing for a road trip with Becca, of the traditional roles they seemed to have settled into. The novelty of domesticity would probably wear off soon, but he was enjoying it while it lasted. “At this rate, our eventual breakup won’t have to be fabricated.”

  “About that,” she said. “Don’t you think we should figure out the details now, while we still have time?”

  While we still have time. So ominous, like a death knell sounding.

  He covered his sudden sense of unease by holding open the passenger door and helping her slide in to the white leather seat. Penelope was a rebuild project he’d offered Ryan earlier that year, and he didn’t regret it for a second. Since Ryan knew so much more about cars than Jake, it had been fun to watch him work. If nothing else, it had passed the time while he was stuck at home, gave him something to do other than standing around feeling ornamental.

  “What kind of details do you think we need?” he asked, striving for neutrality. He jumped over the driver’s side door without opening it or catching Becca’s eye. As it was also necessary to push the seat back from where Ryan’s shorter frame had fit, he had a full sixty seconds to force his emotions to return to a more even keel.

  “Well, we could probably use an exit strategy. An entrance strategy too. People are going to want to hear everything—your highly romantic proposal, how we got together in the first place. Your family is bound to ask questions as soon as we arrive. Especially since you spent most of the summer with them.”

  Jake pulled the car out of the parking spot—a considerably slower, more complicated maneuver than the one Ryan had shown off with—before answering. “We’ve been on again, off again since the wedding. Things got serious when you were released from rehab and I took it upon myself to make sure you were doing okay. I proposed three weeks ago when we took a midnight yacht cruise out on the harbor. And then we forced the crew to swim back to shore so we could make sweet love on the deck under the full moon. You came four times. No—five. It was a big night.�
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  “They’ll never believe that.”

  “Why not? Five orgasms isn’t unheard of. I’m quite dexterous.”

  She giggled. “I meant the rest of it.”

  “I think it sounds romantic.” It made him appear less like a gold digger and more like a caretaker. And the yacht was a nice touch, even if it was in storage right now. He never felt more alive than when he was on the water. If he did ever propose to a woman—an event he’d never imagined before this moment—that was exactly how he’d do it.

  “Well, first of all, there wasn’t a full moon three weeks ago.”

  He had to laugh. Of all the holes to poke in his story, that was the one that concerned her the most? “Fine. I proposed under the crescent moon. It was dark. We had a flashlight. I used it to bring on orgasm number three.”

  “And I get seasick.”

  “Hmm.” He frowned. So much for that idea. “Quiet dinner for two?”

  “That doesn’t sound like you. When have you ever done anything quietly? For that matter, when have I?” She sighed. “Besides, I could never marry a man who would do something so uninspired as dropping a ring in a glass of champagne or having the chef write will you marry me in the blancmange. Can you imagine anything so awful?”

  “Yes. One of those ballpark proposals.”

  “I think a sunset walk on the beach would be worse.”

  “Skywriting.”

  “A carriage ride through Central Park.”

  “Wait—isn’t that how my dad proposed to Serena?”

  Becca released a crack of laughter. “Yes, but she loves that kind of stuff. She’s got that whole upright lady, stiff-upper-lip thing going, but she’s a total romantic at heart. She’s a Taurus. So is your dad, which is why they work so well together.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

  Jake had yet to see anything approaching softness or romance from Serena. It wasn’t that he disliked his stepmom or anything. As far as placeholder wives went, she seemed to be working out okay. But he didn’t really see why his dad had needed to get remarried at all. He already had three grown children—two of whom were more than happy to handle the reins of the family business—and it wasn’t as if he needed companionship as he approached retirement. He worked eighteen hour days and rarely emerged from his office for anything but meals.