When I Fall

by Tamara Morgan

  “Somehow, I have a hard time imagining cameramen chasing Mom around in hopes of a strong wind.”

  His dad took a long, bobbing drink. This VSOP wasn’t the cheap stuff, so the fact that he was swilling it like ale was pretty telling. “Don’t be so sure. Oh, I know she’d settled down by the time you kids were old enough to remember her, but there were a few years there...” He paused, smiling tightly, before changing the subject. “Do you know why I froze your accounts?”

  Jake frowned at the sudden shift. He hadn’t come here to talk finances. He wanted to talk love. “Because I’ve made no positive contributions to society and you were tired of footing the bill for it?” he asked, hoping bluntness would help them move on more quickly. “I’m not stupid, Dad. I know what you think of me.”

  “No. You don’t know what I think.”

  “I have a few ideas.”

  “You don’t.” He set his glass down with a start. “I’m not blaming you, Jake. It’s my fault. I know that. I wasn’t there for you kids when you were young, and I’ve made few efforts to change things since then. But you have to understand—most of your childhood years were spent building the company up, and it was always so hard to pull myself away from work. By the time your mother passed away and I realized how far away from me you all were, it was too late. The damage was done, and most of it to you. Monty and Jenna were always able to demand at least some of my time—Monty because he put in long work hours beside me before he began talking; Jenna because she doesn’t let anyone stop her from doing or having what she wants—but you. You.”

  The profligate sheep swathed in black. The monkey in the middle.

  “You were so much like me it was painful to watch. It still is sometimes.”

  Jake paused, waiting for the punch line, but there wasn’t one. This was the joke that never ended.

  His dad’s shoulders sagged, as if suddenly tired of holding the world in place. “The day I proposed to your mother was the worst day of my life.”

  Jake shot to his feet. “What?”

  He had the audacity to chuckle. “Sit back down. You’re going to make your rib worse. I don’t mean it was literally the worst day of my life. But at the time, I thought it was.”

  Jake sat. There was no way he could walk out after a confession like that.

  His dad looked at him carefully. “It’s not something many people know, but there was a baby before Monty. A baby we never got a chance to meet, and one neither of us particularly wanted in the first place.”

  “You mean—”

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I mean. It wasn’t so easy to get away with that sort of thing back then. We were young and reckless and thought nothing could touch us—and for a long time, nothing did. But it all came to a crashing halt with this baby, this supposed miracle of life. It was either get married or face your Grandfather Hawthorne’s wrath. I proposed to your mother out in the formal garden where no one would hear her scream. She cried for three hours.”

  Jake thought of his maternal grandparent, long since gone but a man he remembered as so stern no one knew for sure if he had lips under his mustache, and held back a shudder. That was not the sort of man whose daughter you knocked up and walked away from. That was the sort of man whose daughter you took advantage of and then burdened with a ring she didn’t want. A marriage she didn’t want. A life she didn’t want.

  Christ. It was more than a cursed ring. They were a cursed family.

  “So you never even loved her?” Jake asked, his voice a scooped-out hollow. “She never loved you?”

  “Not at first, no. And don’t look so stricken. We went on to have an eighteen-year marriage and three perfectly healthy children. I like to think we worked a few things out.”

  “I don’t understand. What does this have to do with my financial status?”

  His dad ran his finger around the edge of his glass. “More than you think. Before I got married, I was a lot like you. Oh, I was never as good-looking as you are, and I certainly never reached your level of—ah, notoriety, shall we call it? But I had my fair share of escapades. I even took to sailing for a while. There’s something about the wide expanse of the ocean that frees a man, isn’t there?”

  Jake only nodded, worried lest his father veer too far off point. Or ask to go with him next time he took his yacht out. It was a small yacht. There was one stateroom. And getting Becca her sea legs would take every ounce of concentration he had.

  “What I’m trying to say is that it took the responsibility of a wife and impending fatherhood to finally settle me down. I was considerably younger than you are now, but it was the kick I needed to put my life in order. Since I wasn’t aware of your, ah, long-standing relationship with Becca, it seemed to me that marriage was out of the question for you. And I could hardly force you to care about a business you’ve always disliked. So I did the only thing I could think of to thrust you into the same kind of responsibility.”

  “You took away my independence.”

  “Hardly. I never had any doubt you’d do anything but land on your feet. I just took away the cushion at the end of your fall.”

  Jake let his father’s meaning settle, hoping that in doing so, he’d see a clearer way to the finish line. But as everything came into focus, he found himself more confused than before. Was his father encouraging him to marry Becca—forcing her into it if he had to—because a marriage of convenience had worked for him? Or was he telling Jake to let her go?

  “Do you regret it?” he asked suddenly. “Marrying Mom?”

  “No,” he said after a thoughtful pause. Jake appreciated that he didn’t lie or rush to reassure him. “We were content together, and I could never regret having you and Monty and Jenna. But I think I could have been happier. I think we could have been happier. When I found myself faced with a pregnant wife and then a not-pregnant wife and then an emotionally devastated wife, I threw myself into work. All this—these four walls, the long hours away, the business trips that never seemed to end—was my way of coping with a woman I didn’t really understand. A not very great way of coping, as it turned out.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “Of course you didn’t. That’s the way I wanted it, so that’s the way it was.” Ah. There was the father he recognized. Jake felt much more comfortable with the megalomaniac than the man. “But that’s also why I’m so glad you have Becca. Not because I think you need a wife, necessarily, but because I can tell you won’t be repeating my mistakes.”

  Jake felt himself stiffen. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “But I am sure,” the megalomaniac said. “For one, I don’t see you becoming a workaholic anytime in the near future.”

  Jake choked on a startled laugh. “I’m glad to find your expectations remain realistic.”

  “I’m not displeased with the way things have turned out. Do your part to help Monty, carve yourself a niche, and keep up the high profile, and I’ll be more than happy with your contribution. Did you know our shares have gone up fifty points since you and Becca got engaged? They’re predicting twice that once the wedding actually goes through. Don’t you dare mention this to Monty, but having an infamous scoundrel like you for a son has done more for the hotels than anything he’ll ever accomplish. We paid for the new Paris facility with the affair you had with that shoe designer in Milan.”

  Jake veered toward outrage—he’d gotten hell from Monty for the bad publicity on that one—but it hardly seemed worth the effort now. “You mean my primary function in this family is to create scandals?”

  “You don’t have to sound so offended. It’s not as if you aren’t any good at it.”

  “Thank you?”

  “And of course I suspected you were just toying with your brother when I heard of your engagement, but after seeing you and Becca together, I know you’re making the right choi
ce. Asking that woman to marry you was the smartest thing you’ve ever done.” His dad flashed a rare grin and picked up his glass of brandy again, holding it up in a toast. “Or it will be, once you gather up the nerve to actually do it.”

  Jake was too exhausted to show his surprise. “Isn’t there anything that goes on in this family you don’t already know about?”

  “Of course not.” He preened, a peacock showing his feathers. “Just make sure you don’t screw it up, will you? I’m not sure I care to live under the same roof as Serena and Moira with a canceled wedding hanging over our heads.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “I promise to make it quick and painless. You’ll barely know I’m in there.”

  Becca laughed as she got out of the sports car, helped along by Jake’s waiting hand. He was opening doors for her now—this was how far into farce they’d gone. The man could barely walk, shouldn’t have been driving, refused to take any painkillers that might put him at a slight disadvantage, but he still made her sit in the passenger seat while he pulled open her door and went through all the steps of a regular courtship.

  “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  “Only the ones who are skittish.”

  She planted her feet on the sidewalk. “I’m not skittish. I’m annoyed. I told you from the start how much I dislike this idea.” They stood between Jake’s highly illegal parking spot and a blithely understated storefront. The jeweler they were visiting was housed in a nondescript brick building in an out-of-the-way location, one of those companies that had been in place since the nineteenth century and had no intention of changing to suit the modern era. Of course the Montgomerys wouldn’t do things the normal way with Cartier or Asprey, the whole flash and bang.

  Somehow, this age-old family establishment made things even worse. She had almost talked herself up to striding through the doors of Tiffany’s and listening to a carefully blasé sales clerk talk about platinum settings and diamond quality. But this? A sweet old man with an eyepiece, a close-walled room where every Montgomery bride-to-be for the past century had sat and made plans for the future?

  Nope. She wasn’t doing it.

  “What time do they close?” she asked, taking a large step back.

  “They don’t.”

  “I’m serious, Jake.” She grabbed his wrist and glanced at his watch. “It’s ten o’clock now. If they close at six, that’ll give me eight hours to enjoy what remains of my conscience before I destroy your family legacy. Would you mind? Just a normal day in the city? No weddings, no families, no anything?”

  He held perfectly still as he looked down at her. “They don’t close at six.”

  “Okay, five then. Or seven. Whatever. Please?”

  “Piers will stay open as late as I ask him to, even if it’s the middle of the night.” He twitched his fingers, as if he wanted to make a move toward her. But as always, he held firm. “How many hours do you need to be okay with this?”

  A hundred. A thousand. Not even one. “What time would he close if you were a normal human being who didn’t get to command the world at your leisure?”

  His lips relaxed in a smile. “I believe his sign says eight.”

  Ten hours. That was even better. A lot could happen in ten hours. She might even be able to persuade the most stubborn man on the face of the planet that vandalizing his family heirloom wasn’t in her life plan. “Okay. What if I promise, absolutely pinky swear, that we’ll come back and take care of the ring at eight? Can we forget our deal exists until then?”

  He wanted to argue with her, she could tell. He always got this combined look of exasperation and amusement, as if he wanted to put his imperious foot down but knew, deep inside, that he’d have a lot more fun if he didn’t.

  “I guess it doesn’t matter if we drop the ring off now or in a few hours.” He looked a warning at her. “As long as it gets done.”

  “When I make a promise, I keep it.” Which was part of this whole problem. She’d promised to wear his stupid ring. She’d promised to let him dissolve this on his own terms. This is the last time I make a deal with the devil.

  “Shall we shake on it?” He turned his wrist and slipped his hand in hers. Firm and cool, he waited for her to make the first upward motion. And then he didn’t let go. He held her hand in a gesture that was more authoritarian than romantic, but which made her pulse leap all the same. “The day is yours to command. Where do you want to go?”

  She made the sound of a buzzer. “Wrong question. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m exhausted with everything being about me. If you do one more unselfish thing to try and make my life better, I’m going to kick you in the ribs.”

  Jake released a startled laugh, wincing as it shook his side. He’d done a fairly good job so far of stifling laughter and rage and all other emotions in the name of pain management, but Becca had a way of catching him off guard. “I don’t think anyone has ever accused me of being not selfish enough before. I thought you hated my perfectionist Virgo tyranny?”

  “I do.” Becca’s fingers slipped casually through his, forcing their hands into a more natural embrace. He stared down at where their palms touched, curious at how comfortable it felt. He wasn’t sure he’d ever stood on the sidewalk and held hands with a woman before. “And despite my better judgment, I’m holding out for the day you realize that asking me what I want is more effective than telling me. But today we’re doing what you want.”

  “That’s easy.” He tugged her in the direction of the jeweler’s bright red door. “I want to go in there and fit your ring.”

  “Anything but that. Did you miss the whole first part of our conversation?”

  If he weren’t still injured, he’d be sorely tempted to lift her over his shoulder and haul her into the jeweler’s despite her protests. Okay, so it wasn’t the most romantic of gestures—some might even call it barbaric—but he didn’t think he’d be able to relax until he knew Piers was in there working his magic. He could be romantic afterward. He could be selfish or unselfish or whatever Becca wanted.

  If only she’d fucking relent. They might joke about his tyrannical qualities until the sun came down, but the truth was that she commanded his every movement, his every thought, his every desire. There wasn’t a thing in this world he wouldn’t do for her. This was no engagement of convenience. This was no relationship built on obligation. He wanted Becca so much he couldn’t think of a single thing he wouldn’t do to have her.

  “Where should we go first?” she asked, smiling up at him. She’d dressed for a day on her feet, comfortable in leggings and flat boots that slouched around her ankles. Her hair was knotted casually over one shoulder, her smile lighting her eyes from within. It was difficult to remember how he’d ever thought this woman was just another pretty face in the crowd.

  Rebecca Clare wasn’t just anything. Those laughing eyes could as easily fill with pain as joy. Those sweet features hid a core of steel no amount of his might could bend. The trusting way her body molded to his at night made him feel alive and strong and so unworthy of her it was absurd.

  “Pretend you can travel back in time to a few months ago,” she said when he didn’t respond. “You just got to New York. Your pockets are full of money. Your favorite sports car is parked at an awkward angle and is ready for you to take it anywhere. Your sole task is to enjoy yourself. What does a day in the life of Jake Montgomery look like?”

  He considered her question carefully. Too carefully and too long, the moment stretching well past thoughtfulness into shame.

  “Uh-oh. Is it one of those things you don’t want a clingy, prone-to-seasickness fiancée to do with you? Does it involve bevvies of supermodels and international travel and yachts? Maybe I can take some Dramamine or make myself scarce.”

  “No.” He frowned, his brow feeling heavy. “No, that’s not it
at all.”

  “Do you want to get a manicure and shop for shoes? Is it worse? A pedicure and underwear?” When he still didn’t respond, she tightened her hold on his hand. “Hey—why so serious? This is supposed to be fun.”

  “Empty.”

  “What?”

  “Empty,” he repeated firmly. “That’s what a day in my life looked like a few months ago. If we turned back the hands of time and filled my pockets with money, I can tell you exactly what I’d do. I’d go nowhere important, see no one who mattered, do nothing that made an impact on anyone else’s life.”

  “That’s not true. You impact lots of people’s lives. You’re always out doing something.”

  “Oh, I might play a round of golf if someone needs a fourth to make up their numbers. Go out to a club if someone wants to get noticed and invites me along. Stop by one of my dad’s hotels to run up a bill and make sure he knows I still exist.”

  That wasn’t a life. That was a sad and lonely man passing the time until he died.

  He didn’t glance down at Becca, even though he could feel her gaze searing into his profile. He didn’t want her pity. He didn’t want her to smile and tell him it was okay. A man who’d wasted as much of his life as he had didn’t deserve pity. And it wasn’t okay.

  That kind of life wasn’t okay with him at all.

  “Time travel in the other direction then.” Her words were calm, containing nothing but warmth. “Let’s fast forward a few months. You still have pockets full of money. You still have your tiny, overcompensating car—which, by the way, is about to get a ticket—and a full day in New York. For the first time in weeks, you’re blissfully free of wedding plans and family obligations and Monty making you be nice to the people he sucks at pretending to like. What do you do?”

  His first instinct was to go over there and talk his way out of a parking ticket, but he found he didn’t care to divert his attention right now. He liked the picture Becca was painting too much. The painting was crowded—none of that watery Monet stuff—bursting instead with the vibrant red of her apartment wall. His family. His job. His fiancée dragging him away for a much-needed break.