Six
Nick
Doing damage control and trying to improve my reputation isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. I guess people are only interested when you’re screwing up, not when you’re doing good deeds.
But the most important thing I can do is stay away from Lucy. The one other time I worked a shift with her after talking to Dr. Schwartz, she acted as if she wanted to use this clusterfuck as a bonding moment between us. As if we’re both in the boat with no oars. I mean, seriously, when is this woman going to get the hint that we’re not happening?
Which is why when I spot her come out of a room at the end of the hallway, I dart into the patient’s room without reading the chart first.
“Hi, Nick,” Mazzy says in the same soft voice I remember from a decade ago. The same voice that’s been running through my mind since I heard her speak two words over the phone a week ago.
Her strawberry-blonde hair looks more strawberry than blonde and hangs in waves to her breasts. Her warm brown eyes still hold the same copper flecks I spotted when we were twelve—when I realized for the first time that she was a girl and exactly what that meant. She looks every bit the elegant society girl I see splashed on the pages of the local publications from time to time, and something about that makes my throat close up. Back when we were friends, I didn’t think she had it in her, but turns out she was the perfect candidate to carry the society girl torch.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I widen my stance. “I thought I told you not to call me again.”
“I need to talk to you.”
“We have nothing to say to each other.” I spin around to leave.
“Wait! I need medical attention.”
I circle back around and narrow my eyes at her. “Is that so?”
She nods and her cheeks flush. For the first time, I think maybe she’s not lying.
With a sigh, I go the computer and type in her name, pausing when I read what’s on the screen. “Chlamydia?”
She responds with a shrug, but the flush in her cheeks deepens. I guess that stayed the same over the years.
“Why do you think you have chlamydia?”
“Well… I…”
“Because your ex-husband was fucking half the city?” It’s a cruel thing for me to say, and based on the way her face drops, the missile I launched hit its mark. I feel like a complete asshole. “That was unprofessional of me, I’m sorry.”
She waves me off, but there’s still a frown on her face. “You only speak the truth.”
Her shoulders hunch, and the corners of her lips tilt down. She has a beaten-down expression. I want to console her, be her protector like I was for so many years.
Which is fucked up. She betrayed me. She doesn’t deserve my sympathy. Still, it doesn’t stop me from remembering when I would’ve done anything to take her pain away.
“Even so, I shouldn’t have said it. All right, let’s get a look at you. I’ll do a general physical first since a nurse hasn’t been in to see you yet, then we can talk about why you’re here.” I step closer to the bed and reach for the blood pressure cuff. “Hold your arm out.”
She does as I ask. I slip the cuff around her upper arm, doing my best not to touch her more than I have to. I pull the stethoscope from around my neck and lay it on her arm, then pump up the cuff.
“So how are you?” she asks.
“Shhh.” I count her heartbeats and find that her blood pressure is fine.
I ignore the question she asked as I grab the thermometer to take her temperature. Then I take a deep breath and steel myself as the flowery scent of her shampoo wafts my way when I tuck a section of hair behind her ear so I can place the thermometer in her ear. When my fingers brush her skin, she stills as though she’s holding her breath.
I ignore her reaction and wait for the thermometer to beep. It feels as though a decade passes before it goes off. “Your blood pressure and temperature are both good. Let me have a closer look at your eyes. It’s not uncommon for patients who have chlamydia to have conjunctivitis from spreading the bacteria.”
I stand in front of her, pull my light from my pocket, and press it on, then I bring it up to her face. I shine the light in her eyes and don’t see anything concerning, so I step back before I’m forced to inhale another breath of her floral scent.
“Everything looks good.” I make a note on her chart. “So why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?” I cross my arms and stare her down. Not exactly my usual bedside manner, but with Mazzy, it’s important to keep that barrier between us in place.
“I needed to talk to you.”
My hands drop to my sides. “So your chlamydia is a ruse to get face time with me?”
“I tried to see you without being classified as a patient, but the nurses at the station wouldn’t let me.”
No doubt. They’ve been pretty protective of me since that damn video.
“So you decided to waste hospital resources instead? I could be seeing a patient who actually needs help right now. I know that doesn’t mean much to someone who has a private family doctor who comes to them, but to the people who use our services here, it does mean something.”
She scowls. “I’ll give a hearty donation to the hospital then.”
“Ah yes. Money solves everything in your world, doesn’t it? Well, that’s not how things work here.” I grab her file and spin to leave.
“Wait!”
With an exasperated sigh that makes me feel like a bull with steam coming out of his nostrils, I turn back around. “What could you possibly have to say to me after all these years?”
“A lot.”
Something about the way that she says it softens me, but I remind myself of what she did and the burning anger returns to my chest. “Then say what you have to so I can move on with my day and go help some real patients.”
“Do you remember that pact we made your last year of high school?”
Dread creeps up my spine, and goose bumps break out on my skin.
“I need you to make good on it.”
She’s got to be fucking kidding me.
Seven
Sophomore Year of High School
Mazzy
The thrum of the music inside the house reverberates across the deck. I feel the bassline through my ass from where I sit on the far end. The chill of early spring is in the air but I left my coat inside, so I wrap my arms around myself for warmth.
I needed to be away from everyone for a minute. My friends are inside, drinking and dancing along to the music, and I’m out here sulking like a child, running my mother’s words through my mind over and over until my brain feels like Swiss cheese.
The music grows louder for a second. Though I don’t turn around, I know it’s because someone else from the party stepped out. I squeeze my eyes shut. Can’t a girl wallow in peace?
“Thought I’d find you out here.”
Relief floods me like a monsoon, and I turn to find Nick making his way over to me.
Nick Ryan and I have grown up in the same social circles. Our parents are friends, so we’ve known each other since we were practically in diapers, but it wasn’t until junior high that we became friends in our own right. By high school, I considered him one of my best friends.
If you aren’t one of the kids shipped off to boarding school in Europe, then you go to Easton Academy. All our families are high society, so we’ve pretty much watched each other grow up. Now that the hormones have kicked in, a lot of us have dated, stopped dating, swapped partners, and dated again. High society can be somewhat incestuous in that way.
But Nick and I have never dated. We’ve managed to never cross that line, even though I’ve wanted to so many times. But I’m afraid of what might happen. I’m afraid that if it doesn’t work out, I’ll lose him altogether and he’s my one true friend. Sure, I have girlfriends I spend a lot of time with, but they aren’t the kind of people who would support me unconditionally, who’d be there for me even i
f my last name wasn’t Pembrooke and my family didn’t have money. They don’t know the real me. But Nick does.
Nick’s a senior, while his brother, Keith, and I are sophomores. I don’t even want to think about what Easton Academy will be like next year when Nick’s away at college.
“Hey,” I say as he sits beside me.
“What are you doing out here?”
I shrug. “Just wanted to be alone for a minute.”
He frowns. “Is everything okay?”
His electric blue eyes have a way of making me feel as if he sees right through me. As if he knows all my thoughts.
“Everything’s fine. It’s stupid.” I wave him off and stand to head back inside, but he grips my wrist softly, pulling me back down.
“It’s not stupid if it has you out here instead of inside, having fun. Talk to me.”
I remain silent for a moment while he waits me out, staring at me. “Something my mom said earlier is bothering me.”
He rolls his eyes. “What did the great Estelle Pembrooke have to say today?”
“Nick…”
“I’m sorry, Maz, but she’s always making you feel like shit.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And your dad doesn’t do the same to you?”
His eyes narrow at me. “I can’t believe you went there.”
“It’s true though.”
“Which is exactly why I know how it feels and why I don’t want your mom doing it to you.” His expression is fierce, like a warrior determined to protect his queen.
I can’t help myself when I wrap my arms around his neck. Just the fact that he wants to spare me any pain has my heart doing back springs. He stills, then slowly wraps his arms around me. I melt into our embrace like ice cream on a hot summer day. When I feel the prickle of awareness that maybe I’m enjoying this too much, I pull away.
“So what did she say?” His voice is strained.
“When she saw the way I was dressed for the party tonight, she said that no man will ever want to marry me when I’m dressed like a tart.”
His lips press together. A clear sign he’s angry.
“She doesn’t mean anything by it. I know. She just thinks that my goal in life is to finish high school and marry someone worthy of my status. Live the rest of my life attending charity board meetings and luncheons, smiling and shaking hands.” I shrug again, trying to act as if her words and her view of my potential doesn’t hurt, but Nick knows me too well for that.
He grips the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know even know where to start with that bullshit.” He lets his hand drop, then looks me in the eye. “First of all, you don’t look like a tart. You look beautiful. Secondly, you could do a hell of a lot better than any of the pieces of shit at this party. Thirdly, you are so much more than a doll to be brought out and paraded around by a husband.”
His words bring tears to my eyes. Nick is the only person in this world who sees me for more than my last name.
“Thank you,” I whisper, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
He tucks some of my hair behind my ear. “I only speak the truth. Any man would be lucky to marry you some day.” He holds his hand on my cheek and I lean into his touch.
If any other high-schooler outside of Easton Academy overheard our conversation, they’d probably think we were insane. But everyone here understands how we’ve been brought up to think of things like this. They also understand the value all our families place on “marrying well.”
“I’m not saying it to make you feel better, Maz. It’s the truth.”
I close my eyes and place my hand over his on my cheek, breathing in his scent. It always relaxes me and makes me feel safe, as if I’ve come home.
He chuckles. “I’ll tell you what. If neither of us are married by the time we’re thirty, we’ll get married.”
“To each other?” My eyebrows shoot up. Not at the ridiculousness of his statement, but at the idea that he could actually see himself marrying me. No matter the circumstances, I find it terribly romantic.
“Of course to each other. We know we get along. We both find each other attractive.” He raises a questioning eyebrow and my cheeks heat when I nod. “We both understand the world we were born into. It’s a perfect match.”
The way he says it makes me wonder why we aren’t together now.
“Thirty is too young though. We both have things we want to accomplish. How about when you’re thirty-five?” I say, playing along.
“Thirty-five it is. I should be well into practicing medicine by then.”
I laugh. “Pinkie swear?”
“Swear.”
We link our pinkie fingers and my gaze meets his, the air rushing from my lungs when I see the way he’s looking at me. Our fingers remain locked. I hold my breath as he slowly moves closer until our lips are only inches apart.
Every surface of my skin tingles with anticipation as I wait for his lips to touch mine. My stomach somersaults as my eyes drift closed. His breath is on my face as he gets closer, and I feel the heat of his lips close to mine.
“What are you two douchebags doing?”
Keith’s voice is like a record scratching through the night air, and both Nick and I fling ourselves back. Leave it to Nick’s brother to show up at the worst time.
I squint into the expansive yard. It’s dark, but I make out Keith coming up the path from the garden, a girl from our school trailing behind and rearranging her shirt.
“Fuck off,” Nick says with a glare.
Keith chuckles, only a few feet from us now. With his hands on his hips, he surveys us as if he’s a god looking down upon mere mortals. The girl walks past us silently, giving Keith a quick glance, but he pays no attention to her.
Nick and his brother don’t get along. Some of it is that they’re two very different people, but I think most of it is because Keith is the shining star in the Ryan family—at least as far as their father is concerned. Nick has never fallen in line as easily as Keith. While Keith is happy to parade around with the arrogance that comes from knowing your family is untouchable because of their wealth, Nick never caters to what his family thinks he should do. His dad wants him to take over the family business, but Nick intends to go to med school. Something that has been the source of many fights in the Ryan household.
I mean, whose family isn’t proud of a son who wants to become a doctor so he can help people?
“Ah, sorry, bro. Did I interrupt you finally having the balls to get in Mazzy’s pants? It’s about time.”
I shake my head. “You’re disgusting.”
Nick bolts up, chest to chest with his brother. “Don’t fucking speak about her that way.”
Keith laughs, head thrown back to the night sky. “I gotta say, Mazzy, I think you’re picking the wrong Ryan brother.”
Nick’s hand clenches at his side, and for a second, I think he might actually punch his brother. I can’t let that happen. It would cause them too many problems at home.
I stand and try to pull Nick back. “Forget him. C’mon, let’s go back into the party.”
It takes a minute, but he finally lets me pull him back a few steps and drag him across the large deck to the French doors at the back of the house.
The music blares inside, but I still hear Keith yell, “Careful, Mazzy. Choosing the wrong Ryan could cost you.”
I didn’t know it then, but he was right.
Eight
Nick
I have to be hearing things. There’s no way Mazzy has shown up a decade after our friendship crashed and burned, demanding that I make good on some stupid marriage pact we made almost twenty years ago?
“You’re out of your mind,” I say. “Maybe you have syphilis and not chlamydia because you’re clearly not thinking straight.”
She hops off the table and walks toward me. I wish I didn’t notice how good her legs look with her designer stilettos or the way her dress shows off her curves. “I don’t have anything, Nick, and I’m serious. I n
eed for the two of us to get married.”
I stare at her, waiting for her to laugh and tell me the punchline of this joke. But when she continues to gaze at me with her puppy dog eyes, I realize she’s serious.
“One ex-husband isn’t enough?” I’m a bastard for saying it, but what does she expect?
I push back my guilt when she swallows hard before saying, “One is one too many, thanks.”
“Then why the hell do you want to marry me?” I toss her file on the nearby counter and cross my arms, waiting for her answer.
“I have my reasons.”
I raise a brow because if she thinks I’m going to marry her just because I said I would when I was seventeen, she’s wrong. “Which are?”
She bites her lips, the confidence she had earlier obviously falling to pieces. But she still doesn’t speak.
“All right, this has been a great reunion and all, but I have shit to do. Let’s do this again in another ten years.” I turn to leave, but her hand lands on my forearm and I freeze, circling back to face her slowly, pulling my arm away.
“My grandfather passed away.” Her grief is evident in the shakiness of her tone.
“I heard. I’m sorry.”
Mazzy and her grandfather were always close, closer than even her and her father. I assume that must have continued over the years I’ve been absent from her life.
She nods. “I was at the will reading last week, and apparently my grandfather left pretty much everything to me. My parents only got some real estate and other smaller things. But his share in Pembrooke and the rest of his wealth all went to me.”
I blink a couple of times. That’s a shit-ton of money. “Congratulations. You must be thrilled to have accomplished your life’s mission of eternal wealth.”
I’m careful to keep my voice neutral, but it’s clear my words sting her. I don’t care. It’s the least of what she deserves.
Don't Mind If I Do : A Fake Marriage Romantic Comedy Page 4