“You’re up already? It’s barely eight.”
I laugh. “I just came in for coffee. I woke up early and couldn’t get back to sleep so I thought I’d go over to the community center and prove to them that I actually exist in the morning.”
“Well, maybe you’ll make a habit of it.”
I shudder exaggeratedly. “Never.”
“I see you dressed to impress,” he says, grinning. “Are you planning to go barefoot?”
I hold up my shoes and then slide onto a chair to put on my socks and shoes. “I’m sorry if this is rude to do in the kitchen. I didn’t expect to find anyone in here.”
“No problem.” He stretches his neck to look over the table to the floor. “Even your feet are pretty.”
I squeeze my lips together to suppress my automatic smile. It’s not often that I get compliments from him. He must be in a good mood today.
“Marley, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why haven’t you purchased anything? I’ve left credit cards for your use.”
“Why would I use your cards? I have my own for anything I need.”
He puts his fork down and looks at me sternly. “The question is why wouldn’t you? You’re my wife, and you are entitled to have your needs met. Do you have a problem with me taking care of you?”
Is he crazy? It’s not like he’s responsible for me.
“I can take care of myself.” I suppose my tone is indignant. Because I am.
“But you’re not earning a salary. You’ll have to dip into your savings to buy what you need.”
“So what? It’s not like I need a lot.”
“You need considerably more than you have. As my wife you need to dress the part. I have a stylist who can assist you.”
“Well, if you need me to acquire specific items, then I will. Otherwise, I’ll see to my own needs.”
“I have to insist. I’m going to call Amelia Zane—my stylist—and have her get in touch with you. You can give her your sizes and your color preferences—all your preferences—and she’ll shop for you and bring it here for you to select. It’s as simple as that. While we’re on the subject, you will need some formal wear for upcoming events.”
“Mm, okay. How formal?”
“Some less, some more. Get a selection. Sometimes things come up unexpectedly, and you need to be prepared. Get everything you need, including jewelry.” He looks at my Chuck Taylors and scoffs. “I can’t have you going around dressed like that.”
I roll my eyes. “Everyone wears these sometimes. I’m just going to do volunteer work. Do I have to look like some fashion icon or something?”
“Just do it. Shop with the stylist,” he nearly bellows.
Whoa. That was unnecessary. His mood changes are freaking quick on the draw.
I stand up hurriedly, now eager to be out of his company. “Yes, I will. You have a nice day,” I say and zip toward the door.
“Don’t you want coffee?” he yells after me.
I’m not by nature a crier, but the way he just bit my head off chokes me up, and I definitely don’t want him to know that. Without turning around, I say over my shoulder, “I’ll pick some up. Bye.”
As soon as I get outside, one of his security men appears out of nowhere to trail me but at a fair distance.
The nerve of Fletcher, insulting the way I’m dressed. Just because he lives in a five-thousand-dollar suit doesn’t mean that I have to be so damn stuffy.
I decide to walk the twenty blocks or so to blow off some steam. I’m over an hour early anyway. I hope the security guy trailing me appreciates some exercise. Right from the start, I asked Fletcher not to put security on me, that I didn’t need it or want it, and that his resources could be better directed elsewhere. He told me that having me protected was more for his benefit than for mine because people who seek to do him harm can do it through me. Well, as long as he put it that selfish way, I was obliged to go along with it.
Distracted, I’m not paying much attention to my surroundings when suddenly a voice from the past pierces my veil of distraction—a voice that turns my blood to ice. Reflexively, I spin my head to find out where it’s coming from, and there he is.
My ex. The man who made me swear off all men. The man I almost fell in love with who turned out to be a monster. The man I ran away from and made sure he’d never find me again.
Rico Holland.
He’s clutching a woman by the arm and yelling in her face. I can see the look of terror on her face, in the whites of her eyes, the fear etched in her expression. I know that face because I saw it in the mirror often enough. I can’t help her, but I can help myself. I do an about-face and speed-walk in the opposite direction. If I call 911 to try to help her, she’s the one who may end up paying for it. I know the cycle because I lived it for a few months that felt like an endless eternity.
My bodyguard catches up with me. “Miss, is there a problem?”
“No. No problem. I just saw someone I used to know, and I don’t want him to see me.”
“Was it the one busy harassing the woman with him?”
I bite the corner of my lip. This guy is on the ball, I have to say. “Yes, it was. I’d help her if I thought it would do any good, but it will probably be worse for her in the long run. Let’s just leave it alone.”
He nods, but his face is troubled. Good guy, he doesn’t want to see a woman being abused. Which is nice. But I know what I’m talking about when it comes to Rico. Unfortunately.
That was too close a call—and the first time ever I’ve almost run into him. Chicago is a big city. What are the odds?
Just from hearing that voice and seeing his face again, my whole body is trembling. It takes me the rest of the walk to calm down.
After my two hours at the community center, I go shopping to get some new makeup and then meet my dance partner for my ballet class—Ferdinand—for lunch to discuss our upcoming performance piece. Some small part of me hopes that my lunch with a handsome guy gets back to Fletcher just to see if it interests him at all. I seriously doubt it.
I get back to the townhouse at a little after three. Expecting no one but Cru and Gerard, I walk into the foyer only to hear raised voices—a man and woman arguing—coming from the study.
Sidling closer to the door, I’m careful to shuffle my feet so as not to make any noise. I can’t make out all of the man’s words, but I could hear the woman clearly through the door.
Kelly.
Her voice is loud. Maybe not whiny but definitely of a nasal quality.
“Are you kidding me, Fletcher? Why did you do this to me?”
I can’t hear his response very well because his voice is so deep that it’s hard to untangle the words from between walls. The woman’s is high-pitched enough to hear it clearly.
“I don’t believe you. Things were going so well between us.”
Again, I can’t hear his response, but whatever it is, it pisses her off because she starts yelling.
He yells back. “Stop it. Marley is my wife, and you’ll just have to deal with it. You and I were never going to get married. Never.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes, really. I never was obligated to you. I’ve made you no promises.” His angry tone breaks off and the room goes quiet. Then… “We were never…”
“Friends?” Her chuckle is loud and bitter. “That’s rich. Friends don’t fuck each other, Fletcher.”
I can’t hear his response—I can only hear it when he yells and in general, he’s not a yeller. More of a low talker most of the time.
Unfortunately, I can hear her. Loud and clear.
“And yet you’re married. You really have a nerve.” Her volume was getting louder by the minute.
Again, he responds.
“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down. You are outrageous. How much time have I wasted on you?”
Silence. I better get out of here before they catch me eavesdropping. I slide down the hall and then walk normally to the staircase. I do wi
sh I could’ve been a fly on the wall during that entire conversation. Does the woman have no self-respect?
I yank my phone out of my handbag as I huff off to my bedroom. I swipe in Tara’s number, and she picks up on the first ring.
“What’s with the call. Is everything all right?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” I snap.
“Uh, because it’s a phone call? Usually you text.”
I noisily blow out my breath into the phone to vent but also to annoy her. “I need to talk. I’m seriously riled.”
“Why?”
Hot tears spring to my eyes, unbidden and unwanted. “She’s back, Tar.”
“Who?”
“Fletcher’s ex-girlfriend—or whatever she was to him.”
“Ohhhh. What’s going on?”
“They’re fighting. I think he’s telling her to get lost.”
“That’s good then. Isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s good. But her being in the house unsettles me. I wish she’d just leave him alone.”
“I think you’re starting to feel things for your fake husband. I’m not sure that’s good for you, chiquita.”
Talking about it both helps and scrapes my nerves even rawer. “Hold on a sec,” I say when I get into my bedroom and close the door. “Grrrr. I don’t know. I guess you’re right. It’s dumb of me.”
“Dumb, maybe, but not unexpected. It was almost bound to happen.”
“Yes. I have a feeling it’s going to become… bad. Or at least uncomfortable.”
“Ha! Uncomfortable. Marley, you live in the epitome of comfort. Maybe it’s unsettling but in all that luxury you can’t use the word uncomfortable.”
“Whatever. As long as I can avoid pain.” As the words leave my lips, I hear some commotion outside my room. “I gotta go,” I whisper. “But real quick, I have to tell you something. I saw Rico today.”
“What?”
“He didn’t see me, thank God. But I saw him outside a hotel yelling at some poor woman. I turned tail and ran. But it’s rattled me. For five and a half years, I’ve not seen him or run into him. Now today I see him, and Fletcher’s ex keeps coming around. They feel like omens.”
“Don’t get all superstitious on me, Marls. It’s just a coincidence.”
“I hope so. Okay, I’ll call you back soon.”
I disconnect. The faint sound of footsteps getting louder as they come toward me makes me tiptoe over to my bed and act like I’ve been in here for a while. I throw myself across the bed and put my crossed arms behind my head leaning against the headboard.
I’ve just finished arranging myself, phone in my hand, when a tap comes at the door. My heart starts pounding. “Come in.”
He pokes his head through the opening gap. “Hey, may I speak to you for a minute?”
“Uh, sure, do you want me to come out?”
“That would be good. Salon please.”
Salon is what they call the living room. I slide off the bed, wondering if he’s afraid of being alone with me in my bedroom. Now that I think of it, in the time we’ve lived together, he rarely crosses the threshold of my designated room. Just that once the last time Kelly was here, in fact. Is he afraid that I won’t be able to resist him and will launch myself at him? The thought of Fletcher Creed being afraid of anything somehow gives me a jolt of satisfaction, unlikely though it might be.
I pad downstairs into the living room in my stocking feet, having toed off the offending sneakers. Swinging one leg underneath me, I sit on the sofa opposite the chair he takes. “So… what’s up?”
Could I even call that a smile, the ever-so-slight uptick of his sensuous lips? Men aren’t supposed to have such full, pillowy lips, are they? It makes me want to suck them into my mouth and bite them.
“I need to let you know that next weekend we have a wedding to attend. You have to ensure you have an appropriate dress to wear.”
I sit up straighter. “Wedding? Whose wedding?”
“A colleague’s. Obligatory attendance unfortunately. It’s formal so your dress should be also. I know I should have given you more notice—I apologize. Did Amelia call you?”
“She did. She’s coming over first thing Monday morning to go over sizes and preferences.”
“Good. Please explain to her that you need a gown by next weekend.”
“Yes. You already said that.”
Annoyance flits over his face. “I just want to make sure you’re outfitted appropriately. No need to get snippy.”
Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. I’m feeling cranky about his visitor, so I want to antagonize him. And frankly, it’s like shooting fish in a barrel—he’s so easily irritated. “Why not ask your girlfriend to accompany you? I’m sure she has the right clothes for every occasion.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about. My friend Kelly.” I hitch my shoulder, hoping my jealousy isn’t too obvious. “Why not take her?”
The look of astonishment on his handsome face is so over the top that I would laugh if I weren’t so peeved. “Do we really need to have this conversation? The obvious answer is because you’re my brand-new wife. Wouldn’t it look odd if I showed up at a major event with another woman on my arm?”
I lean toward him, my elbows on my knees, the leg underneath me going numb not that I care at the moment. “Why didn’t you just marry her? I don’t get it. You’re obviously in some kind of relationship with her if she keeps coming here to argue with you about it.”
“Why do you even care?”
“It makes me feel ridiculous. Superfluous.”
A corner of his lips quirks up. “Superfluous?”
My face gets hot, and I know I’m blushing. Did I use the word incorrectly? “I feel like a third wheel. I feel like I’m standing between the two of you. It’s not a fun place to be.”
He gets up and strolls to the window. I take the opportunity to slide my phone out of my back jeans pocket and look up the word I used.
Superfluous: unnecessary, surplus, redundant.
I used it correctly. Why did he mock me?
He walks back toward me, his answering sigh freighted with frustration. Poor Fletcher is having a bad day with women today. “I didn’t want to marry her. Let’s just leave it at that.”
My foot starts bouncing of its own accord, my nerves going haywire. I need to finish this conversation before I lose my shit. Too much shit happened today, and it has brought a lot of my old baggage up to the surface. “Let me ask you something. Obviously, she’s still upset about our marriage.”
“Obviously.”
I clear my throat. “She doesn’t know the nature of our marriage?”
“I told you. No, she does not.”
“Do you think she suspects anything?”
He shakes his head.
“Cilla thought that maybe Cru is friendly with her, which is why he let her in that day when you weren’t here. Hypothetically speaking, she could get vindictive and tell your grandmother or other people close to you that our marriage is a sham. I mean, if she’s majorly pissed off, that would be a great way for her to clap back at you. If she knows or someone tells her.”
He pulls his head back as if my words physically hit him. “Cru wouldn’t do that. As for Kelly? Why would she resort to such infantile behavior?”
I expel my breath loudly, but what I really want to do is kick him. “Because, Fletcher, if she wanted a relationship or marriage with you, she will never appreciate another woman being on your arm and being legally your wife. Hell hath no fury…”
“I want her out of my life. She just needs a little time to adjust to the new order of things. She’ll behave.”
“All right,” I say doubtfully. “I hope you’re right.”
He swallows from the bottle of water he’s holding. “I’m right. She won’t do anything stupid,” he says confidently. “I had her sign an NDA anyway. So she can’t—not without a whole lot of legal hassle.”
>
“Pfft. You certainly put a lot of faith in those documents of yours, don’t you?”
He glares at me. That look used to scare me, but his frequent use of it has worn its effectiveness off. “It could be very costly for someone to violate it. Not smart. I enforce them to make examples of people. In all the years I’ve used them, only twice has someone violated the agreement. They lived to regret it immensely.”
I inhale my frustration and blow it out in a cleansing breath. “Whatever you say.”
“So… the gown?”
“Yes, I’ll be sure to be dressed to your specifications. I wouldn’t want to embarrass the mighty Fletcher Creed after all.” I get up and begin to retreat back into my bedroom.
“Will you be joining me for dinner?”
I am hungry, I realize. “Um, yeah. I guess so.”
He tries hard to make amends once we sit down at the dining table. Over a dinner of sushi fresh from Fletcher’s favorite restaurant and multiple bottles of sake, Fletcher tells me about his experiences growing up in various countries. His father was a diplomat, and his mother worked in cyber security in American embassies around the world. Consequently, Fletcher and his siblings had an unusual childhood.
“So… Botswana was the last place you lived before coming back to the States for good?”
“We children, yes. We came back to the US after that assignment, but my parents had to stay abroad for a few more years. We had nannies and our grandparents looking after us.”
“How old were you?”
“I was almost eleven, ready to start middle school.”
“Is that why they sent you back? To attend middle school here?”
“Not at all. There are much better schools abroad than here. Besides, my sister was younger than I was—she was eight when we got back.”
“So… why didn’t they just keep you guys with them?”
He clears his throat, his eyes avoiding mine. He opens his mouth to say something but then expertly snatches a California roll with his chopsticks, dips it, and pops it into his mouth in one fluid motion. Chews it ever so slowly. Afterward, he enjoys a leisurely sip of sake.
Something tells me he doesn’t want to answer my question.
Faker: A Fake Relationship Romance Page 13