“Did something happen?”
He swallows and sets the glass down. “The short answer? Yes. Something definitely did happen.”
20
Fletcher Creed
An eternity.
That’s how long it takes Marley to get ready. I’ve been standing at the bottom of the staircase, my tie and collar strangling me, waiting endlessly for her to appear. When my impatience gets the best of me, I whip out my phone and sent her a text.
Me: Do you think we can leave for the wedding before dawn? It would be rude to miss the entire ceremony and just show up for the champagne and caviar.
Marley: I’ll be down in ten.
Ten, she says. I check the time. It’s a little after five and the ceremony is at six thirty. It will take about forty-five minutes, give or take, depending on traffic. We have a little bit of time to spare.
At 5:20 she finally appears at the top of the stairs, and I’m caught off guard. I know my wife is exceptionally beautiful no matter what she wears—even jeans and Converse sneakers—but tonight she takes my breath away. She really should be on the stage or on film for the world to appreciate.
Amelia did well in helping her select the gown. Or perhaps Marley chose it herself—the girl knows how to enhance her natural beauty when she wants to. I’ve been around women and their clothes enough to know a well-crafted piece of couture when I see it. The gown is a ballerina-ish vividly blue dress with a silver-embroidered V-neck bodice with what I think are called illusion sleeves. The skirt is tulle with a slip that is much shorter than the outer skirt so her legs from just above the knee peek through. Sexy. Her hair is pulled up in an ultra-feminine messy style. Her jewelry is simple: diamond earring studs and a triple-strand silver chain bracelet around one wrist. And her wedding rings, of course.
When she gets to the stairs, I’m speaking to my security staff. The sight of her shuts me right up.
I watch her descend the stairs, and when she reaches me, I smile and offer my arm.
“You look magnificent. The bride will wilt beside you.”
A nervous little giggle escapes her. “I seriously doubt that.”
“No,” I say and wink at her, “despite our own low-key wedding, you were still the most beautiful bride I’d ever seen.”
She looks surprised at the compliment. “Thank you, Mr. Creed. Shall we go?”
I crook my arm for her to loop hers through. “Let’s.”
Pasquale’s, where the wedding we’re attending is being held, is a beautiful venue. The room is done up in white and silver, both colors popping in contrast to the ebony-hued wood floors and the warm gray Venetian plaster of the walls. Marley’s dress goes well with the décor.
I appreciated that the ceremony was short and sweet, and I’m enjoying Marley’s company. She’s witty and very funny, and I want to kiss her more tonight than I ever did before. I don’t take the time to examine my feelings but just revel in them. Maybe tomorrow I’ll think about why this is happening to me.
The bridegroom is my longtime colleague. He and his bride are a study in physical contrasts: his skin is very dark, and his head is shaved clean. The bride, Portia, tall and elegant, has a full head of platinum hair and very pale skin. He’s outgoing and friendly, and she seems sort of unapproachable. He’s quick to laugh, and she appears solemn all the time. It makes me wonder how they even met, never mind became close enough to marry. I never did ask him.
The first thing we do after the ceremony is head for the bar. “What would you like to drink?” I ask. “Champagne cocktail?”
“Yes, thank you.”
I order her drink and a scotch for myself, and once we’re served we walk over to a tall table. No sooner are our drinks placed on the table surface than people start crowding us from all directions.
I watch Marley smile politely as she’s introduced and am impressed by the finesse she displays. I don’t know why I’m surprised—this is, or was, her profession. I make note of where my security people are strategically and inconspicuously placed around the room. As always, I go nowhere without them, and now as my wife, Marley has round-the-clock security as well. She thinks my paranoia is out of control, but she doesn’t know the half of it, and I’m not inclined to share with her at this time. I look up from my drink and mental wanderings just in time to see Kelly join our circle of friends.
I’m annoyed enough by her presence to make a snide remark, which she takes the wrong way. Meaning she doesn’t get insulted by it when I fully intended for her to do so.
“Fletcher, you really shouldn’t have said that,” she says, laughing exaggeratedly.
Ugh.
Kelly puts her hands on me, hanging onto my shoulder like an invasive vine, all over me as if I weren’t a married man. Her brazen behavior is going to cause me problems with Marley. Which, of course, is her intention. I glare at her, but she only flashes her huge white teeth.
“So, Fletcher,” says Redmond who’s standing just behind me, “does this wedding bring back any traumatic memories for you?”
I give a little anemic laugh and glance over my shoulder at Red. “I thought I’d never live through it.”
“I felt the same way,” Kelly purrs and pouts in a way that is embarrassing for a woman of her age and stature.
I hate to tell her, but sex kitten she’s not. She’s attractive, but not in the way she thinks. I turn my head just in time to see Marley gulp down the rest of her drink and excuse herself. I watch as she heads directly to the bar and orders another one. Fuck, she’s beyond pissed off. I can see it in the stiff way she carries herself.
I walk up behind her in time to hear her conversation with the bartender. He looks like the type of guy that draws women like flies to shit. He has shaggy long hair and a full beard to match.
Marley holds up her empty. “Champagne cocktail?”
“It’s coming right at you.”
She gives a little laugh. “Hopefully not at me but inside me.”
What? That was off color.
I watch from the side as her face turns bright red, so I realize it was dirty by accident, not design. She still has no clue I’m right behind her. He brings her drink and leans in to say something to her. I take a step closer to hear what he has to say.
“I was going to steal your cherry, but instead I popped another one…right on top just for you,” he rasps with a leering grin and a wink. I’m itching to slap his stupid bearded face.
Sleazy bastard. Let’s see how Marley handles it.
“Well, thank you.” She tosses one of the cherries in her mouth. “It’s a good thing you kept your hands off.”
She spins around right into my arms. Now her cheeks redden again, and her free hand fists on her left hip as she somewhat tipsily shifts her weight to that foot. “What?”
“What’s that tone all about? And why are you drinking so much?”
“What tone is that?” she snaps.
I tilt my head, squinting my eyes at her. I’m getting angrier by the second. “How about I take you and your second drink for a walk?”
“Go for a walk at a wedding?”
I shrug. “Why not. There’s a nice terrace just outside the rear doors.” I guide her past the knot of friends we’d just left. “If you’ll excuse us…”
The men wear knowing smiles, but Kelly looks fit to be tied, her eyes flashing with her displeasure. I’m glad she’s upset. The woman is proving to be a massive pain in the ass.
When we step outside, I inhale the night air. It bears the scents of the flowers that drape the walls—white roses and blood-red calla lilies are everywhere. The air is warm but not too much so, and the lights of the city are twinkling below. In other words, it’s a perfect setting, and it’s wasted on two angry people.
“Okay,” she says. “I’m all yours...”
All mine? She’s trying to derail me. “What was that all about inside?”
She rolls her eyes, a habit I’m finding increasingly irritating. “I have no idea wh
at you’re talking about.”
“You’re being very rude. I should put you over my knee and spank you for the way you’re behaving.”
I hear her sharp intake of breath and find it satisfying. The erotic image of spanking her is also satisfying—the second time it’s crossed my mind.
“I dare you to try it.”
I hold up my finger. “A word of warning. Since the moment my mother squirted me out, I’ve never be able to resist a dare. Unless it’s dangerous to my health, I will always accept the challenge.”
“Spanking me would be dangerous to your health, trust me,” she retorts, but in my opinion, she looks intrigued. Hmm, maybe a spanking is in her future. Now, that would be loads of fun.
She continues, hooking a loose tendril of her hair behind her ear. “I just don’t know what you’re referring to. What was what about?”
“You’re angry about something. You scowled at my friends and stomped off to the bar. It was embarrassing for me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says with thick sarcasm, her right hand clapped on her chest, “were you embarrassed? How careless of me. I should remember that when we’re out in public as husband and wife, it’s standard procedure for your true romantic interests to hang all over you. Isn’t that right?”
“Well?” she prods when I don’t respond. I have no words because she’s right.
“You’re acting like a jealous wife. Our marriage doesn’t have to be that authentic.”
She literally stomps her foot. “No, I’m not jealous. I’m humiliated. We’re supposed to be newlyweds, and there’s another woman molesting you, at a wedding no less.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t real—”
“Wasn’t it you—now correct me if I’m wrong—who mentioned the word discretion? As in we can pursue our own romantic interests as long as we employ discretion. Was that you, or do I have my contractual husbands mixed up?”
“No need to get snide. Your point is taken. I apologize.”
“Why is she even here? I thought the groom was your colleague? Does Kelly work with you?”
“No,” I admit, “she doesn’t. She knows Ted through me, and she became somewhat friendly with his new wife when we’d get together occasionally.” I look at her sheepishly, feeling like a fool. “She was separately invited and came with another friend, the blond guy who was just with us. Abel.”
“Abel?” she repeats. “All right, here’s the deal: if you want to have a fun night with Kelly, then I’m leaving right now. Public humiliation was never part of our contract.”
“No, don’t go,” I say rapidly. “I’ll keep her at arm’s length, I promise. Let’s leave the cocktail hour now. The main reception should be starting, and we’ll be seated for dinner.”
“No doubt she’ll be at our table,” she mutters. “Which will be just freaking marvelous.”
“Marley,” I whisper under my breath in a scolding tone. Taking her arm, I guide her back through the doors, and we head for the elevator. “What do you think of Pasquale’s?”
I’m trying to distract her from her bad mood. “I think it’s beautiful,” she says softly and then clams up again. Damn it. And damn Kelly for ruining Marley’s evening.
Just as she predicted, when we find our names at table sixteen, it also contains the names of Kelly and company. “Yippee,” she whispers under her breath. We find the table and there are three people already seated. I pluck our names from the table settings and switch them so that we’re on the opposite end from her. Apparently, she was intended to be next to me. It’s not ideal—we’ll still have to look at and listen to her, but at least now she can’t hang all over me.
Everyone introduces themselves at the table, and we all exchange brief pleasantries. About five minutes pass while we chat with one another and sip our wine—the table is set with both red and white wines—when Kelly and Abel come sashaying over.
“Hello, everyone. Nice to meet you. I’m Kelly…”
Blah, blah, blah. I tune her out as best I can. So, I’m sure, does Marley. It’s going to be a long night.
Kelly looks confused at the seating arrangement and still attempts to sit near me, which comes as no surprise, but since the seats on either side of me are taken, and Marley is sitting opposite me, her only choice to be near me is to sit beside Marley on her left. She eyes the seat for a minute before making her move. Of course, the name beside the place setting is not hers, but that doesn’t stop her from shamelessly switching them out. Her date says something in her ear and she shakes her head. I see Marley’s displeasure before her ass even hits the chair. I’m certain everyone else can too.
I try to converse politely with the others around the table, but my attention keeps diverting to my wife who is spending the majority of the evening deep in thought, only joining conversations briefly and answering questions politely. She gives cursory attention to dinner and the other parts of the celebration. I feel guilty and sorry and wonder how in so short a time, this woman has been able to so completely upend my emotions.
After we’ve eaten the main course, Kelly clears her throat to garner attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot her smile cattily and she says aloud, “Fletcher, how about a dance with an old friend?”
I return her smile and then reach across the table for Marley’s hand. “I’d love to, Kelly, but this dance is reserved for my new wife.” Our eyes lock and I smirk. “Marley?” I see her nod, her satisfaction perceptible, and we stand, making our way to the dance floor as hot sparks ping us from Kelly’s AK-47 fury.
She’s surprised at how well I dance, which makes me laugh.
“It’s a little unfair that everything you do, you do incredibly well.”
I laugh, finally enjoying myself. “I don’t think that’s true, but thank you for the compliment.”
She purses her lips and narrows her eyes as she observes me. “I’m going to decide here and now to make it my life’s mission to find something you suck at,” she declares when the song ends.
My reply is to whisper in her ear something that she’s not expecting in the least.
“I have something to tell you. It’s about our contract.”
21
Marley Jacobs
My heartbeat roars into DEFCON level.
Our contract?
What about it?
My feet keep moving because I’m trained to move no matter what I’m feeling, but the rest of me has stopped dead in my tracks—my brain, my heart, my breath. Is he planning to bail out?
All night long I’ve admired him in his tuxedo. If we’d had a real wedding, this is what he would’ve looked like… and his perfection takes my breath away. Why, oh why, does he have to be so damn good-looking?
I lick my lips and take a deep breath before responding.
“What about our contract?” Is my tone of voice defensive? “Good something or bad something?”
He looks over my shoulder at something or someone behind me. “I think you’ll consider it good news.”
It’s now or never. “Okay. Lay it on me.”
“My grandmother, as you know, informed me of the parameters of the trust fund, the stipulations on my access to it.
“It turns out, Grandma didn’t remember the contract stipulations exactly right. Whether her memory was selective or not, I’m not sure. But she had told me I’d get half the balance within ninety days of my wedding, which as you know I’m getting next week. The part she got wrong was when she told me I’d get the remaining balance at the two-year mark.”
He pauses for a moment, and I’m distracted by the fact that he won’t look me in the eye. “I got the paperwork earlier today and read through it. It seems there’s a clause I can exercise whereupon I can access almost the full remaining balance after I’ve been married for six months.”
I take a moment to consider the implications. “What’s the catch?”
“Yes, there’s always a catch. In this case, a sizable penalty.”
I look away
from him, doing my utmost to focus my gaze and attention on anything other than my stupid emotions that are about to get the best of me. I absolutely, positively cannot let him see how upset his news makes me. He cannot know that I’ve come to have feelings for him in such a short time. It would give him enormous power over me, power I’m very unwilling to give him.
Focus on the money, Marley, I tell myself. “Who charges the penalty? What I mean is… who gets the money that you’d be penalized?”
He looks surprised by the question. Why, I wonder?
“It would revert back to my grandfather’s estate. So… in effect, my grandmother, I guess. Ultimately, it will come down to my parents and then my siblings and me, but that’s a long way off. Hopefully.”
“No cousins? Aunts and uncles?”
He pulls a face. “There’s plenty to go around.”
“I’m sure.” I study his eyes, trying to gauge what his feelings about it are, but he’s inscrutable. Definitely a poker face on this guy. “Are you planning to exercise that clause?”
“It’s something that you and I should discuss as we get closer to that time.”
“But six months… that’ll be here before we know it.” Is he able to see how unhappy that thought makes me? I hope not.
“Right, so we should start to talk about it. Which is why I’m telling you now. Obviously, I would hate to forfeit a large chunk of my account, but if you find this situation—our situation—intolerable… well, it’s an option I’m willing to consider.”
At that moment he chooses to spin me around and then yanks me close to him. The heat of his body electrifies me, and I have the urge to kiss him passionately, declare my infatuation with him.
But I don’t. Because our relationship is truly no more than a strictly business one. It would be taking advantage to give into any public—or private—displays of affection that aren’t necessary to advance our charade.
For these past weeks, I’ve refused to admit even to myself, never mind anyone else, that I’ve started to develop real feelings for him, crazy though that may be. Initially, I chalked it up to lust. To familiarity. To his ridiculously good looks. To his lack of interest in me, which is always an aphrodisiac for me. But in the past week, these feelings have been almost impossible to ignore. When I look at him my chest actually aches. If this isn’t the beginnings of love, then I don’t know what it is.
Faker: A Fake Relationship Romance Page 14