by Lauren Layne
“ ‘Perfectly ridiculous,’ ” she reads. She holds it up. “Um, what?”
“Andrew,” I say, my voice glum. “It was an inside joke. Worked for him the first time. Not the second time.”
She looks at the second card. “ ‘Georgiana. Please. Can we discuss this like rational adults?’ ” Marley winces. “Ouch.”
I snort. “That’s nothing. You should have been there when he told me to grow up.”
She reads the third card. “ ‘Don’t do this.’ ”
I watch as her face softens as she sets the card aside. “He sounds desperate, George.”
“No. Just inconvenienced, I think. I’m not behaving logically and it’s pissing him off.”
“So you don’t miss him?”
My heart twists. Of course I miss him. I love the son of a bitch. The problem is, I can’t survive being all the way in love with someone who wants to take it one day at a time.
I look miserably at my best friend. “I want more than he can give.”
“But—”
“Marley?” I force a smile. “I kind of don’t want to talk about it. Not yet.”
She reaches out, squeezes my hand. “Say no more. We’ll have way too much wine, and eat too much pizza, and watch that Disney movie you love so much—”
“No,” I interrupt. “No Enchanted.”
“Really? You said it’s the one movie you could never get sick of.”
“I’m not sick of it, I just…it doesn’t have great memories right now.”
“Oh, sweetie, no. You let him ruin Enchanted?”
I rub my forehead. “I don’t remember letting him do anything. It’s just like all of a sudden he was there everywhere, all up in my business, invading every corner of my life.”
“And you loved it,” Marley says sympathetically.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “So much.”
“Did you love him?”
I nod, my eyes watering. It feels good to admit it to someone, even as it hurts.
Marley steps close and pulls me into a one-armed hug, leaving us both free to sip wine as needed, because she gets me.
“Okay, sweetie. I know it hurts so badly right now, but you have to promise me something,” she says.
“What?” I ask grumpily.
She kisses the side of my head. “Promise me you won’t give up on your lovey-dovey version of love. You’re the most optimistic, happily-ever-after person I know. If you can’t achieve that, none of us can.”
“But my parents—”
“Couldn’t make it work. But they’re not you, sweetie. Your happy ending is out there, I’m positive of it. Okay?”
I nod, because it’s what she wants me to do. And because I don’t want to say out loud what I’m thinking: that a happily-ever-after without Andrew Mulroney, Esquire, doesn’t seem happy at all.
Andrew
WEDNESDAY, 3:00 P.M.
“You’re acting like a piece of shit.”
Andrew looked up to where his brother was sitting in the waiting room. “I’m sorry. Is me trying to be here for you and your wife inconveniencing you?” he said acidly.
They’d been waiting for more than thirty minutes while Pam was with the doctor to find out if she was a match for a new fertility treatment. Andrew wasn’t quite sure he’d been invited when his brother had called to tell him about the appointment, but there was nowhere else he’d be. He’d rescheduled three meetings to be here.
Peter shrugged and folded his arms over the belly that wasn’t quite flat anymore. “Just sayin’.”
Andrew resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Such was conversation with Peter. He’d utter something vague at best, offensive at worst, and then you’d ask for clarification and he’d say, Just sayin’.
“So you and your ladybird broke up?”
Andrew had just lowered his head, but now he was forced to lift it again. “Ladybird?”
Another shrug. “Pam said you had a girl. A cute one. Cooked you dinner and fucked it up.”
Andrew smiled a little at the memory. It had felt so damn right to walk into his apartment and see her there. Even more so that she was talking to a member of his family. Loved that she’d disappeared to let him have his conversation, and that when he’d called her an hour later ready with an apology, he hadn’t needed one.
Because that’s who Georgie was. Good. Understanding. Easy to get along with. Forgiving.
But even she had her limits.
“What happened?” Peter asked. His tone sounded bored, but his eyes were on Andrew, and Andrew knew his older brother well enough to be sure that Peter cared about him; he was just emotionally stunted.
It ran in the family.
Andrew rubbed his hands over his face. “Short version? Her mother hired my firm to handle her divorce.”
“Ouch. Well, she’s just pissed because you had to deliver the bad news. She’ll come down. Realize it’s not your fault.”
“Ah…”
Peter grunted. “She didn’t find out from you?”
Andrew shook his head.
“How much time between her mom contacting you and the girl finding out?”
“Couple weeks.”
Peter sighed and shook his head. “That’s forever in chick time.”
“Well, what would you have done?” Andrew asked, glaring at his brother, but also oddly desperate to hear what Peter had to say. “It wasn’t my news to tell.”
In looks, the two were nothing alike. Peter was taller, a veritable giant of a man. Soft where Andrew was toned. His hair was more red, and more often than not he forgot to shave. Or maybe that was intentional; Andrew didn’t really know.
But on the inside, despite their age difference, despite the fact that Andrew was an attorney and Peter was a car mechanic, he’d always felt that they got each other on some level. And Peter had always been the one he turned to when he needed advice on the personal front.
“Maybe not,” his brother granted. “But I’m guessing you handled it like an asshole.”
“She’s impossible to talk to,” Andrew muttered. “Not thinking straight.”
“Like I said,” Peter said, picking up a magazine. “Asshole.”
Andrew couldn’t even argue. He was sort of an asshole. He just…didn’t know how to be anything else. He didn’t know what Georgie wanted from him.
He leaned forward, tangling his hands in his hair.
His brother threw the magazine back on the table without opening it. “I always knew this would happen.”
“What? Me dating a girl whose mother hired me for her divorce?”
“No. Your too-high IQ biting you in the ass.”
Andrew looked up. “Really? You haven’t given me shit about that in years.”
“That’s because your big-ass brain quit causing problems for you once you got out of school. Till now.”
Andrew rolled his eyes, but his brother leaned forward, waiting until Andrew met his gaze. “You’re smarter than me on most things,” Peter said quietly. “But you’ve got to trust me when I say I know better than you on stuff like this.”
“Stuff like what?” Andrew grumbled.
His brother grinned. “Love.”
Andrew went still, eyes narrowing on his brother, his mind automatically rejecting the word. Love was a fantasy—a culmination of the brain’s chemistry making you act crazy.
“See?” Peter pointed at him. “That right there. That’s where you’re fucking it all up. You’re thinking about it instead of simply feeling it.”
Andrew opened his mouth to argue, but he remembered Georgiana’s parting shot—that she wanted a man who could use his heart as well as his head.
He cracked his knuckles—a nervous habit he thought he’d grown out of in college.
“Can’t I do both? Think and feel?”
“You tell me.” Peter gave an indifferent shrug as he said it.
Andrew glared. “Really, big brother? This is the extent of your advice?”
> “No. But you’re not going to listen to what you really need to hear.”
“Try me.”
“Fine,” Peter said, picking up the magazine once more. “You’re not clinging to logic because it’s better, you’re clinging because it’s safer. The problem isn’t that your girl’s not thinking straight, it’s that you’re scared.”
“Bullshit. Of what?”
Peter flipped a page. “Losing her. Your big brain is worried that if you let yourself care too much, it’ll hurt more if it doesn’t work out.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve already lost her, haven’t I? With or without my big brain.”
“True. And how do you feel about that?”
Andrew opened his mouth to reply just as Pam came back into the waiting area.
Peter leapt out of his chair with surprising agility for a man of his size and went to his wife, his hands reaching for hers.
“Pam?”
Andrew stood, but averted his eyes from the intimate moment. He wanted to be here no matter which way the news went, but if it was bad news, he was prepared to give them their space.
“I’m not eligible for the treatment,” Pam said in a tiny voice.
Andrew felt his shoulders slump, saw his brother’s do the same.
Peter reached for his wife and drew her close. “Then we’ll find something else, sweetie. Another solution.”
Pam took half a step back and reached up to frame Peter’s face with her palms, her eyes bright. “I’m not eligible…because I’m already pregnant.”
“What? What?” Peter asked, his whisper turning into a shout.
Pam nodded happily. “They were doing the preliminary exam, then did a blood test, and…oh my God. We’re having a baby, Pete!”
Andrew swallowed a lump in his throat as two of the most important people in his life held each other and wept.
They were so damned happy. Of course they were.
And that’s when he realized.
The happy moment unfolding in front of him wasn’t the result of playing it safe, of sticking to facts and logic. If they’d done that, they’d have listened to the dozens of doctors who’d told them that they couldn’t conceive. Instead they were happy because they’d been willing to put everything on the line to fight for what they wanted. Each other. A baby. A family.
And that sort of pursuit of joy was what Georgiana Watkins did every day. He’d been wrong. She wasn’t blindly waiting for some fairy tale; she was just smart enough to believe that she deserved it.
And she did deserve it. She deserved a happily-ever-after more than anyone else he’d ever known. But fuck, so did he. More important, he wanted it. He wanted the happily-ever-after. He wanted it with her.
Andrew had been wrong to imply that Georgiana didn’t have a brain, but she’d been wrong too. He was no Tin Man—he had a heart.
And it belonged to Georgiana Watkins.
Georgie
THURSDAY MORNING, OBSCENELY EARLY
Panting and thirsty as heck, I make my way to the bar. I could go up to the VIP section, where my crew has a table, but I want a club soda.
I’m also sick to death of having to fake a smile as though I’m having the time of my life. I’m not having a bad night, but honestly? It’s the first time I’ve been out with my friends since learning of my parents’ divorce plans and since my fight with Andrew, and I’m trying to get back to my happy place, I really am. But every smile feels plastic, every laugh hollow.
The bartender gives me attention immediately, probably courtesy of one of my more scandalous dresses, a V-neck black number that’s skintight and doesn’t provide much coverage up top or down below.
Marley told me to wear it. Called it a revenge dress.
And when I glance up and find a good-looking guy with brown hair and dark blue eyes making his way toward me, I realize what she means.
“Hey.”
I stifle a sigh. Such a great opening. “Hi there.”
“Jason. Dance?”
Seriously? I glance at the wall of the club, half expecting to find cave drawings etched into it. I would not at all be surprised if this guy’s next meal plan involved clubbing an animal and asking his female companion to pick berries.
But since I have no intention of being that female companion and, being perfectly sober, can stay true to that…
“Yeah, sure,” I say with a shrug. “I’ll dance.”
I let Jason lead me onto the dance floor, trying to ignore that his hands are both too big and too soft. Something I become even more aware of when he pulls me against him and…just sort of grinds.
I don’t even bother to sigh. What was I thinking, really?
Unfortunately, the song isn’t one I recognize, so I can’t gauge how much longer I have to endure the torture of his hands all over me.
I grit my teeth and run through my gamut of excuses, trying to find the one that seems the least rude.
Turns out I don’t need one.
Jason steps back so suddenly I nearly fall, but strong hands steady me.
Not Jason’s hands.
I freeze, because I know those hands. I know their strong confidence, know their tentative tenderness.
I take a breath and turn.
Because of those hands, I know who’s behind me, but it’s still a shock to see Andrew Mulroney here. In a club.
The strobe lights prevent me from seeing his face clearly, but he’s definitely not smiling.
“A moment, Georgiana?”
Jason steps forward. “Hey, man. I saw her first.”
Andrew cuts the bigger man with a glare. “No, man. You fucking didn’t.”
“Hey, guys—” I say uneasily.
“Shut up, Georgiana,” Andrew growls.
Then his fingers wrap around my wrist and he’s dragging me through the crowd with a masculine authority that, frankly, isn’t all that different from Jason’s caveman routine, but I like it a hell of a lot more.
The bouncer tries to stop us as we approach the side door. “If you go out, you don’t come back in.”
“Thank God,” Andrew mutters.
A moment later I’m blasted by cold air. It’s chillier than usual, even for early November, and my dress is, well, pretty much nothing.
Andrew releases my wrist and, glancing down at my dress, curses. “It looks even smaller out here,” he mutters. He shrugs out of his jacket and without preamble drapes it around me and pulls me close, wrapping his arms around me and holding me captive.
“How’d you find me?” I ask, squirming to get away. He doesn’t relax his grip.
“I tried Hailey, but she didn’t answer. So I’ve been going from club to godforsaken club for fucking hours trying to find you.”
“Andrew, that’s nuts, you could have just—”
“Shut up, Georgiana Frances Watkins. Just shut up for one damn minute, because I have a couple of things to tell you.”
“Let me guess,” I say, pulling away more forcefully. “You’re here to tell me that I’m ridiculous. That I’ve been childish for not picking up your phone calls so that you can lecture me. That I’m overly emotional, that if I’d just calm down and listen to reason—”
“That if you’d just calm down and listen to reason, you’d see that I’m trying to win you back!” he interrupts with a shout.
I blink in surprise at the outburst, and the conversations around us dwindle to a murmur as people start to catch a whiff of the scene playing out in front of them.
I cross my arms and look at him. “And you’re pissed about it, huh?” I say, refusing to make this easy for him. “You’re angry because I’ve forced you to mess up your schedule, that I’m not doing as I’m supposed to, that this isn’t tidy.”
“Yes, a bit,” he growls.
I scoff to hide the hurt and take a step back.
“No. Damn it. Damn it, just wait a minute while I—”
“While you think?” I ask gently. Because as mad as I am, as convinced as I am that we don
’t have a future, I do understand this man. I understand that in his way he does care; he just doesn’t know how to process anything that can’t be, well…processed.
“Go home, Andrew,” I whisper, stepping toward him and brushing my lips to his cheek.
“Wait, Georgie—” His fingers find my shoulders. “Give me a sec, I have a speech.”
I smile up at him, even as my heart breaks for both of us. “You don’t get it, Andrew. I don’t want the guy with the pretty, planned-out speech. I want the guy who’s not afraid to be spontaneous when he needs to be, who’s not afraid to get messy, because love is messy.”
His eyes flare, and he captures my chin with his fingers. “Is that what this is? Do you love me?”
The question sends a spark of pain shooting through me, and I take a step back without answering.
“Georgiana—”
I turn away, my vision obscured with tears as I scan the crowd, hoping to see Marley or a familiar face. Wanting to find someone who can whisk me away from the pain of this moment. Someone who will stop me from giving in to the temptation to settle for a guy who doesn’t believe in fairy tales.
The crowd is still quieter than usual, so the familiar lyrics hit my ears loud and clear, if not exactly on key.
Someone is singing “That’s How You Know,” from Enchanted. I go perfectly still, eyes closed, as I wait to wake up from the dream.
When I open them again, the words are still coming, closer this time, the voice low and rough and masculine, and nothing like Amy Adams’s soprano, but infinitely more dear.
I slowly turn, unapologetically crying as I face a still-singing Andrew. It’s really only fair that with such a beautiful face, he has a semi-terrible singing voice.
“Really?” I say on a sob. “Really? Everyone’s staring.”
He only sings louder, lifting his hands and spinning in a circle to the whoops of the crowd before continuing toward me.
Only when his hands move to cup my face does he stop the song.
“That’s how you know, Georgiana,” he says, bending down so his lips are to my ear, his next words just for me, not the crowd. “That’s how you know I love you.”
I mean to tell him I love him too, but the only thing that comes out is a sob as I throw my arms around his neck and pull him close.