Part-Time Lover

by Lauren Blakely

  “You’re the perfect wife,” I tease.

  “Because I don’t make demands?”

  Make demands. Shower me in them. I’ll fulfill them all. “You could make an occasional one. I’d be okay with that,” I say with a wink.

  “In that case, can I come see you play soccer?” she asks, using the American term for the sport I play.

  “You want to watch me play?”

  “I like you sweaty.”

  “I’ll check the schedule and let you know when our next game is.” I loop an arm around her waist. “And then you can get sweaty with me after.”

  “Obviously.”

  * * *

  My translation work has slowed, but that’s been deliberate. Once I stepped up to take over the transition of the firm, I couldn’t spend too much time cherry-picking Scandinavian businessmen and women to translate for. I’ve still nabbed the occasional plum gig—the kind I like best, where I’ll translate for a dignitary or a celebrity.

  Mostly, my work is here in the Paris office with Erik.

  As I finish off a spate of contracts, Erik slouches into my office. He looks like hell. His jaw hangs open. “She . . .”

  It’s all he gets out.

  “What is it? She what?”

  “She found me where I was having lunch.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  He sinks down into a chair, his head falling into his hands. I walk around the desk and sit next to him. “What happened?”

  He sighs heavily. “I was eating. All I wanted was to have a sandwich in peace at the café I like.”

  “The one she knows you like? The one she knows you go to?”

  “Yes,” he says in a sad and angry hiss. “She showed up, took the seat across from me, and asked if I’d be willing to talk.”

  “What did you say?” I ask nervously, because this hasn’t been easy in the least for him, and because I worry about the firm.

  He looks up, his blue eyes full of melancholy. “I didn’t say anything, because I felt so fucking awful. I felt like I was still in love with her, and I hated feeling that way.”

  I swallow roughly, hurting for my brother. “I hate that you feel that way.” I take a beat, then ask an important question. “What did she want?”

  “She wanted to talk it out. Have a chat. She loves me, but she’s not in love with me,” he says, sketching air quotes.

  I seethe. “That’s such a cop-out.”

  “That’s not all.”

  “What else?”

  “She told me her sister is ill, and she doesn’t have enough money for the medical treatment, and that’s why she wanted to sell the firm.”

  I scoff. “Lillian is ill? That’s a barking lie.”

  “What if it’s true?”

  I grip his shoulder. “Don’t believe her. She lied to you.”

  He nods, his breath coming out shakily. “She tried to tell me it was the only way and couldn’t I look into my heart to help? And I said I would have helped her if we were together. She could have come to me for help.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said she felt like she was always coming to me for help. That she needs to be able to do things on her own. That’s why she left.”

  He winces, and I squeeze his shoulder again. “She’s messing with you, Erik. You know that, right? This all seems incredibly dodgy.”

  “Does it?”

  “Completely. Don’t let her manipulate you.”

  His shoulders slump. “I don’t know how this went pear-shaped. I don’t know why I didn’t see it coming. I had literally no fucking clue she would take a knife from the butcher block and stab the serrated edge into me. And that’s how it feels now, Chris. That’s how it fucking feels.”

  For a flash, I can hear Elise saying those same words. They sound precisely like how she must have felt when she learned of her husband’s transgression. And in this moment, my anger, fueled by the short straw that two people I care about were handed, intensifies. I hate that they were duped.

  Erik’s voice breaks, but if tears were coming, he tamps them down, drawing a sharp and angry breath. “It’s not right that you and Elise are putting on this whole production for me.”

  “I think I can manage pretending to like Elise a little bit,” I deadpan. If he only knew the half of it—that I’m pretending not to be completely mad about her.

  “Yeah? It’s not so awful?”

  “We’re faking it fine, thank you very much. Enough about me. I want to know how I can help you. Do you still love her?”

  He moans and shakes his head, then nods. “Yes, no. Yes, no. I want to be over her.” He pushes out a strained laugh. “Can you get me a pill? Something, anything to make me not feel a thing for Jandy?”

  I smile faintly. “If there were one, I’d get it. But in the meantime, want to go to the movies and see a stupid Will Ferrell comedy? Those always make you laugh.”

  He smiles, as if he can’t help it. “Talladega Nights?” He places his hands together as if praying. “If there’s a goddess, then some theater will be showing Talladega Nights.”

  “That theater is known as Netflix, I believe.”

  But there’s also a theater in the second arrondissement where we find a Will Ferrell “retrospective” is underway, so I steal him from the office and take him to see Ricky Bobby tear up the racetrack.

  If this isn’t fate looking out for us, I don’t know what it is.

  * * *

  When Friday arrives, Elise texts me to tell me she’ll be at the field a few minutes before the game starts.

  I write back that I’ll see her when she arrives, and I’ll kick a goal for her. I finish my stretches and look around once more.

  A woman calls out my name. But the voice isn’t the one I want to hear.

  I look over to the edge of the field to see a tall woman with high cheekbones and dirty-blond hair.

  “Christian, can we chat?”

  It’s my brother’s wife.

  30

  Elise

  My stomach flip-flops, and my hands are cold. I press the elevator button for the sixth floor, wishing I wasn’t so nervous.

  But this chance feels so big.

  The Luxe isn’t only a potential client. It’s a potential client who could vault me to the next level. This is the goal I’ve been reaching for.

  As I wait, my phone dings and a new note from John Thompson pops up on the screen. My nerves twist higher as I open it.

  * * *

  Time to grab that drink? :)

  * * *

  I close it. I don’t want to be thinking of my competition when I walk into Nate Harper’s office at his request. I do my best to sweep John from my mind.

  The elevator arrives, and I step inside, shutting off my phone as I head to Nate’s floor. The receptionist escorts me to his office and asks if I want anything.

  “Water would be great.” My throat is a desert.

  I glance around at his office, a handsome space with a leather couch, a black desk with only a framed photo of what looks to be Nate and his wife, and a manila folder on the wood surface. Pictures of his hotel properties from around the world adorn the walls, as well as another shot of the pretty blond woman with her arms around him under a sunset on the beach. They look happy—100 percent, genuinely happy. I can see it in their eyes.

  Nate strides in with a glass of water and hands it to me. “Here you go, Elise,” he says with a smile.

  I take a gulp and set down the glass, then shake his hand.

  “Please take a seat,” he says, and nerves scale my body again as I sit.

  He leans against the desk. “I met with a few agencies, and it came down to you and Thompson Group.”

  My shoulders tense. Then, a horrid idea smashes into me. Should I have met with John Thompson after all? Would that have helped? Did I miss a chance again, even though all my instincts told me to stay the course? But meeting with the competition during the pitch phase isn’t wise. It’s n
ot how it’s done.

  “We will be outsourcing some of the media work to his shop,” Nate says, and I hold my breath. “He really knows some aspects well. But the bulk of the work is yours, and I’m pleased to offer Durand Media the contract to oversee the advertising campaign for our new European resort rollout.”

  I float to the sky, a thousand stars twinkling brightly. “I’m so thrilled. I can’t wait to start.”

  “Can you go to New York next week? To meet with some of my executives there?”

  “I’d love to.”

  This feels like more than winning. It feels like I can trust my gut again. That is the ultimate victory.

  * * *

  I head to the soccer field on a professional cloud nine, ready to root for my husband from the sidelines. I’m going to be the loudest wife there is. Wife. I didn’t think I’d slap that designation on myself ever again.

  But being Christian’s wife has been more than fun. It’s been exactly what I needed in some unexpected way. Even though it’s only been a few weeks, I’ve learned that the institution of marriage, in and of itself, isn’t a farce.

  Marriage can be a place for honesty, and openness, and communication. I rewind to the way we tease each other, how we talk frankly about nearly everything. I never had that with Eduardo. He was all wine and roses and romantic escapades. He was a master at seduction and he Casanova’d me.

  It all felt so thrilling at the time, but as I reach the field and spot the silhouette of a tall, strapping man whose ring matches mine, I’m keenly aware that this marriage of convenience feels infinitely more real. My heart kicks faster when I see Christian, beats harder. Something powerful, something hopeful is brewing inside me. Come to think of it, the brewing is done. It feels more like my heart is brimming. Christian Ellison has done so much more for me than my first husband ever did, and I can’t wait to share my work news, to throw my arms around him, and to holler his name from the sidelines.

  When I reach the field, I furrow my brow. He’s talking to a woman, and while that doesn’t bother me, something about her feels eerily familiar.

  I don’t know why. Maybe it’s in the way she stands, arms crossed at her chest, jaw tight.

  In an instant I know who she is, and I burn. I want to tell that con woman she never deserved Christian’s brother. I want to tell her for him, for me, and for anyone who’s ever been tricked in that sort of nefarious, underhanded way.

  Righteous indignation sparks in me as I stride over and wrap an arm around my husband. Possessively. Letting her know we’re together. We’re a team.

  She stares at Christian. “Can we please talk?”

  “What do you need to say that can’t be discussed in a boardroom?”

  Jandy gestures to me. “Is this the new Mrs. Ellison?”

  He smacks his forehead. “Oh, wherever are my manners? Jandy, please let me introduce you to Elise Ellison.”

  I didn’t take his name when we married, but I don’t mind that he calls me by it now. In fact, I like the sound of it. I wrap my arm tighter around his shoulder as he turns to me.

  “Elise, this is Jandy. The woman who broke my brother’s heart.”

  Jandy sighs heavily, as if it’s so exhausting to have to hear such a description. She extends her hand to shake. Her skin is cold. “Lovely to meet you,” she says, clearly lying.

  “Pleasure to meet you.”

  Christian stares at her point-blank then taps his watch. “Why are you here? I have a match, and I know you disturbed Erik during lunch, which pisses me right the fuck off. Can’t you at least let the man have a sandwich in peace?”

  I recoil when I hear what she did, and I jump in instinctively. “That’s the least you can do. Let my brother-in-law be.”

  Jandy ignores me and speaks to Christian again, her voice shaky. “Can we talk? Can we work something out? I really need to help my sister. Surely, you can understand helping a sibling.”

  “I can also understand when someone is full of shit,” he says calmly, and I squeeze his arm, proud of him for giving this woman hell. She deserves hell. “You never said a word about your sister being sick, and all of a sudden you pull this notion out of thin air to prey on Erik’s sympathies. Well, I’ve got none for you. Zero. Zilch. You can’t prey on mine. I checked her Facebook page, and she went tubing down a hill yesterday.”

  “That picture was from earlier in the year,” Jandy protests, then seems to shift gears, softening her tone. “Please. Let’s work together.”

  He rubs his ear. “What’s that you said? Work something out? How on earth could we work something out?”

  “I thought we could strike some sort of deal.” She gestures from him to me. “Like you two clearly have.”

  My jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, come now. You’ve been married a couple of weeks.” She turns to Christian. “That’s when her picture showed up on your Facebook page. Do you think I’m stupid?”

  I laugh then cover my mouth.

  Jandy glares at me. “Is something funny?”

  I raise my chin. “It’s funny that you would ask that because I don’t think ‘stupid’ is the word anyone would use to describe you.”

  She parks a hand on her waist, her elbow akimbo. “What word would you use?”

  Oh, she’s walking into this one. “Cold.”

  Christian raises a hand. “Callow.”

  “Cruel.”

  I flash Christian a wicked grin. “Classless.”

  Jandy holds up a hand, but my husband gets in the last dig. “Cutting.”

  “I second that. You’re totally cutting,” I add.

  “You don’t know me,” she says, raising her chin. “You don’t understand what I’ve been through.”

  Christian shakes his head, sneering. “Enough of the whole daddy talk. I don’t know what your issues are, and I don’t want to know. But this isn’t how you treat someone who treated you like the world. You were everything to my brother. He gave you his heart, and you stomped on it like it was rubbish.”

  Her jaw is set hard, but her eyes are glossy. She seems to steel herself though, speaking through tight lips. “You don’t know me, and this isn’t about me.”

  Christian holds up his hands. “Oh, it’s not about you? Then enlighten me. What is this about?”

  “I came here because it’s clear this is some kind of sham marriage to trick the shareholders.”

  Christian arches a brow. “Sham marriage?”

  “Do you two really think they won’t be able to tell you married her simply to try to keep the company?”

  “One, my grandfather’s trust outlined precisely how the firm would be handed over. Two, Elise and I are legally married, and three—”

  “How dare you suggest you know something about our marriage? You know nothing,” I say.

  She snaps her gaze to me. “I know you married only a few weeks ago. And prior to that, I’d not heard you so much as existed.”

  I step closer. “And do you know I met Christian more than a year ago? Do you know he asked me out on our first date last June on a boat tour in his hometown? Do you know we were on the same plane flying home? Do you know he courted me for a year?” I grab my phone, click on my handstand photos, and shove the screen in her face, covering his bottom half with my thumb. “Do you know I have pictures of him from that time because I was so utterly transfixed with him, and I believed fate had brought him into my life?”

  Jandy stammers, her eyes welling again. “Umm.”

  “Exactly. You know nothing.” I put my phone away, grab Christian’s arm, and plant a possessive kiss on his cheek. One that says he’s mine. I do it again. And God, I do it a third time, then I turn back to the woman who had inadvertently pushed me closer to him. “You know nothing because our relationship is private, and it has nothing to do with you that Christian is the most wonderful husband in the world. Before that he was a fantastic fiancé, and before that he was an incredible boyfriend. Even before all that, he pursued m
e and totally won me over. So yeah. Game over. He’s mine, and I’m his, and there’s nothing you can suggest to anyone in the whole wide world that’ll obviate the truth.”

  I give her a checkmate look, and she huffs. I don’t care about her anymore. I care about the man by my side.

  I grab his face in my hands and press a searing kiss to his lips that has nothing fake in it at all.

  In fact, as I kiss him, the thought flashes like a neon sign turned on. There’s nothing fake between us.

  Everything, all of it, from my mind to my heart, is genuine.

  When we break the kiss, Christian glances at Jandy and makes a shooing gesture. “Off you go.”

  She leaves, her tail between her legs.

  I turn back to him.

  “You were amazing.”

  “I got the account,” I blurt out.

  “I knew it. I bloody knew it.” He picks me up and spins me around. “So proud of you.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  A game whistle sounds.

  “I need to go,” he says, setting me down. “But we are going to celebrate the hell out of you winning the account.”

  “Go, go.”

  He runs to the field, and I spend the next hour watching the man I feel everything for play a game.

  I came into this arrangement believing my walls were fortified. That my lessons learned would serve as armor for my heart.

  But this time, I wasn’t the one fooled. I fooled myself into thinking I could keep from letting him into my heart. That’s where he is.

  I’ve fallen in love with my temporary husband.

  As he scores a goal and thrusts his arms in the air in victory, I cheer wildly for him. He looks over, a grin lighting his handsome face as he points to me. It’s exhilarating, this moment of connection. My heart somersaults, trying to kick its way free and gallop over to him.

  I want that. I want that terribly, and more than I should.

  But that’s the problem. Love isn’t supposed to be part of the terms for us, and it’s absolutely not permissible for me.