by Lizzie Shane
Candy made a small, shocked noise, unable to stifle the gasp, and Alicia’s head snapped up. “Tug!” Tug apparently attributed his partner’s sudden stiffening to the throes of ecstasy, because he groaned enthusiastically and slapped her on the ass as Alicia’s eyes widened at the sight of Candy in the doorway.
I wonder if she still wants to blackmail me, Candy thought in the detached part of her mind that was still functioning. Then she stumbled out the door, not bothering to close it behind her—but then, neither had they.
The maid of honor and the groom. Jesus. You’d think they’d find a room with a lock. Or have the decency not to have sex on her grandfather’s desk at the rehearsal dinner after-party.
God. Poor Charlotte.
Candy’s stomach—relatively calm until this moment—took another sudden heave toward her throat, but she managed to keep from losing the last remaining contents. At least this time Charlotte’s husband was definitely straight. Little victories.
Candy heard scrambling inside the room, voices speaking hurriedly to one another, and bolted down the hallway, not willing to wait to hear what either of them had to say for themselves. She changed course, veering back toward the terrace, moving quickly and steadily now—half-sobered-up by what she’d just witnessed.
She had to tell Charlotte. Her sister had a right to know she was marrying another cheater. One who was classy enough to bang the maid of honor the night before the wedding.
But when she reached the terrace, the party was winding down. It had felt like only moments ago that she’d stumbled away from it while it was in full swing, but time had been playing tricks with her tonight and there were only a few die-hards lingering on the patio. The music was soft now, the staff packing up the bar.
And the bride was gone.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Eight months ago…
“I’m not really married. I never was.”
The lie had gone on for too long.
Candy had always thought of herself as an honest person, but it seemed like dishonesty had infiltrated every corner of her life. Even telling Ren the truth felt like lying to him now. She needed to come clean—and since she couldn’t seem to come clean to Ren, it was time to tell her mother the truth.
She was a little surprised the “marriage” had held up as long as it had. Circumstances had conspired to keep her parents from being able to visit California and so far they’d accepted all of Candy’s excuses why her “husband” couldn’t join her on her infrequent trips back east.
Chloe’s cancer diagnosis had distracted her mother for a while, then the funeral. Scott’s latest stint in rehab, and now there was some drama with her sister—probably Charlotte’s turn at pregnancy.
Candy wasn’t sure what reaction she’d expected from her mother. Shock. Anger. Recriminations. Anything but the mild irritation that flickered in her mother’s eyes. As if the lie that had consumed the last three years was a minor inconvenience.
“Really, Candice, in light of your sister’s divorce, that is an extremely tasteless joke. I expected better of you.”
“It isn’t a joke.” She frowned. “Wait, Charlotte’s getting divorced?”
“Reggie has apparently decided he’s one of those homosexuals.”
“Holy shit, are you serious?”
“Candice! What kind of language is that?”
“My sister’s husband is divorcing her because he’s gay language?”
“Charlotte is divorcing him,” her mother insisted, as if it made a difference. “Though it might be an annulment, under the circumstances.”
“Either way, I’m still not married. That wasn’t a joke. Ren isn’t—”
“Are you going to tell me he’s fake?” her mother interrupted, unimpressed. “Because I wasn’t born yesterday.”
Candy frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I know he’s real, Candice. Even if I hadn’t seen the pictures, I can see on your face how in love with him you are every time you say his name. It’s obvious. I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish with this ridiculous tale, but any idiot can see you’re nauseatingly in love with him and your mother is no idiot. Why do you think I never tried to turn your head toward someone more suitable in all this time?”
Candy stared at her mother, trying to make her words make sense. Her mother thought she was in love with Ren.
In love with Ren…
No. That wasn’t what this was. It wasn’t commitment and forever. It was friends with benefits. It was safely held at a distance.
It had to be.
*
Present day…
Ren couldn’t sleep.
When he’d gotten back to the house, he’d followed the sound of music to the back terrace looking for Candy, but she’d been nowhere in sight. He made his way back to the carriage house, but the only trace of Candy there had been her strappy high heeled shoes in the middle of the floor and a shawl thrown across the bed.
He picked up the shoes and debated going in search of Cinderella, but there were too many places she could be in the house and on the grounds. He’d figured he’d have better luck waiting for her in their suite.
To pass the time, he’d called Max to check on Wicket, since the time zones worked in his favor and it was only a little after eight in California.
After confirming that Wicket was fine, Max had asked how things were going in DC—and Ren hadn’t known how to answer. Somehow I’m more in love with her than ever and more convinced this is never going to work didn’t seem like the right thing to say to their boss. When he’d stayed silent for too long, Max had offered to send reinforcements.
If only it were that kind of job.
They were about to sign off when Max dropped his bombshell.
“Hank the Hammer came by yesterday.”
Every muscle in Ren’s body had locked. “Isn’t that a violation of the restraining order?”
The former WWE wrestler turned action star had hired Elite Protection last year to upgrade the security at his Pacific Palisades home. When Candy had shown up to evaluate the weaknesses in his system, Hank had taken an instant shine to her—and couldn’t seem to accept that the feeling wasn’t mutual. She’d been unwilling to complain, convinced she could handle the man, but he’d made such a nuisance of himself that Max had eventually transferred the contract to a competitor and filed a restraining order stating Hank wasn’t allowed within fifty yards of Elite Protection.
“He didn’t try to approach the building,” Max explained. “Just sat on the patio of the restaurant across the street and watched the parking lot. Elena was the one who spotted him. Said he gave her the creeps.”
At least Elena had the self-preservation Candy seemed to lack. “Do you think he was looking for Candy?”
“He was there for hours. I think he was waiting to follow her home.”
Ren cursed under his breath. Candy had said he wasn’t bothering her anymore. After she’d changed her phone number, she said the problem was solved.
But Candy was a very good liar when she wanted to be.
By the time he got off the phone with Max, Ren was pissed off all over again. And Candy still wasn’t back from wherever she’d gone after she lost her shoes. He’d tried shooting her a text—only to discover she’d dropped her phone on the bed.
He told himself everything was fine. Told himself she was three thousand miles away from Hank the Hammer. Told himself she was probably just living it up with her sister the night before the wedding. And got ready for bed.
But he still couldn’t sleep.
He tossed and turned, sliding from anger to worry and back again. At some point he must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew he was being woken up by the sound of her stumbling in. She was usually so graceful, her steps so silent, that he came awake in a rush, out of bed in an instant, his half-asleep brain telling him some stranger was breaking into their room. That clumsy stumbling couldn’t be Candy.
&nb
sp; But when he flicked on the lights it was Candy he caught, freezing and blinking at him like a raccoon caught with a knocked over trashcan as she tried to soundlessly close the door behind her. “Ren!” she exclaimed, swaying as she turned too quickly. “You’re back!”
Mud caked her feet to the ankle. The elaborate knot in her hair had loosened and slid precariously to one side. Her cocktail dress seemed undamaged, though heavily wrinkled, but her posture had changed—she was no longer standing straight and tall with the fabric draping from her shoulders, but hunched down and tilting slightly to one side.
And he could smell the alcohol on her from three feet away.
“Where have you been?” he growled, sounding for all the world like a scolding father. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her this lit and the fear that she’d been stumbling around, vulnerable like this, made his voice sharp.
“Looking for you,” she declared, weaving her way to the closet, fumbling with the fastenings on her dress as she went. Ren met her there, brushing her ineffectual hands out of the way and unzipping her. “I thought you were with Alicia.”
He frowned, taking her hand to help her balance as she wobbled shimmying out of the dress. “Why would I be with Alicia?” He barely knew her.
“She said she could get you into bed.” A shadow passed over her face. “But she didn’t screw you in my grandfather’s study.”
Ren didn’t try to follow her ramblings. He just grabbed one of his shirts and pulled it over her head to cover her up so his body didn’t get any ideas she was too drunk for tonight.
Candy frowned up at him. “Who were you with?”
“What makes you think I was with anyone?”
She jerked away from him, crossing the room and yanking at her hairpins so hard she must have pulled out chunks of hair. “You can tell me,” she insisted, though her tone was harsh. “Who was it? One of the other bridesmaids?”
“Candy. This is ridiculous—”
“Oh God, you aren’t even denying it—”
“Yes, I am.” But she spoke over him, on a roll now.
“I can’t believe you couldn’t keep it in your pants for one lousy weekend.” She flung back the covers on the bed and he stepped forward to stop her before she could climb in.
“Your feet.”
She glared at him, then down at her muddy feet, then stomped to the bathroom. “How could you? We’re married.”
“Not really.”
“Alicia doesn’t know that!” she shrieked—forgetting that she’d already exculpated him of crimes regarding the maid of honor. The joys of dealing with an angry drunk. “And besides, it’s the image of the thing. You’re making a fool of me. My husband can’t run around banging other women at my sister’s wedding.”
“Believe it or not, I haven’t been, but since you’re so concerned with the image for the family, you should probably know that I was with someone today. I was busy being ‘checked out’ by the local cops because I pulled off to make a phone call in the wrong neighborhood and some lady thought the brown man was casing the joint.”
Her anger instantly fell away, replaced by shock and concern. “You were? Why didn’t you call me?”
“It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.” And it hadn’t taken more than thirty minutes of calm, respectful patience in the face of will you step out of the car please to straighten things out. He’d just been glad he hadn’t had a weapon on him or he might still be under suspicion.
He’d let his guard down. He knew better, knew that someone who looked like him couldn’t do anything that could be misinterpreted in any way, but he hadn’t been thinking this morning.
“After that, I didn’t think I would be good company tonight.” His reserves of patience had been used up and he hadn’t been ready to face Candy again. “I just drove for a while to clear my head, grabbed a bite to eat and headed back here, but by then you’d all gone to the rehearsal.”
“You should have called me.” She sat on the edge of the tub, turning on the water to run it over her feet while Ren leaned against the vanity.
“Because we call one another when we have problems? Is that why you call me whenever you have a problem with Hank the Hammer?”
She flinched, unable to hide the reaction in her current state. “That’s different…” She turned off the water and he passed her a towel.
“He waited outside the Elite Protection offices for hours today.” Ren studied her, noting her lack of surprise as she dried her feet. “Has he tried to follow you home before?”
“I can lose a tail.”
Rage flared in his gut. “That’s a yes.”
“So? Nothing ever happened.”
Jesus. She made him crazy.
“Did I ever tell you why I decided to become a bodyguard?” he asked.
“Your parents. Protecting people like them so things like that don’t happen again.” She stood and he trailed her back into the bedroom, though he didn’t follow when she went to climb into bed, holding up the wall by one of the armchairs instead.
“There was a girl I worked with,” he said, the words clipped, “when I was first starting out as a model. Snarky. Smart. The kind of girl who never met a situation she couldn’t handle. But she had an admirer. A fan who used to send her letters. Whenever she would drop her location on social media, he would show up—but she didn’t think it was a problem. She could handle it. He was just a fan. Harmless.”
“Ren…”
“Years later, after I’d left modeling, when I was roaming around Asia learning every martial art I could and trying to figure out who I was, I bumped into someone we’d both worked with, back in the day. We grabbed a drink, talking about old times, and she told me what had happened to Maya.”
Candy rolled her lips inward, but didn’t speak.
“She posted on social media that she was going out with her boyfriend—some actor she was seeing. Turns out this fan didn’t like seeing her with someone else. So he showed up to meet her. And took a baseball bat to her face.”
Candy released a soft gasp, but he wasn’t seeing her anymore. Instead he saw Maya—and the healing scars where the plastic surgeons had reconstructed her cheekbones.
“She didn’t model anymore after that. And I decided to come back to the states and see if I could put my martial arts obsession to good use. That’s why I applied to Elite Protection. And that’s why it kills me when you refuse to take Hank the Hammer seriously. You aren’t invincible, Candy. No matter how much you think you can handle on your own.”
“He’s a celebrity,” Candy argued. “He isn’t going to do anything to damage his reputation.”
“He’s a celebrity,” Ren echoed. “He isn’t used to anyone saying no to him. Or holding him accountable for his actions.”
“I’m careful. Even if he was as obsessed with me as that fan was with your friend—which he isn’t—I don’t post my exploits on social media for him to follow. How is telling you about every little encounter I have with him going to make it better? It’s not like you can do anything I can’t.”
He could be another barometer on how serious it was—since Candy wasn’t taking it seriously at all. He could be her back-up when she needed it. He could explain to Hank the Hammer in the only way the former-wrestler seemed to understand that Candy was off limits.
But she didn’t want that.
She didn’t want his help.
She didn’t want him.
Ren nodded to himself as the truth of that finally penetrated past all his stubborn optimism and hope. “You’re my friend, Candy. And that isn’t going to just go away. You’re a good friend. You’re always there for me. But it goes both ways. You can’t play at being jealous and then brush aside my feelings for you as if they’re nothing. If I’m yours, you’re mine. Understand? Is that what you want?”
Her gaze slid to the side. The love of his life, unable to meet his eyes.
Ren smiled without humor. “Yeah. I didn’t think so.” A sense of final
ity penetrated the last stubborn recesses of his heart and he scrubbed a hand across his face. “I can’t do this anymore, Candy.”
“Ren—” She started to get out of the bed, but he held up a hand to stop her.
“I’ll stay. I’ll play my part, but when we get home… I think we need some time apart.”
“We work together,” she protested.
“I’ll talk to Max. He’ll work something out with the schedule if we ask him.”
“Ren,” she whispered. “Please.”
He shook his head, not looking at her now as he reached for the light to drop them back into darkness. “I’m done, Candy.”
They were finally over.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Eight months ago…
“I can’t do this anymore.”
“Do what?” Ren looked up from the take-out bag he was unpacking. Falafel for him. Chicken schwarma for her. He’d picked Candy up from the airport and brought her straight back to his place for a late dinner.
She’d only been gone four days for a command performance at some family function, but he’d missed her every second of that time, barely resisting the urge to text her constantly. He’d felt like a piece of his life was missing when she was gone and now she frowned at him across the expanse of his counter while Wicket gazed up at him in hopes he would drop something on the floor.
“This.” Candy waved a hand between them. “Whatever we’re doing. I can’t. You’re such a romantic.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
She didn’t disagree with him. “We both know you want more than I can give. I think it’s time we stopped fooling ourselves.”
Confusion pulled his brows down. “Are you breaking up with me?”
“We aren’t together, Ren!” Exasperation lit the words and she pivoted, abruptly moving toward the door.
“Whoa, Candy, hold on.”
He rounded the counter at top speed, falafel forgotten. Wicket could eat the whole damn bag for all he cared. He caught Candy’s arm before she could bolt to the garage where she’d left her car parked while she was gone. He certainly wasn’t going to tell her that the sight of it had comforted him over the last few days, making him feel like a part of her was still here.