by Lexi Ryan
He flinches, face contorting, and the evidence of the pain I’m causing tears me in two. “Do you want a life with him?”
L.A., fancy cars, fancier homes, leaving everything I love here and tearing Cami away from her family? Destroying my relationship with my parents forever? Regardless of my feelings for Marston, the answer is obvious. “I don’t.”
“Do you want a life with me?”
“Julian . . .” His name comes out in a raspy croak. “I don’t know.”
Julian stumbles back as if I’ve hit him. “Figure that out. Sooner rather than later would be nice. My parents are planning to fly in for the wedding.” He opens my office door and slams it behind him as he walks away.
I lean back against the wall and press my palms to my eyes, but my tears leak out anyway.
Divorce paperwork isn’t that complicated for a no-fault case like ours, but I stare down at the papers I printed off this morning and can’t make myself pick up a pen.
Cami must’ve sensed my mood when she got off the bus, because she finished her homework quickly and asked if she could go hang out in the kitchen. I agreed, not wanting to poison her good mood with my brooding one.
It’s good she’s not here. It gives me a chance to get this done. Then again, I wish she were here and I had an excuse to avoid it.
“When I find myself hesitating to make the simple decision, there’s usually a reason,” Savvy says from the doorway.
Instead of looking up and acknowledging her, I fold my arms on the desk and drop my head. “It’s called self-sabotage,” I mutter.
I hear the soft scuff of her sneakered steps as she walks into my office, then a gentle hand is combing through my hair. “You’re still trying to process that Julian lied?” she asks. I was able to give her the quickest debrief over coffee after her morning spin class, but she’s been busy with clients all day, so I haven’t seen her since Julian stormed out of here midmorning.
I lift my head and draw in a shaky breath. “He showed up this morning and told me he wants me to quit my job and work for him.”
“He did what now?” She folds her arms and rocks back on her heels, her oh, no you didn’t! stance.
“Am I crazy?”
Savvy bites her bottom lip and wrinkles her brow. “Can you be more specific?”
I gape at my friend. “Thanks, bitch.”
Savvy grabs the chair on the opposite side of my desk, drags it next to mine, and sits down. “You’re not crazy for wanting The Orchid for yourself. You run this business in a way you should be proud of. Never be ashamed of wanting more control, given all the work you do here.”
“But . . .?” I swallow. As someone who grew up under constant criticism, I usually shield myself from it these days, but right now I need someone with some perspective to give it to me.
“You know I was never in favor of you marrying Julian just so you could get your trust.”
“That wasn’t the only—”
She holds up a hand. “I know. He’s your friend, you make a good team, you don’t want to be alone forever, and the sex is all right. I get it. There are days I’m so sick of going home to an empty house that I’m ready to take Smithy up on one of his random proposals.”
An unexpected laugh bursts out of me. God, Smithy does love to proposition Savvy, but the idea of my hotheaded go-getter best friend with my stoner cousin is so absurd.
“I know you don’t want to lose The Orchid, but I think the question you need to ask yourself is this: if Mrs. Wright sold this place to someone else tomorrow, and there was no chance of you buying it—trust or no trust—would you still want to marry Julian?”
I drop my gaze to my hands. When laid out so succinctly, it seems like it should be an easy decision.
She scoots the stack of divorce paperwork toward me. “Figure out that part first. Then tackle this question.”
I throw myself back in my chair and whimper dramatically. “When did my simple life get so messy?”
She cracks a smile. “When you dared to let in the good stuff. Messy is okay. There’s nothing here that can’t be fixed.”
I think of Julian’s face when he left my office, and I’m not so sure that’s true.
Standing, Savvy winks at me before returning the chair to its spot on the other side of the office and heading out. “Oh,” she says, hand on the doorjamb. “Marston’s in the kitchen baking with your daughter. Thought you’d want to know.”
Chapter Fourteen
Marston
Cami slides the tray of puff pastry into the oven and closes the door. “Twenty minutes, and the dough should be perfectly flaky. Then we’ll take them out and dust them with powdered sugar.”
“Impressive,” I say, meaning it.
She waves me off. “I love to bake, but someday I’ll make Abbi teach me the really complicated stuff.”
Clearly, this kid got nothing of her father’s asshole genetics. She’s fun and sweet and pretty knowledgeable in the kitchen. When I look at her, I can’t help but think about Brinley’s years as a single mom. She has Julian around to help now, but how did she do it before? She managed to get through college and build a career while raising an awesome kid. Was Roman around? Did they try to make it work?
“Hey, Mom,” Cami calls right before I hear the sound of Brinley’s heels on the kitchen tile. “I’m teaching Marston how to make lemon poppyseed pinwheels.”
After our encounter in the hall yesterday, I decided I needed to give Brinley space, and I’ve avoided her side of the building so much today that this is the first time I’ve set eyes on her. She’s a knockout in her fitted black dress with a purple lightweight sweater, but it’s the sight of her shoes that makes my mouth go dry. One skinny strap across her toes and another around her ankle. I’d recognize the shoes I bought her in Vegas anywhere.
She might not remember half the night, but I’ll never forget it—the way she looked after the night was over, after we’d said our vows and celebrated too hard, and finally made it back to my suite. She slid out of her black dress and stood before me in nothing but the lacy bra and panties I’d bought her and those hot-as-fuck shoes.
The bra tied at the front with the most delicate silver ribbon. I kept my hands on her ass as I kissed my way across her collarbone and down between her breasts. I can still remember her quiet little whimper and the way she swayed toward me as I untied it with my teeth. After the bra fell away, I made my way to the little ties on each of her hips until her panties fell to the floor.
“Are you okay, Marston?” Brinley asks, pulling my attention off her shoes. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
I shake away the memory. Was Vegas just a fluke? Will this all end with her filing for divorce and spending her life with Julian? I try to ignore the ache in my gut at the possibility. “I was just noticing your shoes.”
Brinley’s eyes go wide, and red colors her cheeks as she looks down at her feet.
“Those shoes are Mom’s favorite,” Cami says. “She loves designer shoes but can’t afford them anymore.”
Abbi clears her throat from the other side of the kitchen. “Cami, would you come to the storeroom and help me put away the new order?”
Cami looks to her mom. “Would you mind pulling the pinwheels from the oven when the timer goes off?”
“Sure, sweetie. That’s no problem.”
Brinley and I watch Abbi and Cami go before I turn back to her. “Your daughter’s a very talented baker.”
Brinley smiles. “She loves it. I think she’d be in here all the time if I let her.”
My gaze flicks down to her shoes again. “She said you can’t afford designer shoes.”
She releases a stiff laugh. “I mean, can anyone, really?”
I prop my hands on the stretch of stainless-steel counter behind me and study her, unwilling to let her evade the subject so easily this time. “When we were in Vegas, I thought maybe your parents had squandered their fortune somehow, but that’s not it, is it?”
“It’s not
their job to provide for me. I’m an adult now.”
“They could, though. One would think that with the kind of money they have, they’d insist on making sure their only living daughter and only grandchild had everything they needed and more.”
Sighing, she leans against the counter opposite me and crosses her feet at the ankles. “I’m not going to give you my rich-bitch sob story if that’s what you’re looking for. I like nice things, but I can manage without them too.”
“I doubt it’s a sob story,” I say softly. “But I want to hear it either way.”
She exhales heavily. “They kept tabs on me all through college. I’m talking strict curfews, designated study times—Dad even went so far as to schedule my classes.” She shakes her head. “I figured it was a small price to pay. I was a single mom, so they weren’t just covering for my apartment and tuition. They paid for Cami’s daycare and my car, my insurance, my spending money. Everything. Most single moms I went to school with were trying to juggle full-time jobs, school, and mothering, and still taking the deep dive into student loan debt. I didn’t like feeling as if my parents were holding the reins to my life, but it seemed like a small price to pay, considering all they were doing for me.”
“All that was barely a drop in the bucket for them,” I remind her.
“That’s not the way I was raised to think about it. Money has value, even when you have a lot of it. I did appreciate it. I still do. I’m grateful I was able to simultaneously get an education and prioritize my time with Cami.” She grips the counter, her knuckles turning white. “When we were in Vegas, I told you that I wouldn’t work for Knox Bourbon, but I didn’t exactly get there right away. When I moved home after graduation, Dad gave me a position with the company. It was a joke. He had one of his guys following me around all the time, reporting every move I made to him. If I took a long lunch break, Dad knew. If I stayed late at work, Dad knew. And God forbid I tried something different in the company, like tweak our branding or bring in a new product line. I couldn’t stand it, so one day I said enough and quit.”
I see the angst from that decision on her face, the weight of it. I know her father well enough to know there were consequences before I ask, “What did he do?”
“The same thing he would’ve done when I was a child,” she says with a bitter smile. “He took away my privileges. The car I’d been driving since high school? It was in his name, and he took it back. The house I lived in and all the furniture in it? In his name. The savings account I pulled from when money was tight? All of it was in his name. As much as I’d told myself that I didn’t take any of it for granted, I’d always thought of it as mine. But it wasn’t.”
“And the asshole just took it all away.” Of course he did. That’s Abraham Knox’s MO. Own everything, and you can control everything. In her darker moments, Brinley used to joke that he was pissed his money couldn’t make cancer answer to him.
She shakes her head. “I thought I’d be fine on my own. Everyone else buys their own cars and pays their own rent. Then Dad started sending me monthly bills for the education and accommodations he’d paid for. He said that since he’d paid for it with the understanding that I’d be working at his company, I had to pay him back.”
I feel my hands ball into fists. “He really hasn’t changed.”
She scoffs. “Not at all. But he didn’t think I’d pay it. He thought I’d bend to his will and go back to how things were—me right under his thumb where he wanted me. But I was too proud and wanted to prove I didn’t need him. I made that payment every month, with interest, even while it meant my other debts piled up. By the time I got my first paycheck at The Orchid, I was already buried by credit card debt. I needed a car to get Cami to school and myself to work, and I needed groceries and a roof over my head, some basic furniture for the one-bedroom apartment I was renting . . .” She shakes her head, eyes out of focus as she looks at the floor. “He took away everything, and I thought I could start over, but it was so much harder than I’d ever imagined.”
“But you did it,” I say, and I’m so fucking proud of her. She always wanted to get out from under his thumb, dreamed of it the way other people dream of the kind of fancy possessions she had when he ruled her life.
“I didn’t do a very good job with it. The first car I bought in my own name was repossessed, because once I realized I didn’t stand a chance of making the payments, I had no idea what to do. Then I missed enough credit card payments and incurred enough late fees that I wanted to go back and shake twenty-two-year-old me. I’m better with money now. I know where to scrimp and save, but the consequences of those early days still follow me.”
I stare at her for a long time, thinking through everything I know about her relationship with Julian and how quickly things changed between them after Vegas. “Brinley . . .” Sighing, I step forward, then tuck my hands in my pockets. Having her this close makes touching her far too tempting. “You know how things have changed for me. I could take care of you, and any of these lingering financial worries. With a combination of hard work and great luck, I’ve managed—”
“I don’t want your money.” She steps around me and walks to the oven, checking on the pastries inside while putting distance between us.
“Is that part of the reason why you agreed to marry him? For the stability?” I need her to say yes. I need this to be about what Julian can provide for her and Cami, but she stiffens, and when she spins on me, her eyes are blazing.
“No. I don’t want Julian’s money. Jesus, Marston, what do you think of me?”
“I didn’t mean it as an insult. You’ve struggled so much, and I could see the appeal of letting him—”
“Well, you’re wrong. That’s not the life I want.”
I swallow hard. I want to pull her into my arms so badly that my hands are shaking. “So it’s really love, then? You spent one night with me and then came back here to kick-start your life with him? What the fuck, Brinley? How’s that supposed to make me feel?”
She stares at me, that angry spark in her eyes flaring brighter. “How is this about you?”
“Can you really not remember, or is that just some bullshit you’re shoveling because you don’t want to be held accountable for the decisions you made that night?”
Her whole face hardens, and when she opens her mouth, I brace myself for a verbal lashing. I want it. Anything that will help me understand.
Instead, she snaps her mouth shut and walks away.
Brinley
“You okay, Mommy?” Cami asks as we walk into the condo.
I toss my keys on the foyer table and hang my purse from the hook. “Yeah, baby. Why?”
“You were quiet the whole way home.” She frowns. “Was it okay that I showed Marston how to make lemon poppyseed pinwheels?”
The knot of worry in my chest loosens as I take in her worried green eyes. I smooth back her hair. “That was just fine. I’m sorry I’m being so quiet. I have a lot on my mind.”
“About the wedding?” she asks quietly.
I swallow. One of my biggest concerns with this whole marriage is how it will affect Cami. I wouldn’t have considered it if she and Julian didn’t have a great rapport or if I thought our marriage would negatively impact her life at all. Before I agreed to Julian’s proposal, I sat down with Cami, and we talked about what it would mean for us. I needed her to be on board too, or I couldn’t do it. She was excited about the prospect of having a stepdad, and that seemed like enough. But still, Julian and I always said that if things didn’t click for us as a married couple, we’d get divorced after Cami left for college, and I can’t deny that a divorce would affect her—especially after living with him for that long. “A little,” I admit. My phone buzzes in my purse, but I ignore it. “Do you ever think about it?”
She nods. “I think it’ll be good for you not to be alone all the time.”
My heart. “Honey, you don’t need to worry about me.”
“I know. You’re fierce a
nd you can handle anything,” she says, parroting the words I’ve told her so many times when she’s struggled. “But I thought Julian might make it so you don’t have to work so hard.”
I pull her into a hug and stoop to bury my face in her dark hair. “I kind of love working hard,” I whisper. “It feels good to know I can do it on my own.”
Not one for long snuggles these days, she withdraws from my arms and meets my eyes. “Whatever you decide, Mama, we’re gonna be just fine. We always have been.”
I nod and swallow hard, hoping those tears I feel rising can be pushed back down. “You’re a pretty cool kid, you know that?”
She grins. “I know.” Just like that, she turns and runs into the living room, the conversation over.
I grab my phone and wander toward the kitchen as I unlock it to read the text I missed.
Marston: I’m sorry. I fucked up that conversation. For the record, I hate that you can’t remember.
There’s a video attached to the message, and I glance toward the living room before tapping play. Cami has her sketchbook in her lap and is already pulling up her favorite YouTube channel.
The video is low resolution, probably condensed before it was sent, but I can make out Marston and me at the front of a softly lit chapel. Marston’s holding my hands, and a tall man in a dark suit stands before us.
I gasp, realizing what I’m seeing. This is our wedding. I’m simultaneously desperate to watch and scared that seeing it will confuse me even more.
Marston looks to whoever’s holding the phone. “Ready?” he asks.
“We’re rolling,” the woman behind the camera says. “You both look great.”
“Marston,” the officiant says, “would you like to start with your vows?”
“Let me go first?” I ask, my voice nearly squeaking. “I don’t want to forget what I planned.”
I squint at the pixelated video, trying to determine how drunk I am. The excitement in my voice might be tipsiness, but I imagined myself stumbling down the aisle with Marston, and I don’t sound drunk. Whatever made me decide to say these vows and put on his ring, I can’t blame it all on the alcohol, which doesn’t make any sense to me. What was I thinking? How did I ever think we could work?