by Lexi Ryan
My cheeks heat all over again, but this time it’s not from embarrassment.
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“No, I think some time alone might be good for me. I can clear my head.”
He nods. “Call me if you need anything? Then tonight we can hang out if you want.”
“If you need to be with Jazzy…or if you and Olivia wanted to…”
He arches a brow, but if he’s waiting for me to finish one of those sentences, he’s out of luck. “It’s a plan, then.” He turns on his heel and leaves the room.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Emma
“I need to tell Keegan the truth.” They’re the words that were running through my head the whole time I was shopping, and they’re the first words I say when I get Zach on the phone after lunch.
The house is quiet. The baby and Olivia are napping, and there’s a note on the counter from Keegan saying he went out for a run.
Zachary’s silent on the other end of the line. I know that I’m asking a lot. In all the years I’ve known Zach, I’ve never told anyone his secret. I haven’t ever asked him if I could tell someone, either. It was an understanding. No one knows, and no one can know. It’s fine to believe you can trust the people around you, but the more people who know a secret, the less of a secret it is. And Zachary’s is career-ending huge.
“He needs to understand why what happened in Vegas happened. He needs to understand why—”
“You slept with him again, didn’t you?” I hear the smile in his voice—a cocky smirk that says he’s impressed.
“No, but I…”
“Want to?”
So, so much. “It’s not just about sex. I shouldn’t have ever pushed him away.”
“Hey now, you had reasons.”
I wander into the kitchen and see that Keegan cleaned up our mess from this morning. The counters are shining and dishes are drying in the rack. “I panicked.”
Zach sighs. “Mine isn’t the only secret you need to confide in him.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m ready.” There’s something about having distance from a trauma and a couple of amazing friends who believe your side of the story that gives you a little courage. Or that’s what I keep telling myself.
“You’re sure we can trust him?”
“I’d trust him with anything.”
“Okay then.” He sighs. “Just make sure he knows that it’s not for public consumption. The last thing we need is for the media to glom on to this when we need their focus on the healthcare bill I’m co-sponsoring next month.”
“I know. I’ll explain.” I breathe deeply, already feeling the relief of the secret lifting off my shoulders. “How’s Charlie?”
“He’s good. Really good. I think you did the right thing for both of us, Em.”
“I hope so. I know it was right for me, but it still feels terribly selfish.”
“I’m pretty sure I was the selfish one for letting you do it to begin with,” he says. “Charlie is letting me make it up to him, though.”
I burst out laughing and then bite my lip to silence myself. “I’m sure he is.”
“I love you, baby girl.”
“I love you too, pretty boy.” When I hang up the phone and turn around, I jump because I thought I was alone. Keegan’s in the living room and staring at me, his jaw hard. “What’s wrong?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. You were just on the phone with your almost-husband, telling him you love him, but here you are in my house. I’m just a little lost. If you love him so much and if he’s so damn perfect, why didn’t you marry him? Why not confess that you got drunk and fucked an idiot from your past and then find a way to work it out? Why come back to me and then get on the phone with him and tell him you love him?”
I smile, so damn relieved that I finally get to tell him the truth. “It’s okay. He’s my best friend. I do love him.”
“And you almost married him, Emma. I think you need to figure out exactly what it is you want. From him, from me…” He waves a hand, indicating the house. “From staying here. I keep trying to figure it out, but I can’t read your mind.”
“You need to let me explain.”
“Explain? Every time I ask you questions, you evade.” He steps toward me then stops, as if thinking better of it. He sinks into the chair and turns up his palms. “Go ahead. Explain. I’m all ears.”
“Zachary and I love each other because we’re best friends, but our marriage wasn’t about sex. He needed a wife, not someone to warm his bed.”
“Bullshit,” he spits through clenched teeth. “I know you don’t think much of yourself, but Emma, when you look in the mirror you don’t see what men see when they look at you. I don’t know what he told you or how he convinced you that your marriage was purely platonic, but I swear to you no heterosexual male is going to marry you and not want you in his bed.”
I hold his gaze for a long beat.
He narrows his eyes, and I watch as the understanding dawns there. “He’s not…” I nod. “Holy shit,” he mutters, leaning back and rubbing his forehead. “Jesus.” He bows his head and mutters a curse. “Then why were you doing it?”
“He needed a wife if he wants to stay in office, if he wants a chance at the presidency. His constituency…hell, this whole country.” I wait a beat, hoping he can understand what even Becky never did. “He needed me.”
“I get what was in it for him. Why were you doing it?”
How many times did Zachary ask me that question? “I didn’t have any reason not to.” Even though it’s true, it’s a half-assed answer. The full truth is raw to the point of embarrassing.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Keegan says. He pushes out of his chair and stalks toward me, raking his gaze over me in my new dress. “What? You were going to have affairs the rest of your life?”
I shift under his scrutiny, simultaneously hating the judgment in his tone and loving the way he drinks me in with his eyes. “I had no intention of having affairs.”
“Right. You’re twenty-three years old and were going to happily be celibate the rest of your life?”
This is it. The part where I tell my secret. My shame. But the words won’t come. I needed a minute to prepare. To figure out how to begin. We got here too fast and I’m not ready. “I didn’t care about that.”
“Emma…” He drags a hand through his hair. “What the fuck did you want from a marriage to a man who would never love you the way you deserve to be loved?”
“I didn’t want to be alone anymore.” The words come out sharper than I intended, as if they’re pieced together with the shards of my broken heart. My eyes fill with tears without warning. I have to look away. “Maybe Zachary couldn’t give me everything a husband should give his wife, but he could give me friendship, companionship, and the family I’ve never had. It wasn’t perfect, but it seemed like my best choice.”
When I blink away my tears and turn back to Keegan, he’s staring at me like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle. It’s not that I thought he’d pull me into his arms at this news, but I thought he’d be relieved. Instead, he seems more frustrated with me than he did when he thought I’d cheated on my fiancé. Maybe I wanted him to hear this much and piece the rest of the truth together—Harry and me five years ago, the daisies in the trash can, and the wine stain on the carpet—but he didn’t, and I can only blame myself.
He draws in a ragged breath. “I’m going to take a shower. If you still want to go to The End Zone tonight, we’ll leave in an hour.” He turns on his heel and walks away.
“Keegan?”
He stops, his hand on the doorframe to his bedroom.
“You can’t tell anyone about Zachary. His career…”
His shoulders stiffen but he doesn’t look at me. “I promise your secret is safe,” he says softly. Then he steps into the bedroom and closes the door behind him.
* * *
Keegan
We drive to the bar in tense s
ilence. In addition to my Gators cap and a pair of oversized sunglasses, she’s wearing a new dress she must have picked up at the store today. Her bare thigh is so close I could reach out and touch the tender skin there. I could easily slide my hand under the soft cotton and remind her exactly what she would have been giving up if she’d gone through with her ridiculous marriage of convenience. The thought is so damn tempting, and I’m half hard just remembering the sounds she made in the elevator in Vegas, remembering the way she felt on my fingers when I touched her the next morning.
By the time I park behind The End Zone, I’m gripping the steering wheel so hard, my knuckles are white.
“Why are you doing this?” she asks when I park the car.
“What?”
She studies me, her big blue eyes searching my face. “Why are you bringing me here tonight when you don’t want to be with me?”
For the last hour, my mind has been flooded with the implications of what Emma told me about her marriage. On the one hand, it seems exactly like something she would do—enter a passionless marriage for the sake of someone else’s goals and aspirations. But on the other hand, it fucking burns. I was eighteen and ready to push my father out of my life forever if it meant keeping her. Maybe we were too young for something so drastic, but I thought we were good together. More than that. I thought what we had was priceless. Was I not enough for her? And her senator and the half-marriage he was offering was?
I turn off the car and pull the keys from the ignition. I should probably ask her those questions, but I’m not sure I want to hear her answers. “I’m sorry if I’m being quiet. I want you here. It’s just a lot to process.” She has her hands folded in her lap, and I take one. “Come on. I want to show you my bar.”
I lead Emma around the block to the front entrance. It’s a quiet night at The End Zone. Wednesdays are never hopping anyway, but since half the town’s population clears out after the close of spring semester, it’s slowed down even more. Whereas on a typical Friday or Saturday during the semester, Bailey would have three or four waitstaff working the floor while she busted her ass behind the bar, tonight it’s only her and one other tending to a room that’s filled mostly with our friends.
“Hey, bossman!” Bailey calls from behind the counter. “We’ve been waiting for you!”
I grin when I realize Arrow, Mia, Chris, and Grace are here and sitting at the bar. After the day I’ve had, it’s a relief to walk into my bar and be surrounded by my favorite people. It’s even better knowing that this weekend, everyone will be together again, even if it’s temporary.
“You didn’t tell me your friends would be here.” Emma’s voice is small and quiet, but there’s no accusation in the words, only nerves.
“I didn’t think about it, honestly, but I should have guessed they’d come here.” Is she worried they won’t forgive her for lying about her identity in Vegas? “They’ll understand,” I say, though it’s kind of a ridiculous thing to promise when I have more information than they ever will, and I don’t understand. Not really. Not why she didn’t tell me she was getting married or why she ran from her wedding. Every answer she’s given me has been cryptic at best.
Everyone’s seated at the bar, and when Emma and I approach, they all turn to greet us and their eyes land on her. I have no doubt that our whole group now knows that Vegas Emily is one and the same as runaway bride Emma Rothschild. I haven’t spoken to everyone, but word travels fast.
Mia is the first to speak, and she slides off her barstool and opens her arms for Emma. “Hi, Em! Good to see you again!”
Emma gapes at her, but then shakes her head and accepts the hug, squeezing Mia back. “I’m sorry,” I hear her whisper.
Arrow looks between us before settling his gaze on me. “If Mia likes her, I do too,” he says so only I can hear.
When Mia releases her, Emma scans the faces of the rest of my friends, all pointed in her direction. “I’m sorry I lied about who I was.” I love that she comes right out with it instead of skirting around the elephant in the room. “You all were very kind to me, and I should have trusted you with my identity. It was nice to have a weekend with amazing people without the baggage of being who I am, but you deserved better than that from me.”
Grace perks up and seems to give Emma more consideration than she has before. “Consider yourself forgiven. We all have reasons for hiding who we are from time to time.”
Chris turns to her and presses a kiss to her forehead, making me pretty sure Grace isn’t just talking about Emma.
“Who’s drinking?” Bailey asks from behind the bar.
Everyone raises their hands in unison. I’m not interested in getting shitfaced tonight, but after this week, a beer with my best friends in the world sounds pretty damn good.
Bailey rattles off the list of Indiana craft beers on tap—a constantly changing assortment I’m proud of—and everyone calls out their order. Grace and Mia opt for the sweet red wine that Bailey keeps behind her counter but doesn’t put on the menu.
Emma stays quiet.
“Martini?” I ask with an arched brow.
She laughs. “No, I’ve made that mistake once already this month. I’m not due again until next decade.” She turns to Bailey. “Do you have any more of that wine?”
Bailey hesitates and looks at me. For her, sharing her sweet red wine is a badge of friendship she’s not ready to offer Emma. As much as I’d like her to welcome Emma into our little group, I can’t force that, so I wait, letting her make the decision.
“Sure,” Bailey says finally, pouring Emma her glass. “But it’s cheap as hell and comes in a screwcap bottle.”
“Sounds perfect,” Emma says, and swallows her first sip.
The TV plays overhead, and Bailey flips through the channels, looking for something more interesting than Jeopardy. She stops on one of those gossip entertainment shows and returns to her work behind the counter before I can signal her to change it again.
The lady on the screen rattles off about some pop star who’s due to have twins in the next month, and then about a billion-dollar movie franchise that’s falling apart, and I listen with one ear until I hear her segue into a discussion of the Rothschild-Dellaconte wedding.
I can’t help it. My eyes flick to the screen, and I feel Emma go still beside me.
“The senator released a statement the day after the would-be wedding saying he hoped the press would give Emma privacy until she sorted out this personal matter,” the woman on the screen says, “but the bride released her own statement yesterday in which she says, ‘I let the pressure of such a public wedding get to me, and my decision to cancel was about the magnitude and spectacle of the wedding, not my commitment to Zachary. I’m still very much in love with him and grateful to have his patience until we can reschedule our vows.’” The woman smiles at the camera. “We here at Hollywood Tonight wish Emma and Zachary the very best.”
Reschedule? When I turn to Emma, she’s staring down into her untouched wine. Everyone else is staring at her too.
It shouldn’t fucking matter. It. Shouldn’t. Matter.
I slide off my chair and push through the swinging doors into the kitchen. I kick the bucket by the sink, and soapy water rushes out of it. I lean my forehead against the stainless-steel door of a walk-in freezer while I try to get a handle on my temper, because right now I want to break something. They’re postponing the wedding? She’s going through with her fake marriage?
“Keegan?” Emma says behind me, and I stiffen at the sound of her voice.
Water sloshes under her feet as she comes toward me, but I don’t turn.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re postponing it? You’re still planning to marry him? To go through with it?”
She presses the palm of her hand against my back, and the innocent contact makes me want so much more I have to squeeze my eyes shut. “That was the statement my PR people came up with. We’ll postpone it indefinitely before quietly splitting. It�
�s less interesting to the press than a runaway bride story, and we need to keep this low profile. For Zachary’s sake.”
My racing heart slows, and I force myself to take a full breath.
Her hand trails down my back and then is gone. “Please look at me.”
I spin around and grab her by the waist, switching our positions so her back is against the freezer. Her hat flies off and I pull off her sunglasses. Her eyes are wide with shock and her pink lips part. “I’m looking, Emma. God help me, I can’t stop looking.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Emma
The stainless steel of the freezer door is cool against my back, a stark contrast to Keegan’s heat leaning into me.
“I’m looking at you,” he whispers, his gaze locked on my mouth. I lift my hand to his face and skim my thumb along the rough stubble of his jaw, and he swallows hard. “And do you know what I see? I see the woman who broke my heart when I was eighteen.” He steps closer and bows his head, leaning his forehead against mine. “I see the woman who tore me apart because she planned to marry another man. When I look at you, I see the woman who walked into my bar in a soaking-wet wedding dress and made me feel whole again. I see the reason I’ve barely slept the last three nights.” His voice is low and husky. “I see someone I want so much it scares me.”
My heart is pounding so hard I’m surprised my body isn’t vibrating with it. Emboldened by his words and the heat in his eyes, I graze my thumb across his lips, and he catches it and pulls it into his mouth, making my breath catch as he sucks and then releases.
His lips brush over mine lightly, once, twice, only lingering to suck on my bottom lip when I slide a hand into his hair. I’m trembling with a need I can barely contain. The man I’ve spent the last week dreaming about is right here against me.
He steps back, and I watch him intently. I don’t know what this is or where it’s going. Am I allowed to touch him? Does he want to touch me?