What Dexter did know was at some point, he’d taken Jules’s hand, and was probably gripping it past the point of comfort. She didn’t say anything, only slid her free hand around his biceps, standing close.
Like a real wife would to offer support to her husband.
“Seems more congratulations are in order,” Quent said, addressing Dexter.
“More?” Dexter said, concentrating harder on Jules’s hand.
“The good news.” He turned his attention to Jules. “You’re pregnant.”
“What?” Jules gasped.
“What?” Dexter barked, then looked at his mother. “I told you, I told everyone that wasn’t why.” When he felt Jules tug his arm, he explained. “You ran out of here earlier, all pale and nauseous, so naturally they jumped to the hastiest conclusion—like always.”
“But…” Jules shook her head, still bewildered. “You weren’t here then,” she said to Quent. “Who told you?”
Quent didn’t say a word, but his eyes slid to Roxy.
Oh, that’s just great!
“Rox,” Jules said like a disappointed big sister.
Roxy shrugged. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say anything.”
“You’ve never been able to keep a secret,” Dexter said impatiently. “Even one that isn’t true.”
“Sorry.”
Despite how he’d told Roxy straight-up that Jules wasn’t pregnant, his gossipy sister was already spreading the rumor like it was front-page news. And to the one person who definitely couldn’t discover their marriage was indeed a sham.
Jules (and probably he) could be in a lot of trouble.
If he’d thought for a second that he could tell his family the truth this weekend, he knew now there was no way he’d chance it.
“Anyway,” Roxy said. “What is it?”
Jules sighed. “Neither, Rox. There’s no baby. We just told you—”
“No.” She giggled. “What’s the wedding gift you’re signing for?”
“My grandmother’s cottage in Mount Gretna. But it’s not a wedding pres—”
“The one on the lake?” Vince cut in.
Cool. The Elliott mob again. Super. For a second, Dexter wondered if he should repeat—again—that there was no bouncing baby on the way. Hopefully the topic would simply die off.
“She left it to me in her will.”
“Jules was about to sign the papers.” He squeezed her hand. “Quent was kind enough to personally deliver them so we can get it taken care of. The papers, Quentin?” Dexter prompted. No reason to duck inside, not while the gang was gathered.
Quent drew a few folded documents, smoothed them out, then handed a pen to Jules. She signed the four spots with signature flags and passed the pen to Dexter. If he had time to read through the whole thing, he would have, but right now, he wanted Quent the hell away from him, his family, and Roxy.
He signed the last page, then handed everything back.
“Thank you very much.” Quent slid the pen into his pocket. “I’ll bring the copies over.”
“Fax them to my office,” Dexter said.
Quent bowed his head. “You’ll get them next week.”
Dexter gave him a look he knew Quent would correctly interpret, and finally, without another word, the guy left.
“Thank you,” Jules whispered under her breath.
He was about to say, No, thank you for holding my hand and helping me not come unglued. But when he looked at her, she had so much gratitude in her eyes that he was taken aback. Now, he wanted to say, You’re welcome. Then he wanted to…
Well, he wished they were in that Vegas limo, Jules on his lap, kissing the hell out of him.
“I totally remember your grandma’s lake house,” Roxy said. “It’s so retro cool.”
“I know, I love it,” Jules said. “It’s falling apart a bit, and I planned on doing a little renovating next year, but I think I can do it sooner now.” Without her having to even glance at him, Dexter knew she meant that she could do it because of the bet money. Good, at least something positive would come of their mess. “I’m turning the back of the house into an art studio.”
“For painting?”
It took a moment, but Jules finally nodded in acknowledgment. Seemed no one besides him noticed the split-second expression of fear that had crossed her face. Why did the thought of painting cause that? A moment later, however, she and smiled, her face illuminating so much that Dexter couldn’t look away.
“Are you fixing it up to live there?”
Jules nodded again, and her expression slipped into that appealing dream state. It was almost contagious.
Dexter was halfway caught up in that look, until he realized something…
If his family knew Jules intended to live at the lake house, wouldn’t they assume Dexter would live there, too?
It was impossible. He was pitching to the final investors on Friday, the meeting that for weeks he’d been preparing for…his big chance at breaking out on his own. He didn’t have time to worry about a house or a wife.
They hadn’t lasted one day and their plan was already unraveling.
Chapter Six
“Excuse us,” Dexter said, taking Jules by the hand. “Baby and I need alone time.”
It didn’t take a book on “how to read Dexter Elliott’s sarcasm” for Jules to interpret his tone. A little too cheerful with just a liiiittle too much edge. Before she could reply, he was dragging her into the house.
“I’m sorry,” she said as she was being towed. “I tried to get here before Quent so I could explain.”
“I don’t care about that. I told you I’d sign anything.”
“Oh, Dexter!” sweet Mrs. Elliott called. “Juliet!”
Dexter blew out a loud exhale, muttered under his breath, then turned around. “Yes, Mom?”
“So much for alone time,” Jules whispered, then elbowed him in the ribs. “And be nice to your mother. Considering everything, she’s being a trooper.”
“Hi, you two.” Mrs. Elliott smiled and straightened her enormous sun hat. “Before you disappear, I’ve made up your bedroom. Your father and I aren’t so over the hill that I don’t remember what it’s like to be newlyweds, those early stages of passionate love.”
“Mom…” Dexter cleared his throat and looked at the floor. Was Mr. Man-Whore blushing?
“I made space in the closet and the dresser. You’re staying here with us all weekend, aren’t you? For the wedding? Your bags are upstairs.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Elliott, but—”
“Eileen,” she corrected. “We’re family.”
Jules swallowed and felt on the brink of a hiccup attack. “Eileen, yes. It’s sweet of you to offer, but I, um, we’ll be staying at Grams’s house—my house, um, ours. At the lake.”
“Oh?” Eileen’s happy expression crumpled like a wadded piece of paper. “So far away?”
“Mom, it’s a fifteen-minute drive.”
“What about the party? Cocktails at five. Surely it’ll be easier to stay here tonight so you don’t have to drive back and forth. No discussion—I insist. See, the caterers are already setting up. We have them all weekend. You know how jam-packed the next few days are.” She touched Dexter’s hand. “Don’t upset your mother, and stay here tonight without a fuss.”
“Well…” Dexter looked at Jules. “My sweetie was just telling me to be extra nice to you this weekend, so of course we’ll stay.”
Jules stiffened but knew she couldn’t renege now. The giant monster, trapping her like this.
“Juliet, fresh towels are in the en suite, and call Mr. Decker through the intercom if you need anything ironed.”
All Jules could do was nod, openmouthed.
“See you outside in an hour,” Eileen added, happily sashaying toward the kitchen.
“Close your mouth, dear.” Dexter put a finger under Jules’s chin and pressed it up.
She knocked his hand away, but a masochist side of her wanted to giggle a
t how their web of lies kept expanding. “What’s your next bright idea? And who’s Mr. Decker?”
“The butler, and keep it down—your voice goes through walls like a wrecking ball.”
“This is me keeping it down.”
He took her hand and gave a tug. She had no choice but to follow him up a switchback staircase, past the second-floor landing, and to the third floor. It was quite a hike. “Inside,” he said, pushing open a door at the end of the hall.
“Whoa, looks like Sports Authority threw up in here,” Jules said, scanning the sports memorabilia filling the room. “The Phillies, the Eagles and the 76ers I recognize.” She stopped in front of a pendent. “But I’ve never heard of the Souls.” She smiled over her shoulder at him. “If they’re a professional team of athletic palm readers, I approve.”
“Arena football, and they’re pretty good.” He pulled at the knot of his tie. “At least they were when I was in high school.”
“You’re not into sports anymore?”
“Don’t have time to follow it all like I used to. I catch a few games with my brothers when I can, but it’s been a while.”
“You should make time for things like that. Enjoy life instead of spending it on a Bluetooth.”
“Your opinion is noted, wifey dear.” He slid off his tie and unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt.
Jules stepped back—this felt oddly familiar: Dexter by a bed, removing his clothes… “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like? It’s my bedroom.”
“Dexter.” She exhaled patiently. “We might be stuck in here tonight, but that doesn’t mean anything goes like in Vegas.”
“Anything goes?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Are you starting to remember last night?”
“Not at all,” she shot back. And huh, her pulse didn’t even stutter. Maybe she could lie without giving it away, after all. “I’m just saying, we have to have rules.”
“I don’t want to get into that now. What I really need is a shower.”
Jules allowed herself to feel the grime of two days, and heartily agreed. “Me, too.”
“Shall we?” He nodded at a door.
“Don’t even, player. Hands off.”
He snickered boyishly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Apart from the obvious string of messes, you’ve had me on the brink of laughing all day. You’re easy to hang with, and you’re a cool girl—woman, er, you know what I mean.”
Without warning, Jules’s heart fluttered, and her insides went kind of soft and gooey.
Gooey for Dexter? What the what?
“Okay, fine,” he said. “I’ll give you our bathroom and grab a shower down the hall.” He took off his jacket, draped it over the back of a chair, then began unbuttoning his shirt until Jules saw his collarbones, chest hair, the lines of a flat stomach…
Finally, her heart rate took off.
“Then we’ll meet back here and come up with our story,” he added. “Okay?”
Jules swallowed and looked away, grabbing her bag. “’Kay.” She fled into the bathroom, shut the door, locked it, then sat on the edge of the tub, trying to clear her mind. But every time she blinked, she saw Dexter taking off his tie, his coat, his shirt.
After she banished that vision, her thoughts took over… How sweet he was to his mother, the enviably close relationship he had with his siblings. Mostly though, Jules thought about how Dexter had reached for her hand when Quent had shown up. He’d squeezed it hard, and she hadn’t even minded. Something about Quent being there had upset Dexter, and he’d gone to her for emotional—though silent—support.
Making her go gooey all over again.
The hot shower felt amazing, and Jules took extra time to scrub every inch of her body clean. With her damp hair in a towel, she listened at the door to see if Dexter was back. Not a sound, so she entered the empty bedroom.
It really was a shame he wasn’t into sports anymore. Why would he seemingly give up so easily something that he loved?
None of Jules’s business, though. If she really were his wife, then maybe she’d worry, or do something to help fill that youthful void.
She pulled out the dress she was wearing tonight and hung it on the back of the closet door. It probably could use a steam from Mr. Decker, but the crushed cotton and velvet piping was supposed to look wrinkled. She flipped her hair out of the towel and was about to comb it out when the door swung open and Dexter’s bare chest strode in.
Instead of shrieking like she wanted, she turned her back and made sure her towel was secure around her body. “Ever heard of knocking?”
“How would that look? We’re married.”
“I know.” Slowly she turned around and tried very hard to not notice that he wore nothing but a towel around his waist. “I was just surprised.”
She felt his eyes bore into the place where her towel was knotted, and then places where there was no towel. It made her feel tingly, and he wasn’t even touching her.
Okay, fine, she was attracted to him. And unless she was reading him all wrong, he was attracted to her. So what? Even if she did have the occasional gooing-of-the-heart that had nothing to do with his looks, there was absolutely no way they could have a legit relationship—he was a man-whore and a workaholic, while she vowed to live free from emotional entanglements that came with love.
“Anyway,” Dexter said, turning his eyes away. “While I was in the shower, I was thinking about what our story might be.”
Jules certainly did not feel tingly again at the idea of Dexter thinking about her while in the shower. “Cool.”
“Thus far, the only things people know are that we got together in November and had a few dates.”
“Did you consider why we didn’t tell anyone back then?” Jules asked, turning to the mirror to comb her hair before it dried completely. “Or is it common for you to date women and not talk about it? Oh, sorry—non-date.” She glanced at his reflection to find him looking down and smiling.
“Correct, since I don’t date, not with girlfriends and whatnot, no one asks who I’m seeing. I suppose we can go with that—since they didn’t ask, I didn’t tell.”
“It’ll never fly,” Jules said. “You have a sister and mother who are totally into love and who’s dating who. There’s no way they haven’t asked you about it in the last six months.”
“You’re right.” He shrugged. “Though I don’t pay attention to that.”
“Too many women to count?”
He sat on the edge of the bed. “Maybe we can spin it that way. We’ll say I didn’t tell them about our raging love affair for fear of jinxing it.”
“Not bad. I can use the same excuse for why I never told Vince or Rox. Your poor, cold, and dead relationship ego was so fragile, I didn’t want to make any sudden movement and scare you away.” She couldn’t help laughing.
“Funny,” Dexter said. “Okay, what comes next in a relationship?”
Jules had to think for a second. “Exclusivity. Love.”
Dexter chuckled. “Like I have experience with either.”
That was sad, actually. At least Jules had had experience with both, even though they hadn’t ended as good experiences.
“We’re working with six months, right?” Dexter added, rubbing his freshly shaved jaw. Jules could smell the aftershave from clear across the room. Not because it was strong and repelling, but because it was mouthwateringly sexy. “How long are normal couples together, exclusively, before they get married?”
“I don’t know,” Jules admitted, dotting her face with tinted moisturizer. “A long time, I’d hope.”
“We’ll say we became exclusive after a month—”
“One month?”
“Too fast?”
She felt icy goose bumps break out on her skin. “For me, at least.”
“We have to squeeze our whole dating life into six months. Should it be we fell in love fast then finally got married, or should it have happened gradually then we got married on a
whim? Which seems more plausible?”
“Jeepers, you’re so analytical. Can’t we say we’re going with the flow?”
“No,” Dexter said while buffing an already-shiny black shoe with a towel. “You might be all flower-child free, but I’m not. No one would believe I’m ‘going with the flow.’”
“Fine.” She rubbed lotion over her elbows. “We’ll say it happened fast, the falling in love part. That way getting married won’t seem so…”
“Reckless.”
She lifted her eyes to look at his reflection. “Exactly.”
They were both quiet. Was he also pondering over how they’d been beyond reckless last night?
“Now that that’s settled,” Dexter said, “what should I know about you? Suppose I offer to get you a cocktail and I have no idea what you drink?”
“I don’t drink all that often—despite my recent behavior. I’d rather have water with peppermint oil.”
“Oil?”
“Or lemon. Maybe lavender. Depends on my mood.”
“Peppermint water. Hmm.” He smiled. “That does sound nice. Heated?”
“That’s how I usually take it. I’ll make you some after the party.”
“Yeah? Thanks.” His smile broadened. “Now let’s pretend for two seconds you’re not the most peculiar woman alive and that you do enjoy a cocktail at a cocktail party. Wine?”
“Gives me heartburn. And I’m not peculiar. I’m a free spirit.”
“What about beer, free spirit?”
She made a face.
“Scotch?”
“Do I look like a sixty-year-old congressman?”
“If I’m overly analytical, than you’re peculiar and complicated.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“We’ll say you only drink champagne. That way you won’t need a glass until the toast. We don’t want to give credence to the pregnancy rumor, after all.”
“Good thinking.”
Dexter chuckled, looked away, then turned back. “You won’t forget about making me the warm peppermint drink, will you?”
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