by Noelle Adams
She stared at the floor. “Oh. Yeah. I did.”
“I’m sorry I said it. It was an asshole thing to say.”
“You didn’t know I would overhear.”
“Yeah, but still… I was wrong, but even if I wasn’t, I feel bad about it. You shouldn’t have had to hear that from me.”
She glanced up at him to check his expression, and he didn’t appear to be trying to play her with his charm the way he’d been doing the day before. He seemed real. Like this was really him. Like he meant what he said.
She had to start believing him, or they’d never make it through the next six months. She nodded. “Thank you. For the apology, I mean. And I’m really sorry about last night.”
“You said that last night.”
“I know, but I want to say it again, now that we’re not both…so distracted. I never meant for that to happen. I never would have…teased you like that.”
“I’m glad.” He sounded serious and looked it when she focused up at him again. “I still don’t know why you’re so against having sex.”
“I’m not totally against it,” she began. At his raised eyebrows, she added, “Okay, I was, since I thought you were…you weren’t being nice.” She almost caught a twitch of his lips that was remarkably appealing. “But I still don’t think it’s a good idea. We don’t really know each other, and this is going to be hard enough without the complications of sex. I think we need to just focus on making this situation work…at least for the time being.”
She hadn’t meant to add the last bit, but she was starting not to like the idea of closing the door to sex with him completely.
She kind of wanted to touch him now. She remembered well how it had felt to touch and be touched by him last night. She’d never felt anything like it before in her life.
“Okay,” he said lightly. “I don’t think it would have to make things complicated—I think we could both just enjoy it for what it is—but we can hold off for now. But we definitely want to avoid a repeat of last night.”
“Of course.” She gave a firm nod. “So maybe we should agree to not even kiss unless other people are around and we’re playing the part.”
“You’re big on making rules, aren’t you?” He appeared to be hiding a smile now, so she knew he wasn’t annoyed.
She frowned, since she had never thought of herself that way. “Not really. I just think it’s smart to get things straight between us. Last night wasn’t…wasn’t any fun.”
“No. It definitely wasn’t.” He paused, studying her face again. “So we’re all right? About everything, I mean?”
She nodded again. “Yes, I think we’re all right. We’ve got to make this work, so we might as well be reasonable and adult about it and try to get along.”
“Sounds like a plan to me. And, speaking of, do you want to go to Charleston next week? I’ve got to go anyway, so it might be fun for you to come along. We can call it a honeymoon.”
She narrowed her eyes at the word, until he said with a low chuckle. “Not that kind of honeymoon. Just a trip you might enjoy. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
“No, I’ll come,” she said, excited about the idea and excited that he seemed to be so funny and nice when he was being himself. “I’ve always wanted to go to Charleston, but we never had the money. There’s all kind of history there.”
“Great.” He grinned at her. “We’ll leave on Friday, if that’s okay with you.”
“That sounds great.”
“Okay.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his forearm. “I better go to take a shower before I drip all over the floor.”
She watched him go, enjoying the view of his long legs and tight butt, but only after he disappeared did she remember that he’d never agreed to the no-kissing-in-private rule.
***
On Wednesday, for the weekly public function he was required to attend with Deanna, Mitchell had to go to afternoon tea at her grandmother’s.
On the first invitation, he thought he had a good excuse for bowing out, since he was deathly allergic to those morbid dead cats of hers. The memory of the sneezing attack and then the revelation of the stuffed corpses of so many Siamese cats all in a row still gave him shivers.
But his excuse was a no-go, since Deanna said sweetly that her grandmother was hosting it in the garden and his allergies wouldn’t be a problem.
So Mitchell bit back his reluctance and his dozens of reasons not to go—including the fact that it was in the middle of a work day—and said that would be fine.
It was written into the contract, after all. Deanna had attended a cocktail party with him this week so he had to go to afternoon tea with her.
Evidently, he also had to dress for the occasion.
That was why he ended up sitting in an uncomfortable wrought-iron chair in the garden of the dilapidated Beaufort house, wearing a tan suit that was way too hot for the heat and humidity of the afternoon, waving away the flies and trying to make polite conversation with Mrs. Beaufort and her cohorts—three other equally elderly Southern ladies.
At least he was being served iced tea instead of hot tea.
Deanna, pretty in a pale green casual cotton dress, was sitting demurely and replying pleasantly to all of the comments aimed at her—and sometimes him. But occasionally he saw her slanting a discreet gaze over to him, as if she were checking him out.
He wasn’t sure whether she was critiquing his performance or enjoying his discomfort until he saw her lips purse in suppressed amusement.
She was definitely enjoying it.
“Where is your family from, young man?” one of the other ladies asked him.
He gave a slight shrug. “Here and there, I think. My mother was born in Savannah, and my father was just passing through.” He’d never known his father. He’d never wanted to know him, since the man was obviously an ass, who’d not cared that he’d gotten a woman of no means pregnant.
When he heard a couple of the women gasp, he looked over at Deanna, but she didn’t look annoyed or embarrassed by his comment. She was looking at him interestingly. “Did you ever know anything about him?”
He shook his head. “He was a salesman. From up north somewhere. That’s all I know.”
“Did your mother ever marry?” she asked.
“Deanna,” her grandmother hissed. “Don’t be gauche.”
Deanna looked surprised. “But he’s my husband. It’s not gauche to ask your husband personal questions, is it?”
“You should know more about him already, dear,” one of the women said with a maternal smile. “Don’t you two ever talk over your histories?”
Mitchell met Deanna’s eyes. “We’ve been talking about other things,” he said with a slight lilt to his tone.
The women—except Deanna and her grandmother—tittered, evidently thinking his comment was somehow daring, and Deanna hid another smile.
“Shall I bring some more tea out, Grandmama?” she asked, standing up and reaching for the mostly empty glass pitcher.
“Yes, dear. Thank you.”
“Do you want to help, Mitchell?” she asked, glancing at him over her shoulder.
He wasn’t sure why refilling the pitcher would take two people, but he jumped at the opportunity to escape for a few minutes.
He took the pitcher from her hands as they walked back into the house by the back door that led into the kitchen.
“How are you holding up?” she asked, giving him an amused smile.
He didn’t like being the source of such amusement from her, but he did like the sight of that particular smile. “I’m fine. Did you think I would fall apart in the face of such a polite interrogation?”
“No. I thought you might get fed up and storm out.”
“I’m not that rude.” He took a less attractive pitcher of ice tea from the refrigerator and started to pour the liquid into the fancy pitcher.
She arched her eyebrows as she held the crystal pitcher but didn’t say anyt
hing.
“I’m not rude,” he said, feeling strangely defensive. “Do you really think I’m like that?”
“I don’t think you’re purposefully rude. I think you have little patience for history and ceremony and rituals, and so you may be inclined not to take them seriously, which could potentially offend people who do.”
He thought about that for a minute. “If people are offended by something so trivial, then there’s nothing I can do about that.”
“But a lot of people don’t think it’s trivial at all.”
“What’s not trivial?”
“History. Tradition. Things that have been passed down for generations. There’s meaning in all of those things. Meaning that gives a lot of people their identity. If you say their traditions are trivial, you’re implying their identities are trivial too. That seems pretty narrow to me, if you want to know the truth.”
He frowned, feeling like she hadn’t quite understood his point of view. “It’s not about their identities. It’s about trivial rituals that serve no purpose.”
“Afternoon tea serves a purpose, though. It’s a way of building community that has been formed and sustained for a really long time. Community is important. There’s a real purpose.”
“But you can just as easily form community at the kitchen table. You don’t need a crystal pitcher.”
“But it makes the guests feel important. It’s a gesture of grace.”
“It doesn’t make me feel important.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t think so.” Her words were perfectly polite, as always, but the tone seemed almost snide underlying it.
He searched her face, looking for a sign of what she was thinking. Whatever it was, it wasn’t flattering toward him.
She glanced away when she saw him peering at her. “Anyway,” she said, “for someone who doesn’t believe in traditions, it’s pretty ironic that you own the Claremont. Isn’t that whole place supposed to be the epitome of Southern grace and elegance?”
“Of course. Just because I don’t care for them myself doesn’t mean I can’t recognize that others do and use them to my advantage. That’s what the entire hospitality industry is about.”
“I guess. But it seems strange that you can put them into action so well in the hotel and not really believe in them. I mean, Cyrus Damon has been so successful with all the Damon properties because he really believes in what they stand for. Maybe you really do too, deep down. After all, you’re going through this whole marriage as a gesture toward your mother, because of her attachment to history. That means something, doesn’t it?”
“Don’t be hoping in that direction. I have no soul of tradition behind my practical exterior. I love my mom, and I’m doing it because she wants it. But the marriage is as fake as all the rituals of the Claremont. Faking it is easy. That’s all I know how to do.”
She was eying him out of the corner of her eye as they carried the tea back to the garden. “You seem to care a lot about things being easy.”
He stiffened at the implications. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just that you say ‘easy’ a lot, and it seems to be the guiding force of your decision making. The fake marriage was easier than trying to be honest with Gina, so you did it. Faking other people’s traditions is easier than establishing some of your own, so that’s what you do. Don’t you ever do things that are hard?”
He was torn between feeling known—like she had seen into the heart of him—and being offended, since she didn’t seem to appreciate what she’d found. “Not if I can help it. Why should you do things the hard way if there are easier ways available?”
“Maybe the hard way is better.”
“Not if they both reach the same end.”
“Maybe the hard way is the only way to get what you really want.”
“I haven’t found that to be the case.”
She was shaking her head, but she didn’t look judgmental or annoyed. She looked slightly amused and still interested. “Maybe that’s because you’ve never quite figured out what you really want.”
He didn’t know what to say to that, but they’d rejoined the old ladies anyway, so he didn’t have a chance to reply at all.
***
Charleston wasn’t at all what Deanna was expecting.
She’d really been looking forward to the trip. She and Mitchell had been getting along well for the last week. She knew he had to do some work, but she figured there would still be time for them to do some sightseeing and enjoy the city. Otherwise, why had she been invited along at all?
But things didn’t work out the way she’d been hoping.
The trip was fine, since they flew first-class, which was more comfortable than any of her previous flying experiences. Mitchell wasn’t real chatty, but he was polite and he kind of looked out for her as they were in the airport and taxis, taking care of her luggage and making sure she was always at his side.
She liked that about him and liked that it seemed to be unconscious—just something he did naturally.
He’d reserved them a two-bedroom suite, which he must have paid a fortune for, but it was a relief because it would mean sex wouldn’t always be an unspoken question between them. It was just midday when they got into their suite, so she hoped they might do something for the rest of the day.
Instead, he set up his computer and got on the phone, even before he’d put his luggage into his room.
Evidently, he wanted to get right to work.
She shrugged it off and went into her room to shower and rest. When he was still working when she came back out, she said she was going to walk around outside.
She enjoyed her stroll, stopping in shops and taking pictures of the lovely architecture and several beautiful gardens. So she was in a good mood when she returned and was resolved to enjoy the trip.
Mitchell went out to dinner with her that first night, and they’d both seemed to have a good time. But the next morning she slept in, and he was gone when she woke up.
He was thinking of investing in a hotel here, and he had a series of meetings lined up to explore the possibility. She hadn’t realized they’d start before breakfast, though.
He was gone all day, so she had to amuse herself, taking a taxi to several of the normal historical spots and taking the ferry out to the fort. He called her once to make sure she was okay, but he had sounded busy and distracted, so she hadn’t talked very long. He asked her to have dinner with him that evening, which she was happy about—until she realized it was a business dinner and she was just there as an accessory.
So she’d gone to bed tired and disappointed that second night, but still hopeful that the next day would be better.
On the third and final day, she was genuinely annoyed. He’d acted like having her come was a nice gesture and a way for them to establish a workable marriage. But it had obviously just been an empty gesture, since he must have known he wouldn’t have time for her.
She might as well have taken the trip by herself.
She hadn’t even gone out that afternoon, since she was so tired and depressed by the whole thing.
It should teach her a lesson, though. She didn’t have to look at Mitchell as the enemy, but she couldn’t rely on him too much. She knew that much about him now.
He wasn’t a bad guy—not at all—but if there was an easy road to take, he would take it.
Even if it wasn’t the road she wanted to take.
She was telling herself she had to no right to be angry about it. She’d had no reason to expect anything different. And she’d mostly succeeded in her mental pep talk, so she was able to smile at him sincerely when he finally returned at about seven in the evening.
He’d said he’d be back before five, but she hadn’t expected him to be on time, since he hadn’t on any of the previous days.
She was sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch in the sitting room of the suite and working on a pair of earrings with the small container of beads she�
��d brought with her.
“How did everything go?” she asked in a perfectly friendly tone.
He gave a grunt and collapsed on the couch.
She looked up at him, noting that his face was tired and his eyes were kind of clouded. “Not good?” she prompted.
He grunted again.
“What does that mean?”
He gave a half-shrug. “It was fine. I’m not sure how it will turn out yet.”
“Then why do you look so depressed?”
He frowned at her. “I’m not depressed.”
“Okay.” She was really starting to get annoyed now. Couldn’t he even be friendly, after abandoning her to herself for three days to do business? “Then why do you not look happy about things? I thought you said things looked promising yesterday.”
He had said that, briefly and without any details. But it was a better conversation than they were having today.
“I’m not sure how things look. I need to do some more work.”
“Ah.” She looked back at the earring she was working on, sliding tiny beads onto a fine wire loop. No wonder he looked frustrated. He liked things to be easy and quick, and this situation must not be either.
“What does that mean?”
“What does what mean?”
“Ah,” he said, mimicking her tone earlier. “What did that mean?”
“It meant, oh, I understand. What do you think it means?” Her tone was a bit sharp, since his had been too.
“What do you understand?”
“That you’re upset that things aren’t going easily. Why are you in such a bad mood?”
“Why do you assume I get upset every time things don’t go easily?”
She gave a surprised huff. “Because you obviously do. I know you well enough by now to at least know that. Are you really going to deny it?”
“I’m going to deny that you know me as well as you think, when all you do is make unkind assumptions about me.”
She almost choked on her indignation. “What the hell are you talking about? I’ve been nothing but patient for the last few days, even though you haven’t been making it easy.”
“What did I do now?”