by Geneva Lee
“I was thinking,” I say shyly.
“That’s dangerous when you’re trying to fall asleep.” Anguish coats his words and I struggle in his grasp until I flip over to face him.
“Why aren’t you asleep in your own bed?” I ask.
“Yours is more comfortable. I like this body pillow.” He presses closer to me until I can feel every rock hard inch of him.
“And?” I press him. I refuse to be distracted by him.
“Nightmares.” He leaves it at that.
I don’t need him to tell me about nightmares. I know all too well how often the worst moments of your life revisit you in your dreams. “Sometimes I have nightmares about Becca,” I confess to him instead. “It’s like it’s happening all over again and I can’t wake up.”
“You were there that night.” It’s a statement, not a question as if this is only now dawning on him. Wherever he’d gotten his information, it didn’t include that little detail. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“There’s no use apologizing for life or tragedy. Both are inevitable.”
Our foreheads press together and my breath falls into sync with his. “Maybe we’re doing this wrong,” he suggests.
“What?” I say in a sleepy voice.
“Strength in numbers, Duchess. I don’t think I could have a nightmare with you in my arms.”
“Then stay,” I offer in a small voice before giving him my lips to convince him.
Chapter Sixteen
I can’t believe you’re Jameson West’s girlfriend,” Josie says, as she sifts through the pile of clothes strewn across my bed. “I’ve been doing some research on him, and you’re totally going to wind up on the cover of People Magazine.”
“Or US Weekly, and I'm not his girlfriend,” I grumble. “Is my navy dress over there?” The police department should consider hiring Josie to be an interrogator. Despite making Jameson promise to keep the status of our relationship a secret, I had spilled to her in less than two minutes. “No one’s supposed to know, remember?”
“It’s my secret.” She pretends to draw a zipper over her lips. "Why is it a secret again?"
"Because my dad will have an aneurism if he finds out we're hanging out."
"Hanging out? Dating? What is it, sister?" Josie demands.
"I don't know," I finally admit. Plopping onto my bed, I consider the question. It feels like my answer should be obvious. "I don't think I'm ready to be his girlfriend."
Josie groans as if she's half as frustrated as I am. "But you want to kiss him and practice making babies?"
“Maybe I should cancel.” We both know that this thing between Jameson and I is a ticking time bomb. I pause at the mirror and mess with my hair for a moment, wondering if I should wear it up or down.
“You are not canceling,” she insists. A moment later, she triumphantly holds up my navy dress.
It’s one of my favorites since it never wrinkles. Plus its a simple A-line, but the second I see it, I realize it’s all wrong. The simplicity I loved feels boring and uninspired now. I’ll have to rip out my own tongue before I say it a loud but I want to impress Jameson.
“I think I’ll wear jeans.” Opening my drawer, I pull out a pair and shimmy into them.
“You’re going on a date with a billionaire in denim?”
My eyes narrow in response to her disapproving tone. “I can’t tell what you think of that. Jameson wears jeans all the time.” And he looks good in them “Look, I know this is hard for you to believe, but for some girls, finding a guy they can hang out with in blue jeans and flip-flops is kind of a dream.”
“Okay,” she agrees, reluctantly. Her eyes flicker to to the bag she brought with her. I haven’t had the courage to ask what’s inside. “As long as you realize there’s a time and place for Louboutins.”
“Between you and my mother, how could I ever forget?” I tease. I choose a soft black tank that flows to my hips, managing to achieve the pinnacle of lazy girl fashion: successfully mixing style and comfort.
“Just please wear these?” Josie begs, pulling a pair of strappy, gold Louboutins out of her bag. “It will dress it up just enough.”
“No promises,” I warn, but I hold out my hand. Slipping one on, I fasten it around my ankle and observe. It kills me to admit it, but it’s actually kind of sexy.
“Oh, those are perfect,” she squeals, clapping her hands like she got her birthday present.
“Where did you get them, anyway? You just started waiting tables.” These shoes cost at least seven hundred dollars. I can’t bring myself to consider dropping a Benjamin on new shoes. But even though Josie has a penchant for extravagance, she doesn’t have the means to indulge her tastes.
She tips her chin up and rolls her eyes at me as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Do you really want to know?”
“A gift from one of your admirers,” I guess. I try to block the vision of a drooling, forty-something business man blessing her with a shoe shopping spree, but even in my head, it can’t be unseen. “Do you think I should spray these with Lysol?”
“I haven’t even worn them yet.”She pretends to pout as she flops backward onto my bed.
“That’s why they’re so tight.” I wiggle my foot around before I take a few tentative steps. I wobble a bit but it’s mostly successful. Maybe by the time Jameson arrives, I won’t look like a newborn colt in high heels.
“I figured you could break them in for me,” she says with a wink.
Josie oversees my hair, opting to gather it in a high ponytail and loosening just the right amount of hair to wisp around my neck. She digs out a pair of simple gold hoop earrings. I grimace as she hands them to me. “It’s not too much,” she reprimands.
“Okay, okay.” I put them in and turn to check myself out in the mirror. I have to admit that I look good even if Josie’s glam touches feel a bit unnatural.
“Fit for the arm of the world’s most eligible ...” I shoot Josie a warning look before she can finish that statement, “…bachelor.”You landed the whale, baby. Enjoy it.”
Jameson picks me up at home after my dad leaves. My heartbeat stutters like a scratched record when I glance out the front window and spot the black BMW idling in my driveway. When his face appears over the roof of the car, my stomach starts doing flips. This is why people write love songs. Maybe even why they listen to them. I’d never understood that before, but meeting him has opened my eyes to a world I’d turned my nose up to. Perhaps that’s how he managed to sneak in under my radar.
I lock the front door and grip the handrail of our stoop as I brave the two steps. His eyes drift from my head to the expensive shoes on my feet. I blush a little as I brush past him.
“You can’t argue with the name ‘Duchess’ now,” he says to me before he shuts my door. I wait until he’s in the driver’s seat to ask why. “Because you look like a million dollars.”
It’s the oldest line in the book. Probably because it still works. I can’t keep the goofy grin off my face.
“So,” Jameson pauses as if he’s struggling to get something out. “Do you trust me yet?”
I only have to consider for a moment. “Yes.”
“Thank God because I wouldn’t take you where we’re headed if you didn’t.” I gulp at the underlying threat in his words. “I’m really sorry about this,” he continues. “If there were any other way ...”
“Maybe I should stay home,” I say slowly.
“You probably should, but I want to spend the day with you.” If he feels sorry there’s no regret in his voice. Instead he casts a devious grin at me. I shiver under his wolfish gaze. I’m not used to how he makes me feel yet, and I don’t think I ever want to be.
But the thought that I might not get to spend the day with him makes me want to pout, but I reign in that impulse. “Look, if you have something better to do ...”
“No,” he says, quickly. “But it is unfortunately something I can’t get out of.”
“
Fine,” I say before he can overthink our plans. “I’m in.”
He doesn’t wait for me to ask any more questions before he throws the car in reverse and speeds out of my neighborhood. “So where are we going?”
“To the airport.”
“Are you supposed to leave the state?” I ask, before I consider an even more dangerous problem, “And I need to be back by curfew.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” he says, tacking on, “this time.” He takes the exit for the Las Vegas private airfield. We're cleared through security, and Jameson zooms toward this small outcrop of buildings that oversee the private runways high rollers use when they come to visit.
“My mom sends her jet here to pick me up for my summer trip.” I tell him.
“What summer trip?” he asks in a strangled voice.
“I stay with her in Palm Springs over summer vacation.” I don’t miss how his knuckles tighten on the steering wheel as he processes this information. “I only go for a week.”
The rigid tension in his shoulders doesn’t dissipate. “Good to know. My mom’s finally getting in. I don't trust a car service not to spill the details on her arrival. The last thing she needs to deal with is the press hounding her, so I need to pick her up and take her to our house on Mt. Charleston.”
“I’m meeting your mom?”
“Is that a problem?”
It shouldn’t be, but given the fragility of our connection, I hadn’t expected to meet parents yet. Plus, we've known each other for a whole week. It's not like I'm buying bridal magazines, but I keep this to myself. If he wants me to meet his mom, it shouldn't be a big deal. “We just haven’t had a real date yet.”
“By my count, we’ve had several, Duchess.” His mood lightens as he teases me, “But you say the word and I’ll get us tickets to Blue Man Group.”
I groan and bat him on the arm. “Don’t you dare.”
“Britney Spears?” he suggests.
“Getting colder.”
“I hear Elton John might be coming to town.” This time he’s serious. He glances at me for approval, and I tap my nose and nod enthusiastically. “I’ll look into tickets, but if we’re not officially dating, then maybe I shouldn’t be knocking on your bedroom window.”
“That was a matter of survival. Neither of us were going to be able to fall asleep.” At least that’s how I sold that poor decision to myself. I bite my lip, remembering the dreamless peace I’d found thanks to his presence and the note waiting on my pillow in the morning.
“Sorry I had to sneak out like that,” he says, as if he’s reading my mind. “But I didn’t want your dad to catch me.”
“Probably smart,” I agree. The shop has more than a few shotguns in its inventory.
“So are we officially dating or not?”
“Can I get back to you on that one?” I hedge. He doesn’t say a word, but I see the muscle in his jaw twitch. A shadow descends over us as moody Jameson returns.
When the car is parked, he circles around to my side. As soon as I’m out, he grabs my hand tightly and leads me toward the edge of a runway. He doesn’t speak as a small speck of a plane comes into view, barreling faster as it descends toward the strip in front of us. My hand is starting to hurt from his grip, but I don’t dare remove it. As soon as the jet is on the ground, he yanks me forward.
Attendants rush over and open the door hovering nearby as a woman in a black wrap dress takes the steps. Her face is obscured by the brim of a large, black hat and a pair of oversized sunglasses. When she reaches the bottom, she takes off the glasses. Even from a few feet away, it’s easy to see the red rimming her eyes. She’s been crying, but when her gaze lands land on Jameson, she lights up. Her arms stretch out and he drags us toward her. “Jamie!”
“Mom,” he greets her in a thick voice.
“Oh, darling.” She crushes him into a hug, but he doesn’t release my hand. I clear my throat awkwardly after a few minutes not wanting to feel like a third wheel.
“Maybe I should give you two a moment,” I begin, but Jameson cuts me off.
“That’s not necessary.”
“I’m so sorry.” Mrs. West opens her purse and pulls out a handkerchief, dabbing at her nose. She forces a smile onto her face. “We haven’t been introduced. I’m Evelyn West.”
I open my mouth to give her my name, but Jameson jumps in. “This is my girlfriend, Mom. Emma Southerly .”
I can almost swear I feel the tarmac vibrate as the bombshells hit. It takes a concerted effort to stay on my feet. Girlfriend?
“Southerly?” His mother repeats in surprise, but she instantly regains her composure. “It’s lovely to meet you. I’m so glad you’ve been able to be here with my Jameson. I just couldn’t leave my father in his condition.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” Jameson promises her. He loops his free arm through hers and guides us both back toward the BMW. “I have everything under control here.”
She tenses when he says this. But if she has an opinion on the situation, she keeps it to herself. Jameson opens the front passenger door and drops my hand to help me in, but I shake my head. “I’m fine back here.” I get into the back seat before he can protest.
“That’s very sweet of you,” Mrs. West says.
On the way to Mt. Charleston, she peppers us with questions. How did we meet? How long have we known each other? Jameson manages to skillfully answer them all without giving anything away. Now doesn’t seem like the best time to mention exactly what party it was we met at or that our relationship was founded on an alibi. When we arrive at the mountain chalet, he carries her bag inside and she takes my arm as we head into the house.
“I’ll admit I was a bit surprised when I heard your last name.” She chooses her words carefully, but I can hear the edge to them. “Does your father know you’re seeing my son?”
I consider lying, but then I shake my head. “No.”
“Word to the wise, tell him sooner rather than later. Parents hate finding out they’re being lied to.” Her tone is gentle and I see now where Jameson gets his softer side as well as his looks.
Her eyes are the same silvery blue as her son’s and her aristocratic features are the feminine equivalent of his brutal beauty. She removes her hat and I see that her hair is light like her daughter’s, nearly white at the temples.
“I believe you know my mother,” I say, looking for a subject of conversation while we wait for Jameson to return.
“How is Vivian?” she asks.
“Remarried living in Palm Springs.”
Evelyn frowns at this revelation. “Do you see her often?”
“I stay with her during the summer. We split holidays. It’s all very scheduled.”
“A daughter’s time with her mother should never be scheduled.” She perks up as Jameson enters the room. “Speaking of, where is my daughter?”
“Probably with her boyfriend,” Jameson informs her. “She’s been shacking up with him all week.”
“Are you two fighting?” she guesses, not at all perturbed by his implications.
“Considering Monroe thinks I did it, you could say that.” A chill creeps into his words and I feel the urge to go to him and reassure him, but I force myself to stay still.
“Your sister is confused. This was traumatic for her and she doesn’t know what to believe.”
“She seems pretty eager to believe the Belle Mère Police Department.” His broad shoulders go rigid with pent up tension and shadows seem to fall over his face, making it impossible to read how he’s feeling.
“I’ll speak with her.”
“Let me know how that goes,” he says coldly.
“I’m afraid my daughter and I have a typical relationship. I remind myself she’s a teenager,” Evelyn says to me conversationally, before redirecting her words to her son. “And we’re all under a lot of stress, so we need to remember to be kind to one another.”
He inclines his head. “Of course.” His Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows. �
�I had the staff stock the kitchen. The maid should arrive tomorrow, so until then—”
“I do not need a maid,” she interrupts him. “I’m perfectly capable of picking up my own laundry and cooking my own meals.”
“I simply want to reduce your stress level,” he suggests gently.
She looks to me with an eyebrow raised. “I think my son just mothered me.”
“He can be a little controlling,” I sympathize with her.
“I hope you fight him on that.”
“Oh, I do,” I promise her.
Jameson stoops down to kiss his mother’s cheek. “Before you two conspire against me further, I should get her home.”
“Do you have to go?” Evelyn asks. “I could whip us up a little dinner.”
Jameson locks eyes with me and I can see his desperation to leave. I don’t understand it, but I can sense it.
“I need to cook for my dad,” I explain to her. “But some other time.”
“I’m holding you to that.” Before I realize it’s happening, she’s hugging me. This is way outside of my comfort zone, but I accept it because she’s grieving and because she’s my boyfriend’s mother and because holy crap, Jameson is my boyfriend.
Chapter Seventeen
I’ve bypassed trust and gone straight to infatuation. My hand stays tightly knitted with Jameson’s as he pulls into my driveway an hour later. Somehow he managed to steer and shift gears with the other as if he couldn’t bare to relinquish his hold on me. Meanwhile, I’m still trying to wrap my head around the events of this afternoon. Apparently Jameson has made the decision about our relationship for me.
“I’m sorry that you had to spend the day stuck in the car.”
But I shake my head at his apology. “It was nice to meet your mom.”
“Said no girl ever.”