by Liz Durano
“Where would you like to go?” He asks. “What’s the first place that comes to mind?”
“Italy… Rome, Venice, Naples,” I reply. “Did I mention Italy?”
He laughs. “You did, yes.”
“And that place with the houses on the cliffs or hills or something,” I reply.
“Santorini?”
I nod. “Something like that. I’d like to check that out one day, but until then, I have to work.”
“Did you always want to be a nurse?”
“Not exactly, but my parents always told me to major in something useful like Nursing or Dental Assisting. That way, I’d always have a job wherever I went. They said I could work ten or fifteen years or so, save my money and then do what I love after.” I pause. “Don’t get me wrong, Kodi. I love what I do. The job security isn’t bad, too, although it’s a bit iffy right now with this whole viral social media thing. I still can’t believe I’ve become a damn social meme. Hashtag walkofshameRoxy.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Really, it’s not your fault, Kodi,” I say, covering my cup when the server slows down our table with a full pot of coffee. “We all can’t have impeccable records at work, you know.”
“I like your optimism. It’s refreshing,” he says, smiling.
“Thanks,” I say, feeling my cheeks warm. “It’s my superpower.”
For a brief moment, I see a part of Kodi he never shows to many people. A vulnerability almost, like he’s tired. But I bet he’s also adjusting to the time difference.
“If you weren’t working as a nurse, what do you think you’d be doing? Bartending?”
“Hell, no, but it breaks the ice at parties.” I laugh, shaking my head. “No, I do it as a hobby, as a way to meet people and have fun. The extra money from working some parties isn’t bad either. But I like making clothes like this.” I run my fingers along my collar. “ I like bringing back the 50’s, that kind of thing. I like the sensibilities of that time.”
“And Bettie Page?”
“Can you believe I’ve never seen the erotic pictures she’s known for?” I say, and Kodi’s eyes widen in surprise. “I saw her hairstyle in a magazine and realized I had the face shape for it. It also goes with my outfits.”
I raise my finger just as he’s about to say something. “But that’s not to say I have no idea what guys think when they see me. I do, and while it can be weird sometimes, I’m sure it makes me interesting.”
Kodi grins. “You were always interesting, Roxy. And now you’re my fiancee.”
It feels weird hearing him say the word, stranger still that temporarily, at least, I am his fiancee. “Anyway, I get that you’re doing this because you want to help me but what’s in it for you?”
Kodi leans back in his chair, cocking his head to the side. “I never really thought about what I’d get out of it, Roxy, to be honest. Besides, it’s temporary.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” I ask. “You mean you’re diving into this thing head first without any thought about how it could affect your own reputation or your nonprofit?”
“It made sense.”
As I look at Kodi, I don’t know what to think. I’ve always known him as this fun-loving party animal who dated only gorgeous women. What would everyone say when they’d see me, the total opposite to every woman he’s been seen with?
“Chivalry is dead, Kodi. Guys don’t do things like this, not when they’ve got better things to do.”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I saw the things they wrote about you, Roxy, and they weren’t nice. They were downright cruel and for what? Is this what our society does for fun these days? Make fun of people just because they’re brave enough to be themselves? But the thing that got me was that no one said anything bad about me at all. In fact, I was pretty much excused for any presumed bad behavior just because I’m a man. But not you, and that’s not right.”
“That’s just the way it is these days, Kodi, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Just because it is what it is doesn’t mean it applies to everyone, Roxy.” His expression is serious now. “You and I ended up in bed that night, and whether or not anything happened between us, I’m not about to let them ruin your reputation and your future. Your character.”
“So you think getting engaged and being seen around town together will solve that?”
“Guess there’s only one way to find out,” Kodi says, grinning. “What are you doing tonight?”
Chapter Eight
Kodi shows up at my door at eight. Wearing a light grey blazer under a white button-down shirt, grey pants and Oxfords, he looks like he just stepped out of a menswear magazine.
My dress is one I’d made last year, a sleeveless black dress with a fitted bodice and a flared skirt layered with black guipere lace with a sweetheart neckline. The tattoos on my arm seem to clash with the sweet floral design of the tulle, but I don’t care. My makeup tonight is subtle, nothing that will attract too much attention. I want tonight to be Kodi’s night.
We make it to his father’s Upper West Side penthouse forty minutes later. Throughout the whole drive, we talked about what we’d say to people who’d ask about engagement.
Where did we meet? At one of Kodi’s summer parties. I mixed drinks for everyone. How did he propose? While we were in bed after the reception but we only bought the ring the next day, after I got back from work. How did we manage to keep our relationship secret? We texted each other while he was abroad.
Two truths and one lie. All in all, not too bad.
His father lives one block away from Central Park, just across the street from a private museum. Kodi tells me he spent half of his childhood here.
“Where did you spend the other half?”
“With my mother in the Hamptons,” he replies. “My parents are divorced.”
“How old were you when they split up?”
“I was about fourteen,” he says, driving the car to a nearby garage.
A tall man with gray hair combed in a classy side part greets us at the door. He pulls Kodi in a long embrace before stepping back to admire his son’s tan. When he sees me, a frown replaces his broad smile and he steps away.
“You didn’t tell me you were bringing anyone with you,” he says. “Melanie’s here. She... she wanted to welcome you back.”
“I’ll speak to her,” Kodi says as he gently pulls me next to him. “Anyway, Dad, this is Roxy Porter. Roxy, this is my dad, Franklin Donovan.”
As he shakes my hand, his eyes narrow. “You’re the woman from the pictures,” he says. “The ones online.”
“One and only,” I say, forcing myself to be cheerful. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Donovan.”
“How come I’ve never heard of you?” Franklin says, smiling broadly. “Where has Kodiak been hiding you all this time? Did you happen to travel with him on this trip?”
I shake my head as Kodi takes my hand.
“Dad, I’ve known Roxy for about a year and we started dating around the time I left for this last trip,” he says. “I also asked her to marry me and she said yes.”
“Excuse me?” Franklin looks at Kodi, shock evident on his face. “That’s a huge step, Kodiak, isn’t it?”
Kodi nods. “I know it is, but I wanted to surprise you.”
“Does your mother know?”
“Not yet,” Kodi replies. “We want to make a formal announcement in the next few days.”
I can’t blame the look of shock on his father’s face. He’s apparently not happy about the development, and I wish I could tell him that I’ll be breaking up with his son in two weeks or as soon as the talk about me dies down and my job at Miller General is secure. Whichever comes first.
Franklin blinks a few times, as if trying to regain his composure while staring at me. Then he clears his throat and stars walking toward the living room. “Why don’t I introduce you to the rest of our guests? Marshall from Hamptons Live is here, by the way, Kodia
k. He’ll be featuring your presentation in tomorrow’s Society Talk section.”
“That’s great,” Kodi says as he winks playfully at me.
As Kodi and I follow his dad to meet the rest of the guests, all I can say is that the place screams old money. Rich wood paneling, Persian rugs, and the rich smell of leather from the couch and arm chairs assaults my senses. And then there are the guests, an older, more classic crowd than the ones I’m accustomed to. The men wear suits and the women simple classic dresses. But as soon as Franklin starts introducing everyone, I forget all about the crowd. I’m too busy matching the names to their respective faces.
Dermot, the financier, has that Robert Redford vibe, Clint the developer is a dead ringer for the late Alan Rickman complete with dark-rimmed glasses, and Laurel, the wife of some clothing designer who’s talking business with his buddies in the corner reminds me of Grace Kelly. I hate matching them with famous people, but with so many people introduced to me in a short time, it’s the only way I can remember who’s who.
Kodi introduces me to everyone as his fiancee and more than once, I hear Melanie’s voice mentioned although she apparently left shortly after Kodi and I arrived so I never get to meet her. The pictures come next. Kodi even makes sure my ring is visible in all the photographs from the way I hook my arm with his.
“I checked out Prince Harry’s engagement pictures,” he murmurs in my ear as if we’re sharing an intimate joke “Each picture showed off her ring, so I thought, why not do the same thing?”
I chuckle. “I never thought you were a fan of the Royal Family.”
“I’m not,” he says, grinning. “But I had to be prepared. We only have a few days to pull this off, remember?”
As I study his handsome face, the pang of disappointment that hits me takes me by surprise. I always knew about the deadline—two weeks at the most, he’d said—but I just never considered how I’d find myself wishing some parts of this charade were real.
An hour later, Kodi begins his presentation. Pictures project on a screen behind him as he talks about the latest school he and the volunteers had helped build in the Philippines. He talks about the local organizations they’ve partnered with and future plans for the nonprofit. He includes personal stories and anecdotes, like one group’s excitement over a shipment of books and other supplies donated by some guests at the party. Kodi plays videos, too, and there’s no mistaking how happy he is out there with the local people. It’s so different from the image of Kodi the tabloids and social media still cling to, of the womanizer and party animal.
“Never in a million years did I ever think he’d pop the question, certainly not to someone I don’t even know,” says a voice next to me and I look up to see Franklin. “I’m sorry for being blunt but how did you two meet? Besides his friend’s wedding this past weekend?”
“I’ve known Kodi for at least a year. I met him at one of his parties last summer,” I reply.
“He was with Melanie then?”
I nod. “I met her, too. She’s nice.”
“She was pretty torn up when Kodiak ended their relationship.
”We started dating after they broke up,” I say, forcing a smile as he studies my face.
“Don’t get me wrong, Miss Porter, but I’m just concerned, and a bit offended. Kodiak normally tells me everything, and suddenly this happens.”
“Like he said, Mr. Donovan, he wanted to surprise you, and I guess he succeeded.”
He sips his drink slowly. “That’s my son for you, very impulsive when it comes to love, just like his mother.” He pauses. “Nothing wrong with that, of course. It happens to all of us.”
I wish Kodi were right next to me, but he’s busy talking animatedly to a group of people. He stops only when the photographer walks by and asks them to pose in front of a backdrop with his organization’s logo.
“This is his moment, his time to shine,” Franklin continues. “I’m grateful you’re letting him have that.”
“I never planned on taking the spotlight away from him, Mr. Donovan,” I say. “I know how important the nonprofit is to him and I’m here to support him.”
“What do your parents do, by the way?” he asks. “Do they live in the city?”
“They used to. They live in Arizona now,” I reply.
“What did they do?”
I can feel him studying me carefully. “Mom made costumes for the theater and Dad was a family and marriage counselor.”
He takes a sip of his bourbon. “That must have been stressful, counseling couples.”
“Isn’t everything? He once said to me that when a couple usually showed up at his office, one of them has already checked out of the marriage. The other one just doesn’t know it yet.”
“So what do you do?” he asks. “Do you work?”
No, I lounge around sipping tea and eating crumpets. “I’m a nurse.”
“Where at?”
“Miller General. I work in Intensive Care,” I reply as his expression remains the same. Surprised.
Franklin thinks for a few moments. “Do you know Maxwell George, by any chance? If I remember correctly, he’s on the Board of Directors, and he’s here tonight. Let me introduce you.”
Before I can reply, Frank steers me toward the other end of the room where three men are standing next to a giant sculpture. They’re in the middle of a discussion about capital gains but stop when they see us approach.
“Maxwell,” he says as a gray-haired man turns to look at us. “Did you know that Miss Porter here works for Miller General? She’s a nurse.”
“Why, no I don’t,” Maxwell George says as he shakes my hand. “What department?”
“Intensive Care.” I try my best not to feel intimidated, but it’s too late for that. Franklin Donovan made sure of it. As I stand before the four men, I feel like a small fish that suddenly finds herself in a bigger pond teeming with bigger fish.
“Oh, that’s very sweet, dear. We always need people like you,” he says before returning to his conversation with his two friends about some hedge fund.
And just like that, I’ve been dismissed.
“There you are. I wondered where you disappeared to.” Behind me, Kodi warps one arm around my waist. I can smell the scent of his cologne and I almost wrap my arms around him and never let go.
“Your dad was just introducing me to Mr. George. He happens to be on the Board of Directors at Miller Gen, where I work.”
“Really? Small world,” Kodi says as we exchange glances.
I turn to Kodi and smile as sweetly as I can. All I want to do is get away from his father who clearly does not like me being here. “You never really showed me around this place. Do you think you can give me a tour?”
He nods. “Sure, I’d love to.”
Chapter Nine
I can tell Roxy is feeling uncomfortable around my dad and I want to ask him what he told her. I know he doesn’t like her. He made that perfectly clear from the way he never even congratulated us on the engagement. Real or not, a little courtesy goes a long way.
But no, based on her body language—arms crossed with her body facing away from him—Dad must have made sure to let Roxy know he wasn’t pleased with the news. And I’m not surprised. He’s always wanted me to date someone of my status, preferably someone who had some connection with his circle of friends.
That’s how I met Melanie Lichten, the daughter of one of Dad’s business partners who is also one of my top donors. Introduced to me just before my nonprofit began, she was, in many ways, perfect for me. Blond, beautiful, and smart, she and I traveled in the same circles. We went to the same schools and knew the same people. She was familiar with the world I grew up in, the lavish parties, the yachts, the front-row seats at polo and tennis tournaments, rubbing elbows with the rich and famous. She was the perfect girlfriend… and one day, Dad hoped she’d be the perfect wife.
Too bad she hated getting her hands dirty or traveling to the countries my nonprofit served. She
told me once it didn’t help her image to be seen traveling in a rickety sidecar even if there was nothing else available to get to the next town. Sometimes, there were just no roads for our fancy SUVs to drive on.
Soon, she got anxious every time I flew to Asia, citing kidnappings and worse things. She had a point, of course, and I never traveled without Caden and his team anyway, and they even ended up building houses with me. But with each school or clinic my nonprofit helped develop with the locals, I realized I needed someone who would actually feel proud of the things I did beyond the lavish fundraisers and board meetings.
When Melanie gave me the ultimatum six months ago—it’s either me or your stupid nonprofit, she’d said—that was it. I still had a lot to do with ReBuild to Heal. Things I’d set in motion three years earlier were finally coming to fruition, and there was no way I was turning my back on that. Partnerships with other organizations to provide access to clean water, pens and paper, books, and teaching materials. The work had to go on—even if I had to do it without her.
“I apologize for my dad’s behavior,” I say when I guide Roxy down the hall. “He’s never done that before.”
“That’s because you never brought some tattooed chick with a pink collar job home before.” When I look at her quizzically, she adds, “That’s what people who work in a care-oriented field are called. Or rather, what they used to consider women’s work. Florence Nightingale, that kind of thing. Not exactly white collar but not blue collar either.”
We stop in front of one of the bedrooms away from the rest of the guests. “I don’t care about those things, Roxy. As long as you have a job you love to do, that’s what matters.
She sighs. “Two weeks of this or when I hear from my union rep and then we go our separate ways.”
I want to tell her I want to get to know her better but I don’t. Instead, I open the door to one of the bedrooms, usher her inside, and turn on the light. The room is small and comfortable, with wooden paneling and a Persian rug on the floor. Harvard pennants still hang on the wall above a full-sized bed, built-in shelves on both sides holding my collection of travel books and an old handheld video controller. On the dresser are two framed pictures next to a ball and a baseball mitt.