Neutral Grounds

by Jiffy Kate

It really is the simple things with this woman.

  The drive is quiet, only the faint hum of the radio in the background, but it’s comfortable and the most relaxed I’ve been in a while. Without overthinking it, I reach over and place my hand over CeCe’s and when she doesn’t pull away, I relax even more.

  Ten minutes later, we pull into a park in the Bishop Arts District of downtown Dallas.

  “Where are we going?” CeCe asks, her eyes roaming the busy street.

  “The best coffee shop ever,” I tease, knowing it’ll get under her skin. And it does.

  When she cocks her head and juts her chin out in challenge, like she does every time she disagrees with me, I smile. “Fine. At least, the best coffee shop in Dallas.”

  She narrows her eyes and I think it’s meant to scare me, so I try really hard not to laugh.

  “You’re a shithead.”

  “Oh, so I’ve graduated from stupid to shithead?” I goad. “You have a way with words, don’t you? What a way to talk to your husband. Didn’t they teach you anything at…where did you go to school?”

  CeCe steps out of the car and her expression grows serious. “I went to a small high school about an hour from New Orleans. K through twelfth grades. They didn’t really teach much past the basics. And don’t even get me started about my parents—”

  “I was kidding,” I say, cutting her off. We seem to be good at stepping on each other’s toes. But I guess that’s what happens when you don’t know everything about someone but you’re thrust into a situation where you’re supposed to. It’s all trial and error…with a lot of errors. But I don’t hate it when things get a little tense, not like I normally would, because I learn things about CeCe each time. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “No,” she says, stopping on the sidewalk and facing me. “I’m sorry. I was being too sensitive. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Maybe I’m hangry. That croissant didn’t last long.”

  I go to brush a strand of her hair behind her ear, but so does she, and our hands bump together, making us laugh. “Let’s get you some food.”

  “Okay,” she agrees, letting me brush her hair back and then take her hand, leading her down a flight of steps into the underground coffee shop. As soon as the door opens, the familiar sound of jazz fills the air.

  This is probably the only thing I miss about Dallas, other than the Porsche.

  “Coffee and Jazz?” CeCe asks, gripping my arm and leaving a wake of heat. “Okay, this might be better than my place.”

  Glancing over to the stage, I see Finley right away. His wide grin and head nod let me know he sees me too. Giving him a wave, I guide CeCe to the counter so we can place our order.

  “This is great,” CeCe gushes as we find a table and wait for our coffee and food.

  Pulling a chair out for her, I wait for her to have a seat. “I thought you’d like it.”

  “How did you find this place?” she asks. “It doesn’t seem very…Shep.”

  I smirk, sitting across from her and resting my elbows on the table. “What did I tell you about not knowing everything there is to know about me?”

  “Who knew you were such a mystery?” she teases.

  The ease of our conversation and the comfort of having her in my presence is something I’ve only experienced with a couple of people—Maverick being one and never with a woman.

  I think about telling her I know Finley and he’s how I found this place…actually, I found this place for Finley. But I decide to leave a little more mystery hanging in the air and let her experience it without pretense.

  How very un-Rhys-Jones of me.

  Smirking, I lose myself in watching CeCe soak up her surroundings. After a few minutes, our coffee is delivered, followed by the best sandwich in Dallas.

  Eventually, the band finishes their set and Finley makes his way over to the table.

  “Shep!” His usual, wide grin is on full display. “Hey, man!”

  Standing, I pull him into a hug. “Dude, you sound great!”

  “Thanks.” When he steps back, his eyes immediately go to CeCe who is staring up at us, confusion on her face. “This must be—”

  “CeCe,” I finish for him. “My wife.”

  That phrase is getting easier and easier to say and every time I do it, I start to believe it more than the last.

  “Hi,” CeCe says, standing and reaching across to shake his hand. “You were amazing.”

  “Thank you,” Finley says, ducking his head, never the one to take praise as well as he should. Especially from a pretty girl like CeCe Calhoun.

  “Finley is Maggie’s grandson,” I tell her and see the amazement in her eyes.

  “Oh, my gosh.” She looks from me back to Finley. “I should’ve guessed. You have her eyes.”

  “The Lawson genes are strong.”

  Motioning to the extra chair, we all sit. “Finley Lawson is a name you need to remember,” I tell CeCe, knowing this will get a rise out of him. “He’s going to be the biggest name in Jazz music one of these days…better than Miles Davis and Duke Ellington combined.”

  “Stop,” Finely says, rolling his eyes.

  “Better than John Coltrane,” CeCe chimes in, giving me a wink.

  Finley’s eyes go wide. “Wow, y’all have been married for what…two weeks? And you’re already in cahoots?”

  We all laugh, but I can’t help but notice the way CeCe’s eyes sparkle when she looks across the table at me. I like it.

  I’d give her the next fifty years to stop.

  Chapter 14

  CeCe

  It’s so surreal.

  Still, even after two weeks, it’s like I’m living in an alternate universe.

  The man sitting beside me, calmly maneuvering his way through Dallas traffic is feeling more and more like an enigma, yet also more and more real.

  I thought I knew exactly who he is.

  Born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

  Always gets what he wants.

  Sleeps with someone, ruining her for everyone else.

  All of that is true. But what I’m learning is those things are just surface deep. Underneath it all, he’s…more—chivalrous, thoughtful, and desperately trying to break away from his family and forge his own path.

  On top of all that, he’s now introduced me to Finley, the housekeeper’s grandson, and it’s opened up so many more questions and feelings. I can’t keep track of them all.

  What’s a guy like Shep doing hanging around with a kid like Finley? Well, I use the term kid loosely. He’s probably in his early twenties, but sometimes, I feel like I’m a fifty-year-old in a twenty-eight-year-old’s body. Everyone younger than twenty-five seems like a kid to me.

  “So, how did you become friends with Finley?” I finally ask, breaking the comfortable silence we’ve been in since we left the coffee shop. “I mean, besides the obvious.”

  When Shep doesn’t answer right away, I lift my head from the plush leather and turn to look at him. He shrugs, eyes on the road. “Maggie got custody of him about ten years ago. I was in college and I’d come home to work for my father on breaks. He would be around the house a lot…no one around to interact with except Maggie. Don’t get me wrong, she’s great…the best, really. But he didn’t have any friends, you know?”

  “So you became his friend?” I prompt, wanting to hear more.

  He shrugs again, checking his mirrors before switching lanes and making an exit. “I guess you could say that. That first summer he was with Maggie, we played basketball and I took him to the movies. He told me about wanting to play the saxophone, so I bought him one.”

  Turning my head, I smile out the window. “You bought him his first saxophone.”

  “Yeah, best three hundred bucks I ever spent.”

  There’s that deeper level I was talking about.

  “I also paid for lessons,” he says with a chuckle. “I taught him a lot of things, but I can’t take credit for him being a musical genius.”

/>   Oh, but you can, Shep. You made it possible for him to discover his talent. That’s what I want to say, but I’ve noticed he doesn’t respond well to praise, which is weird for a guy as cocky as Shep. I want to keep the ease of the conversation for as long as I can, milking these last few stress-free minutes. “I bet you taught him a lot of things.”

  “Someone had to.” He smirks and my stomach flips, just like it does every time he turns on the charm. “I couldn’t let the kid go through junior high thinking he could get a girl pregnant from kissing her.”

  Laughing, I tilt my head back. “Oh, my God, was that what Maggie told him?”

  “I never figured that one out, but any kid under my wing was going to have game.”

  Familiar houses start coming into view and I know we’re close to being back to his parents’ house and my heart starts to pound. I’d love nothing more than to stay in this bubble with Shep. Today’s been…great—unexpected, but great.

  I can’t help staring at Shep’s profile. The smile on my face making my cheeks hurt.

  “Ready for this?” Shep asks as he pulls the car back into the garage.

  Staring straight ahead, I let out a deep sigh, resolve seeping to the surface. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  My girl?

  His girl?

  Yeah, that’s a dangerous road for my mind to travel down, because after a day like today…actually, after the past two weeks, I could see myself truly being Shep’s girl. But that’s not what this is about, is it? No. No, it’s not.

  It’s about putting up a good pretense, playing the part, and getting paid.

  “Let’s go be the best fake husband and wife these rich people have ever seen.”

  Shep’s eyes bore into mine and he winks. “So fake it’s real.”

  The air inside the car feels heavy…as heavy as his gaze. “Right,” I say, swallowing as I blindly reach for the handle to open the door and free myself. I need some space.

  Somehow, we manage to make it into the house and up the stairs without having to stop and talk to anyone, not even Maggie. I’m assuming she’s either off for the evening or helping get things set up for the reception.

  “I’ll take my suit and get dressed in another room so you can have some space.”

  Did he just read my freaking mind?

  “Thanks,” I say, not arguing. Maybe if I can put my earbuds in and turn on some music, I can drown out the nagging voices in my head telling me this is all starting to feel too real and perhaps I’m feeling too much for someone who’s temporary.

  I wait for Shep to gather his things and leave before I walk to the closet and grab the dress I hung in there this morning…right before I walked in on Shep peeing.

  Yeah, that’s an image I won’t be getting out of my head any time soon.

  Sure, I told him he’s disgusting, but really, I could hardly pull myself away from him. Once I saw…it, I was lured in. It’s like my body took that visual as a cue.

  I remember that.

  I remember how it felt…and how it made me feel.

  I want that.

  Shaking my head to clear it, I take the dress to the bathroom and remove the plastic. As I hold the shimmery fabric out, I pray Carys was right and this dress won’t make me stick out like a sore thumb. I’m not a fashion disaster, but I don’t have the need for high fashion, like ever.

  My entire closet is made up of jeans and t-shirts with a couple of skirts and dresses thrown in for good measure. When Shep threw this on me last minute, I didn’t have time to get everything at the shop ready for me to be gone for two days and shop.

  So, of course, Carys came to my rescue.

  If it had been up to me, I would’ve just worn the dress I got married in.

  Gah, that still sounds so weird.

  What am I doing?

  Groaning out my frustration, I strip and hop in the shower to wash off the day and freshen up. I’m going to need it. And all the deodorant known to man, because I can already promise I’ll be a sweaty mess. There’s no getting around it.

  Once I’m out and dried off, I pull on the deep-cut, pale pink bra and matching panties, which are all mine. I draw the line at dresses and jewelry. But they do match perfectly with the dress. It’s also a pale pink with a plunging neckline. The soft satin has a sheer mesh overlay, adorned with rhinestones and pearl-embellished floral accents.

  Carys said it gives me a flowy silhouette and I must admit, it does make me feel pretty.

  Giving myself a once-over in the long mirror, I like how the pale pink makes my olive skin tone seem a little more tanned than I really am. I’ll take that.

  After I put a few curls in my hair and swipe some mascara on my eyes and brush some blush on my cheeks, I’m good to go. Any more and I’ll feel as fake as this marriage.

  Before I leave the bedroom, I spritz some perfume and slide into the creamy white pumps.

  The second I open the door, Shep is waiting, looking like he just walked out of a men’s fashion magazine. Swallowing, I bite down on the corner of my lip to keep from smiling like a loon.

  “Wow,” he says with a quirked eyebrow. “You look gorgeous.”

  Smoothing out the front of my dress, I feel the blush creeping up on my cheeks. “Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself,” I say, barely above a whisper as I draw my eyes back up to his.

  There’s a drawn-out pause and when I see Shep’s hand reach out for me, I awkwardly begin to fidget and look around the empty hallway, using the distraction to keep him from doing whatever was on his mind. Touching me? Kissing me? That’s not an option right now. I would crumble.

  “We should…” I tilt my head to the side, motioning down the stairs.

  Shep clears his throat and adjusts his bow tie…a fucking bow tie.

  I’m dead.

  My ghost will be attending this reception.

  “We should,” he agrees, holding an arm out for me to walk ahead of him. “After you, Mrs. Rhys-Jones.”

  Oh, God.

  Thankfully, I don’t have much time to over-analyze that statement or how it made me feel, because the second we enter the foyer, we’re whisked away to the backyard…lawn? I don’t even know what to call it. Basically, they have a park behind their house and it’s decked out in white lights. Tall tables with white tablecloths are scattered around. Candles and flowers and lots of people in tuxes and evening wear round out the scene that’s laid out before me.

  When Shep said his parents are all about pretense, he wasn’t lying. I mean, I knew he wasn’t. But this is a reception fit for royalty. Everything looks expensive, even the waiters walking around with trays of finger-sized foods and flutes of champagne. Is this even real life?

  Maybe I slipped in the bathroom and hit my head?

  This could all be a result of a massive concussion.

  “There they are,” Shep’s mother says, a wide smile on her face and her arms opened wide. She looks like the epitome of proud mother-of-the-groom, a polar opposite from her chilly introduction last night. “Shep…CeCe.” First, she leans in and kisses both of Shep’s cheeks…and he lets her. Then, it’s my turn, and even though I go through the motions, I feel like I’m floating outside my body, hovering about as this alternate reality plays out.

  We move between clusters of strangers, all of them smiling and congratulating after Shep introduces me as his new wife. The protective stance he took last night with his father is in full effect, with his hand on the small of my back and my body tucked in close to his. Every once in a while, he places a tender kiss on my forehead or cheek, occasionally letting his lips linger, painting the perfect picture.

  At first, I feel stiff, and it’s all I can do to remember to smile and use my manners. But after about a dozen introductions, I start to loosen up and relax into my role.

  When I glance up and notice a smudge of lipstick from some old lady who tried to molest him, I gently reach up and swipe it away with the pad of my thu
mb. The tender smile he gives me in return doesn’t feel fake…not in the slightest.

  “Hey,” a familiar voice says, drawing me away from Shep’s gaze and back to reality.

  Finley and Maggie walk up to us, like beacons of light in a dark angry sea.

  My first genuine smile since we walked down the steps splits my face. “Hey, so glad y’all could make it.” Maggie approaches with open arms and I step right into them, needing a soft place to land, if only for a moment. For some reason, since the first second we were introduced earlier today, I felt like she was good people.

  After I met Finley, and saw how he and Shep interacted—the carefree, yet tight bond they have with each other—I knew my instincts were right.

  “You look beautiful,” Finley says as I’m passed from Maggie’s arms to his. He’s tall, like Shep, so I have to stand on my tiptoes to give him a proper hug.

  “Thank you,” I tell him.

  Shep leans in to give Maggie a kiss on her cheek and then grips Finley’s shoulder. “So glad you came.”

  “We wouldn’t have missed it,” Maggie says, her eyes dancing around the crowd. “Not sure what your father will say about it though.”

  “But do we really care what he says?” Shep asks, mischief in his eyes.

  That same gleam is reflected back in Maggie’s as she scrunches her nose and gives her head a shake. “Nah.”

  “Didn’t think so.” Shep steps back and glances around. “Would the two of you mind to keep CeCe company for a second? There’s someone I need to talk to.”

  The three of us follow Shep’s departure and I can’t help but watch as he confidently steps into a group of older, very business-like men. They look like they could be his father’s age, but the way Shep inserts himself into their conversation is impressive. Within seconds, he’s dominating their attention and it’s seriously sexy.

  Clearing my throat, I turn back to Maggie and Finley. “So—”

  “You’re good for him,” Maggie interrupts, her eyes moving past me to where Shep is commanding the stage. “He’s different around you—more relaxed and himself.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her if she knows this is all a ruse. If Shep were to be completely honest with anyone, I imagine it would be Maggie. But I don’t want to say anything out of line or anything that could be used against Shep. So, I simply smile.