by Emily Childs
Then there’s the matter of the groundskeepers, the cooks, the drivers. They all know Rafe, and well. All I can do is hope they keep quiet.
“They won’t say anything,” Rafe whispers as if reading my thoughts. We walk behind Arnold, the head groundskeeper. He’s eyeing us over his shoulder. Rafe lowers his face beside my ear. “I’ll let them know this is for Mama and you won’t have to say we’re together, not to them.”
“I’m not ashamed to be on your arm, Rafe,” I snap at him. “The jab to my pride comes because a man is being compensated to hold my hand.”
His jaw pulses. Good. He ought to feel a bit of shame about all this too.
How was this okay? Why can’t I simply stand against such an idea? I’ve done nothing wrong—Thomas Abernathy is the dirty dog who can’t stick to one woman at a time. Yet, I suppose I can admit it’s a bit of relief not being forced to announce my failed relationship today.
Arnold halts at the door leading to the great room where the guests are gathered. My mother’s voice is chuckling and crowing with people I’ve never met. She calls them my guests, but in reality, they’re here for Mama and Daddy.
My mother is going on about a misprint, or something ridiculous when I glance at Rafe. He seems as nervous as me, adjusting his collar, and licking his lips.
I forget to breathe when his summer blue eyes lock on me. He squeezes my hand like he used to when we were kids, and wiggles his brows. He calms me, a skill not given to many. I scan him once over, for pleasure and purpose. I’ve seen the man in a suit and tie three times now: his granddaddy’s funeral when he was twelve, at his senior prom, when he was first becoming a mouthwatering specimen, then at August’s and Lily’s wedding. That day both Whitfield boys looked like two princes from a fairytale. What a shame he doesn’t wear them more often, although, Rafe in jeans and a tight T-shirt is the Lord’s gift to the female sex.
“You’re turning into a Whitney today, Rafe,” Arnold grumbles, casting a furtive glance to me.
A shadow passes over Rafe’s face. “What did you say?”
Arnold shakes his head. “A Whitney. That’s the name Ms. Cutler is using. Come on, son, you didn’t think you’d keep your last name and risk someone out there finding out.”
Rafe stiffens. His mouth is nothing but a thin line. My stomach feels like it’s made of barbed wire when I rest a hand on his forearm, the pang of guilt hardly bearable. “Rafe, we don’t have to do this. Mama should never have used the name.”
He glances me, sharply. “I don’t want to use that name.”
“I know.”
He clears his throat. “But I can’t leave you to do this alone.”
“I’m sure Mama didn’t mean anything by it, not intentionally.” At least, I hope.
Arnold claps him on the shoulder. “Yeah, Rafe—just a slip.”
I squeeze Rafe’s hand reassuringly, before glancing at the smiley groundskeeper. “You must think this is ridiculous, don’t you, Arnie?”
Arnold’s gaze softens. “Nah, Miss Olive, no thoughts of the kind are in my old brain. Don’t you worry, your parents asked us to keep our mouths shut—that includes your cousin. This has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with that sorry excuse for a man who couldn’t see what he was standing to lose. Glad you kicked him to the curb. I hate to say it, but this wasn’t his first time stepping out. People talk.”
Tears burn behind my eyes, threatening to smear my freshly applied makeup. I’m such a fool.
Arnold takes hold of the brass knob and grins when my mother’s loud voice announces Mr. Rafe Whitney and Olive Jane. “Well, kids the floor is yours.”
Applause and raised glasses overwhelm the thud of my heartbeat when the doors open. I must look like a deer trapped in headlights. I’m grateful Rafe is on edge same as me. We’ll move robotically together. The strange couple.
I can live with that reputation.
All the signs with Tom’s name are gone, hopefully burned. Stout men, women with delicate sun hats and pearls, divide us straightaway. Rafe earns backslaps, handshakes, while I hear all the swoony talk of Rafe’s strong chin, broad shoulders, and get pecked on the cheek more than I can count.
“Oh, Ollie! I’m so thrilled for your . . . engagement.”
I turn toward the familiar squeal through the ocean of people. “Dot?” I gasp as the redhead snickers and throws her twiggy arms around my neck. “What are you doing here?”
Dorothy-Ann wasn’t expected until the bridal shower. She flashes her wide, white smile. “Oh, I wouldn’t miss anything to do with your nuptials, girl. And Rafe” – snicker – “so good to see you too.”
I grumble under my breath and tug Dot toward the back of the room, ignoring the way Rafe gapes at me like I’ve fed him to the wolves. I have, no mistake, and soon enough he’s swallowed up by a few men enraptured by the car business in New Orleans.
“I wish I could snag men as fast as you, Ollie.”
“Oh, hush, Dorothy-Ann.”
“Don’t fly off the handle, I’m just teasing you.”
I scrub my face as Dot sips her champagne. “It’s Mama’s idea, Dot. The snake I call Tom stepped out this morning. I called everything off.”
Dot gasps dramatically. “Oh, my. You poor thing. Well, good riddance, that’s what I say. No worries, Ollie, your secret is safe with me. Besides, your mama could pick a lot worse than Rafe Whitfield—I mean, Whitney.” She snorts into her glass as I pinch her arm. “He sure has grown up, hasn’t he?”
“You’ve been in Raleigh too long.”
Dorothy-Ann had moved up north when we were sixteen, but I still consider her one of my best friends. Of course, she’d recognize Rafe, but I know Dot won’t spill the truth. I think.
“I’m back for three whole months,” she says. “I’m staying at the beach house. Oh, Ollie. I have the best idea. You and Rafe should come out with Sawyer and me. It will add to the story.”
“Sawyer is in town?”
“On the weekends he comes to see me. Oh, say you’ll come out with us. He’s going to propose—I know it. I want you to get to know him.”
Sawyer probably wouldn’t cheat on Dot. She won’t be forced to pretend she’s engaged to save her family’s face. But like the dutiful friend, I grin and nod. “Of course.”
A calloused, warm hand slips into mine, stealing my breath. Rafe offers me a frenzied look. I can’t help but snort a laugh. “You look like you might lose your lunch.”
He tells me with his grip that I’m never allowed to leave him alone again. “Your parents are waiting.”
“I’ll see you later, Olive,” Dot gushes. “Bye, Rafe.”
“She promised she wouldn’t speak a word,” I whisper, moving to the front of the room.
My mother is all smiles and grace. No one will ever discover the truth, not with Bernadette at the helm. She can plot with the best of them. There’s no lengths too far to protect the family’s good name. My daddy wears a different expression. Shadowed eyes, terse lips. Lon Cutler seems like he cares for this arrangement as much as me.
“Daddy,” I say, hugging him quickly.
He’s tall, broad, and intimidating, but he pats my cheek, showing the softer side he saves for his only child. “Olive, you look lovely.”
“Thank you.”
He glances at Rafe. My mother never cared much for the idea of me tussling with the Whitfield twins as a girl, but it’s no secret my father got on well with both August and Rafe. They’d been like sons he’d never had. Although, in this moment there is a clear warning in the brisk way he shakes Rafe’s hand. “Glad I can trust my daughter to a man who will respect our family values.”
“Yes, sir,” Rafe says quickly.
“Alright then.” Daddy faces the crowd. “Thank, y’all for coming. Let’s raise our glasses to my daughter and the man at her side.”
I swallow the knot in my throat, feels like nails scratching my neck, and accept a glass from my mother.
The muggy room be
ams at us with congratulatory smiles. Everyone lifts their glasses to the future Mr. and Mrs. Whitney.
A shame.
A farce.
A lie with trouble written all over it.
Rafe
11 years ago
Olive dips her toe into the water and squeals. “It’s cold as ice!”
August snickers and dives into the white-capped waves. Our mama says this summer we’re looking less like twins and simply like brothers. The only difference I see is Aug has brown eyes, lighter hair, and doesn’t look like a skeleton like me. With my brother swimming and having fun, I turn back to the beach. I want to go, but I can’t leave her.
“Come on, princess,” I shout. “You said you wanted to swim. Now, let’s swim.”
Olive glances over her shoulder where Beau, Tom, and Nick hang back, sipping sodas and laughing. They’re too busy teasing Olive to pick a fight with me and Aug today. But if they keep barking at her, there might be something to start soon enough.
“Swimming shouldn’t include freezing my tush off,” Olive whines.
“Fine.” My voice squeaks. It’s been doing that a lot lately. Mama says it’s the hormones, and I hate when she talks about stuff like that. “I’m going to swim. You can stay nice and cozy on the shore.”
“I knew you were chicken, Olive,” Beau shouts, drawing a few grim chuckles from Nick and Tom. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t go in the water with them boys either.”
I glare at Beau. He’s such a snob, but I soften my expression when I face Olive again. “You gonna let him talk to you like that, Ol?”
She huffs and slips off her glittery, blue sandals. She strips her white swimsuit cover, takes a deep breath, and starts coming out to me in the waist-deep surf. After a few breathless strides, she freezes.
“It’s so strong, Rafe. I’m going to fall over. I’m going back.”
I tread the current to shallower water, holding out my hand with a laugh. “Come on, you big baby. Aug and I will teach you how to swim with the pull. Hold my hand and I’ll make sure you don’t drown.”
“Promise?”
Olive is something else. Pampered, but brave. And ever since I turned twelve, she’s different to me. She’s kind of pretty, I guess. I like her freckles.
I smile and hold her hand tightly. “Promise, Ollie.”
Chapter 5
Olive
I hold onto Rafe’s hand because I feel like I’m about to topple over. Gregory Till is a pompous man who smells like stale coffee beans and old cigarette butts. No matter how chilly the air, the man is in a constant sweat. Rafe stands politely by as Mr. Till grills him about his background.
“I had no idea there was such a market for car parts,” he says.
Rafe holds a champagne glass, but I’ve yet to see him take a drink. It’s sweet how he’s trying to hide his nerves, but I catch those telltale signs. The way he taps the side of his glass, shifts on his feet every twenty seconds, the way the strong muscles in his jaw pulse like a drum when he isn’t talking.
“So, how did you get into the market, son?” Mr. Till tries again.
Rafe clears his throat, seeming stuck on how to respond. I squeeze his fingers and step forward. I’ll take the wheel for now. “If you have the right business sense, you can make anything profitable, Mr. Till. Don’t let Rafe fool you, he’s not just the brains behind the business, he knows how to fix all those cars too. And, not to boast on this guy, but he has a real talent in design. I still encourage him to get his engineering degree.”
Mr. Till’s eyes widen. “Why, seems like the Cutlers hit the jackpot in you, Mr. Whitney. What kept you from furthering your education, like Miss Olive says?”
Rafe shoots me a fierce side glance only I catch. I don’t ruffle, though, he can grumble at me later.
“I suppose other things in life took precedence, sir. Sometimes, my Ollie forgets the hard work involved in supporting a family, and going to school would take away certain luxuries. You see, she likes to shop.”
Oh. Oh, he’s going to get it. I hope I scorch him a little the way I glare at him, but Gregory Till finds the jab hilarious.
The man even slaps his knees. “Well, son, I don’t expect that’ll be changing anytime soon. Trust me, when little ones come, it gets worse. I nearly took a second job when my wife started hitting the baby boutiques.”
“Oh, I plan to contribute to the finances as well, Mr. Till,” I interject. I’m pretty sure Rafe grins a little.
Mr. Till lifts a brow. “Is that so? How you planning to do that?”
“Well, I’m nearly finished with my teaching degree, elementary school, you see. There’s something sweet about the little faces—”
“That will be a wonderful hobby, Miss Olive,” Mr. Till interrupts. “Until the family comes. I suspect long term it might be better for your husband to get the education if he chooses.”
“Olive can work if she’d like,” Rafe says. “She’s a great teacher.”
“I see.” Mr. Till mumbles. “Well, keep up the good work, you two. I think we can expect great things from this pair.”
Rafe tips his glass, bidding the man farewell.
I narrow my eyes. “A hobby?”
“Let it go, Ollie, what does he know?” Rafe whispers, his arm slipping around my waist so he can lean next to my ear. I won’t admit it, but there is a heaping amount of pleasure that comes from his hand on my hip. Rafe’s voice is soft, I feel it on my skin and shiver when he says, “What are you doing bringing up engineering, Ol?”
“Because it’s a good dream, Rafe,” I tell him. “And you’re good at it.”
“Ollie, you know that ship has sailed. I’ve got a job I enjoy, and I’ve got my mom to think about.”
“You sell yourself short, Rafe. Millie wouldn’t want you to not do something because of her, you know that.”
“I do not sell myself short, princess,” he whispers. “I’m realistic. Maybe you’re the one who has a problem with what I really do.”
I glare at him. “I beg your pardon. When have I ever let on that being a mechanic is something I’d have a problem with?”
“Never,” Rafe admits. “Until you brought up engineering. I’m happy where I am, Ol.”
“For heaven’s sake, I was just saying I think you’re good at something. Remind me never to compliment you again.”
“Cool down, or I won’t let you keep your teaching hobby,” he says, grinning that smile that knocks me off my feet.
I roll my eyes but pinch his arm so we’re both snickering, and doubtless, looking like lovesick fools to the crowd. We’re simply being us, and it’s been too long since we have been.
Even if he isn’t my fiancé, it means something that Rafe stood up for teaching. To most folks, I’m set to be pampered by my future husband’s allowances, attend luncheons, host book clubs, play tennis, and raise babies. I adore my students I’ve had during student teaching. Only a few more months and I’ll graduate. The elementary school in town has offered me a full-time position and everything.
Like a sledgehammer to the ribs, I’m struck that Tom believed the same as Mr. Till. Now, I feel even more foolish. How many times had I brushed away his snark about teaching under the rug?
Perhaps Tom’s loose lips were a blessing in disguise.
“Hey, Ollie.” Beau’s smooth voice breaks through the hubbub of the room. “Congratulations.”
No, I don’t miss my cousin’s sharp glare at Rafe.
“Thanks, Beau,” I say pleasantly.
Beau leans in, voice low. “Ollie, talk to Tom. He’s torn up over what happened. He won’t step out again.”
“He should have thought of that before messing around the first time,” Rafe snaps, his voice dark and dangerous.
Beau shakes his head, staring toward the old grandfather clock against the wall. “Maybe it’s because he’s my friend, but you’ve known Tom since we were kids too, Ollie. He cares about you something fierce.”
“It’s over, Beau,�
�� I say.
Beau sniffs, brushing his glossy, raven’s wing hair off his forehead. “Fine, but I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Ollie. Making sure you’re . . . safe and all that.”
Rafe’s skin shades red. I step between them when they both twitch like they’ll throw a fist. “You two knock it off. Beau, leave Rafe be. He’s doing me a favor.”
“Fine,” Beau says, lifting his hands in surrender. “I’ll keep my opinions about this whole thing to myself.”
My stomach falls out the bottom of me when Beau winks and taps his spoon against his glass. “Hey, everybody,” he calls to the room. “I propose we hear a story. Yeah, how about we hear how Rafe here popped the question?”
The women in the room sigh, adoring the idea. Most of the men are polite, but go back to their business talk. My cheeks are hot enough I could fry an egg, and it doesn’t help that Dot is beaming on the winding staircase, her eyes gleaming as she awaits the biggest fish story of the season.
Rafe is my opposite. His sun-kissed skin is pallid and clammy. He looks at me for help, but I simply wink. This is for Millie, but I can still have fun with him. Make him sweat a bit for agreeing to this nonsense before consulting me and such.
“Oh, I’ll tell the story,” I grin, and Beau’s face falls in disappointment. “It’s so sweet, all you ladies will be swooning, but I warn you—he’s mine.”
“Maybe I should tell the story,” Rafe says. “It’s nothing too special.”
“Come on, baby.” I smack his chest playfully. “You’re so modest. Don’t worry, none of the men will make fun of you. Every woman loves a sensitive guy, right ladies?”
Rafe scowls when more women giggle.
“Go on then, tell us, Ollie,” Dot cries.
“Well, we’d been seeing each other long distance. Oh, how my heart ached for my man when he was out in Louisiana,” I sigh and, yes, rest the back of my hand onto my forehead. “I wasn’t expecting him to visit for another two weeks, but this guy, oh, he knows how to surprise a woman. I was getting to class, surprised at first, you know, because all the kids were out in the hallway in a perfect line. I thought to myself, now what are all these kiddos doing here so early? Ladies, when I walked in the room there were tiny hearts dangling from the doorway, hand cut, out of construction paper. He even used glitter.”