Fake Bride Wanted Page 4

  “…As for reds, I can offer you a merlot, also from Campania, but a few years older. Very full body. Pinot noir, Chianti…you name it, and I’ll find it for you.”

  “Actually, you know what?” I fold up the menu and hand it back to him. “Thank you, but I think I’ll have a beer also. A Vermaak.”

  The waiter nods. “Very well. Two beers, coming right up. Any appetizers?”

  Again, Julian looks at me. I shake my head.

  “Not at the moment,” Julian says. “We’ll just start with the drinks.”

  The waiter hurries off.

  “You didn’t have to get a beer,” Julian says. “I won’t be offended if you order wine.”

  I laugh. “I know that. I wanted one. In the spirit of my first visit to the Vermaak headquarters. Why not celebrate it properly?”

  He smiles. “That’s right. And you know what else? This is our first drink together. Back at school, you never drank. Remember when you got so mad at me for sneaking a bottle of wine onto the river cruise?”

  My brow furrows at the memory. “You put the bottle in my backpack!” I say. “That was so not fair.”

  “It was terrible wine, too,” he says, chuckling.

  “Bet none of your execs know you haven’t always had such good taste,” I say jokingly.

  “Oh, God. I’m going to have to swear you to secrecy. Maybe a non-disclosure agreement? Or a handsome bribe. You’ve got more than enough embarrassing stories of younger me to ruin the cool-guy thing I’ve got going.”

  Our beers arrive before we can walk further down the path of memory lane. The cool, blue-tinted glass bottles reflect the warm candlelight. The red and yellow family crest on the front of the label is decorated with two hawks, a sword, and a shield. The beer’s name is in bold calligraphy on a curving ribbon across the bottom of the family crest.

  Julian lifts his beer towards me, across the table. “Cheers.”

  I lift my own. “Cheers.”

  I tap my glass softly against his, then bring the bottle to my mouth. I feel him watching me as I take my first sip. He sips his own and we both sink back into our chairs.

  The atmosphere is so relaxing. Julian’s still in his suit and tie, but now he’s unbuttoned the top several buttons and has loosened his tie. The flickering light of the candle accentuates his features, playing up his chiseled cheeks, jawline, and chin. His neck is muscular and strong, and I spot what looks like perhaps the dark blue of tattoo ink on the very bottom of his neck. It was covered by his collar before, but now that he’s loosened his tie, more of his skin is exposed.

  His muscles flex as he lifts his beer and takes a pull. I have to look away as I feel myself getting flustered all over again.

  I study the beer label as I speak. “Is this your family crest?” I ask, recalling the fact I read somewhere as I run my finger across the label.

  “Indeed it is. Has been for hundreds of years.”

  “And now it’s the logo of a thriving company. Your family must be proud.”

  He shrugs. “I think so. I’m not curing cancer or anything…but the company is good for the economy. We employ thousands, and we donate five percent of profits to local charities.”

  I remember reading that fact also, in an interview that had been posted online. “Did you really start the company when you were twenty-three?” I ask, recalling a point from the article.

  “Twenty-two, actually.”

  “Wow, you were so young. That’s crazy. That’s, like, everybody’s dream…to start a successful company, right out of the gate.”

  He scoffs. “Well, I wouldn’t say it was right out of the gate. I messed up a lot before that. I started up three failed businesses while I was in college. They crashed and burned.”

  “No way!” The beer tastes so good. I’ve had it before, of course, but the environment I’m now in is somehow making it taste even better—more refreshing, more flavorful.

  And it’s going right to my head. I feel a little bit like I’m floating.

  I can see Julian relaxing, too. He pulls on his tie a little bit, loosening it even more. He lifts one leg, and crosses it over the other knee.

  “True story,” he says. “One—which I thought was a real winner—was a video series that trained people to play tennis. I was going to make this robotic tennis coach which fired balls out, recorded footage, and played videos. I even had a prototype built. His name was Tennis Coach Tristen.”

  “Tell me you still have it!” I say with a giggle.

  He cringes. “I do. It’s in my garage. I bet the thing still works.”

  “I want to try it! Why didn’t it work out?”

  “Well, for one thing, Tristen’s tech was cutting-edge for about two seconds. Then, the program I’d used was obsolete. And another thing, in the test runs, Tristen kept getting wrecked by balls—they’d pop off his arms, his legs…smash in his nose.”

  “He had a nose?” I’m really laughing now, imagining this monster.

  “Oh, yeah. Hey, you have to fail before you can succeed, right?”

  “Yes. Tell me more! I have to know your other business ideas.”

  Julian goes on, detailing two other ventures—one in which he would capture any smell and create one-of-a-kind, nostalgia-inducing candles, and one that involved mining the moon for valuable metals. We’re both laughing as we order a second round of beers and an appetizer to share: baked brie with figs and warm bread.

  “So…it wasn’t a straight route to success. There were some dead ends along the way,” Julian concludes.

  “I can see that,” I reply with a playful smirk.

  “But once I found something that worked, I gave it my all. As soon as I graduated college, I put a crazy amount of time and effort into the company. I’m talking twenty-hour days, sometimes. I was young, and I was excited. I could see it was working, and I knew that it had potential…not like the other ones. I went all-out, in a mad dash for the finish line.”

  “And have you made it across the finish line?” I ask.

  The waiter sets down our appetizers and beers. The plate is hot out of the oven, the brie bubbling in a hollowed-out loaf of sourdough. Ribbons of steam float off of the plate, and the aroma makes my mouth water.

  “There’s always another goal on the horizon, but I feel good about where the company is now. I don’t feel the need to work twenty-hour days anymore; that’s for sure.”

  He reaches for the knife and cuts into the brie. He smooths a pad of the gooey cheese onto a small chunk of bread, then tops it with a fig. He holds it out to me. I accept it, and then he starts to build another one for himself.

  “What about you?” Julian asks as I bite into the cheesy tower.

  I take a moment to chew and swallow. I wash it all down with the bubbly ale, thinking about my life over the past fifteen years.

  “I didn’t start any billion-dollar businesses,” I say. “But I’ve done okay.”

  “You nabbed an executive marketing position,” Julian praises me. “And I know how competitive our company is, so you must be doing something right. Do you have a family? Kids?”

  I see him look to my left hand, which is holding my beer. My ring finger is, of course, bare. I’ve noticed that his is, too.

  “No family,” I say. “I went straight from school to college, and then started working sixty-hour weeks. You know how it is.”

  He pauses, taking in my response. He looks somehow…pleased about it.

  “Oh, yeah,” he says. “I know how it is when work consumes you. So, no family…are you seeing anyone?”

  “Nope. I’ve dated here and there, but nothing serious.”

  I feel myself blushing. Why? Is it because, despite the dating I’ve done, I’ve never managed to find a bond like the one I used to share with the man now sitting across from me?

  “What about you?” I ask—because if I don’t ask now, I might never get up the nerve. “Do you have a girlfriend? Wife? Kids?”

  He nods seriously. “I have
a girlfriend and a wife.”

  He’s joking. I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean!”

  “No,” he says. His voice softens and is suddenly serious. “I am a completely, absolutely single man.”

  Well, then! I think I’m buzzed from the beer, because I feel a sly grin crossing my lips.

  “What college did you go to?” he asks, and I’m glad that he’s changing the subject before I blurt out something stupid. “Must be somewhere impressive, if they were able to recruit the one and only Shelby Bright.”

  “Oh, please.” I brush my hand through the air. “I’m nothing that special. I had to work my butt off, but I did get into Hillcrest University.”

  “Hillcrest University! I don’t know, Shelbs—that’s pretty prestigious.”

  I can’t help but smile at the compliment, combined with how normal it feels for him to be calling me by my high school nickname.

  Julian scoops up another slice of bread and brie, and I follow suit.

  “Tell me about it,” he says. “Did you love it?”

  “It was a…love—hate kind of relationship,” I say carefully.

  In truth, my years in college were some of the hardest I’ve ever lived through. When I was a freshman, my mother was diagnosed with lupus. And nothing was the same from then on. I feel myself tumbling down a rabbit hole of memories: the phone call when she told me about her disease, the doctor’s visits, the day she lost her job, the day she called me sobbing and admitted her bankruptcy, my college funding being pulled…

  “Hillcrest’s one of the most esteemed schools on the East Coast, isn’t it?” Julian prompts me.

  “It’s up there,” I say softly. I pull myself away from thoughts of my mother, and instead concentrate on the man across from me. He’s smiling at me, waiting for more. “Little did I know at the time, but it’s also one of the state’s biggest party schools.”

  He laughs. “Really? That’s so not you.”

  “I adapted,” I say, trying to sound mysterious.

  He leans forward. “Tell me more!” He raises his eyebrows slightly.

  I lean forward, too. “Do you know what it feels like to ride a bike, completely naked, covered only in body paint, after eating an entire bag of vodka-soaked gummy bears?”

  His jaw drops. “Noooo,” he says.

  “Neither do I,” I admit, laughing. “But my college roommate, Serena, does. We could ask her.”

  It takes a moment for Julian’s jaw to return to its normal place.

  “Serena was a little wild. I had fun, too. Nothing too crazy—I started working almost full-time when I was a sophomore, so it didn’t leave me with a lot of time to goof off.”

  “Wow. I know you’ve always been driven, Shelbs, but why would you work full-time while earning a degree—from one of the most demanding undergraduate programs in America, at that—if you didn’t have to?”

  I thought I could avoid it. I thought I could keep the conversation light. But how can I answer this question without telling him?

  “That’s the thing,” I say. I pause and sip my beer. He’s watching me closely. “I did have to. I had to work full-time. My mom stopped paying for my education after my first year through the program. If I wanted to stay, I had to pay the bills.”

  “Seriously? That’s harsh.”

  I shrug. “It wasn’t that she wanted to stop paying. It was that she couldn’t. She was…”

  I clear my throat. It’s still hard to talk about this, even after all these years. I look down at the table as I force myself to continue.

  “She was diagnosed with lupus, and her health went downhill fast. She was barely able to get out of bed for a few years, never mind traveling the world as a fashion consultant, like she used to. She lost everything—her career, her home, her savings.”

  Finally, I’m able to look up at Julian. His expression is filled with so much compassion.

  “I am so, so sorry,” he says.

  I shrug. “It is what it is. So, I had to figure out how to pay my way through college…and then some, on top of that.”

  “Which is why you launched into sixty-hour work weeks when you earned your degree,” Julian guesses, patching together the pieces of my story.

  “Yeah. I had to. There was no other way. We got Mom an apartment in Springfield, right down the road from me. She has access to the hospital in Boston, and we’re making things work. This job with Vermaak…it’s really going to help. Her treatments are getting more expensive, and my new salary will be able to cover things much better than what I was earning before.”

  “Good,” Julian says. “I hope that calling you away to Amsterdam was okay. It sounds like you’ve got your hands full at home.”

  “I do, but honestly, I needed a break. I hired a home-care service to help Mom get to her appointments while I’m gone, and she has a visiting nurse, too.”

  Julian still looks guilty.

  “Really,” I say, offering a weak smile. “It’s good to be here. You have no idea.”

  “You shouldn’t have to be under so much stress,” Julian says, his voice filled with concern. “Hopefully, you’ll find the Vermaak benefits to be better than your old job. Take off all the time you need, whenever you need to.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “I mean it.”

  My hand is resting on the table, and he reaches across and gives it a squeeze.

  “If there’s anything I can do—even flying your mother here to Europe for treatments not offered in the States—I’ll do it. Anything to help.”

  “Thanks, Julian.” I know I’m repeating myself, but I’m so touched by his empathetic response that I can’t think of anything else to say.

  I meet his eyes and for a brief moment we just stare at each other. He’s still holding my hand. I don’t want him to let go, but after a moment, I feel myself breaking eye contact and pulling away. His sensitivity has truly startled me. When did he get to be so thoughtful? So mature?

  He’s grown into quite the well-rounded man.

  I glance up, peeking at him through my lashes. I’m not sure what to say next.

  I feel a shiver run up my spine when I see him looking at me now, with this look. It’s a look of…intense interest. Attraction.

  “I remember, now,” he says softly, in his deep voice. “I remember how fascinated I used to be by you. You were so smart and grown-up—even though you were younger. I had no idea, though, when we were kids, that you’d turn out to be so…beautiful.”

  His compliment makes my heart swell with happiness.

  As he looks at me, I feel like I’m the only woman in the room. I feel truly lucky to be sitting with him. How many women would die to be on a date with Julian Meijer? Many, I’m sure. Yet here I am, bathing in the warm glow of his attention.

  Maybe he feels it, too. He’s single. He invited me to drinks. Is this evening about more than just catching up with an old friend? Is he thinking what I’m thinking?

  We’re so well suited to each other. After just a few hours with him, I already feel the strength of our bond renewing.

  He has to feel it, too. He must!

  I feel my breath becoming shallow.

  “Thank you,” I say, searching his eyes to find the meaning behind his compliment. “You’ve turned out pretty well, yourself.”

  He smiles. “Thanks.”

  Is he going to kiss me? When? As we leave the bar? As I get into a cab, headed for the hotel?

  I look at his lips. How would it feel, to kiss him? How would it feel if he held me with those strong arms?

  Maybe he’ll kiss me now, in the middle of this speakeasy. He’ll lean across the table, and…

  My daydream is interrupted when he speaks, but his words seem to confirm my suspicions.

  “There’s something I want to tell you,” he says softly.

  He is feeling it! He is into me.

  I lean forward, holding my breath. Waiting.

  Chapter 5

  Shelby


  Julian’s face is only inches from mine. I feel his breath against my cheek as he speaks.

  “I’ve been looking for something,” he says.

  A bond like the one we used to share? So have I, Julian! So have I!

  “A ring,” Julian says.

  Oh.

  My leaping, pirouetting heart stops prancing through my chest. I feel myself frown. Not what I expected.

  “A ring that was in my family for generations.”

  I exhale, and settle in to figure out what this is all about.

  Julian keeps talking. “It was crafted by one of my ancestors, who wanted to propose to the daughter of a lord. He wasn’t of a high social standing, so he went on a quest to find the biggest gem he could, so that he might have the chance to earn the woman’s hand in marriage.”

  I find myself imagining a man with Julian’s good looks. Only, the man in my mind is dressed in tattered fur, streaked with dirt, sweating with the exertion of traversing lands far and wide while searching for a precious gemstone.

  “Where did he go?” I ask.

  I rest my chin on my hands, and tilt my head to the side. No, this isn’t exactly what I wanted to hear, but it is a story about love, and I find myself slightly soothed by it.

  And curious.

  “Legend has it that he crossed Europe, journeyed through India, and made his way to Burma. He toiled in a ruby mine for years, until finally, he unearthed the largest ruby he’d ever laid eyes on. Then, he made his way back to the woman that he loved.”

  I can imagine our fair-haired hero, climbing wind-swept mountain ranges, wading through rivers, and braving the elements as he battled back to the woman of his dreams. The ruby would be tucked into his ragged tunic the entire time.

  “Did he give it to her?” I ask.

  Julian nods. “He proposed with the ruby. He won the honor of marrying her, and that wasn’t all. He also was granted knighthood after the king heard about all that he had done. That was the beginning of my family's noble lineage.”

  Julian turns his beer, pointing to the elaborate logo. “That’s why the hawks feature our crest—to symbolize his spirit and victory. And this tree, with the red droplets on it? That symbolizes the ruby. It was once said that rubies grew on trees, ripening like fruit.”