Fake Bride Wanted Page 9

  But I press my lips together, lift my hand, and give a silent wave.

  She doesn’t return it.

  She’s angry. Or hurt. Or both.

  I keep watching her, waiting for her to say goodbye. But she hangs her head low, hiding her expressive eyes from me.

  I feel lost.

  The driver closes the door, and as the car pulls out of the drive with a soft crunch of tires on gravel, I’m left with a sinking feeling in my gut. What have I done?

  I blow air out through puffed cheeks and tilt my head up to take consolation from the stars. They blink back at me, ensuring me that all is not lost. Tomorrow is another day—a chance to make things right.

  “Get some sleep,” the familiar constellations seem to say. “It’s been a long day.”

  I take their advice and head back inside, towards my empty, lonely bed.

  I wake up at five a.m. and hit the gym. It’s one of my favorite areas of my home—a place I go when I’m upset or confused, to try to get my head straight. I pound out a quick five miles on the treadmill to warm up, and then start in on a full-body weight lifting session. My body is drenched in sweat by the time I’m done, and I’m waiting for that post-workout high to hit me.

  It doesn’t.

  Something isn’t right.

  I jump in the shower, trying to clean off the funk I’m in.

  It’s no good.

  Is this about last night? I start to wonder what Shelby’s doing this morning. Is she still in bed? Is she thinking about me? Is she hurting?

  I don’t want to be the reason for her pain.

  By the time I’m sitting at my desk at eight a.m., I’ve run through many possible scenarios: she jumps on a plane and flies back to the States without saying goodbye; she hires a lawyer to get her out of the contract; she goes to the press.

  She never speaks to me again.

  She’s crying.

  It’s like the fall dance all over again. Shelby always thought that she could keep secrets from me, but I knew—just by looking into her eyes—exactly what she was thinking. It’s like I could read her mind.

  I started to figure out that Shelby had feelings for me when I was about sixteen. We’d been friends for two years by that point, and I stopped even bothering to pretend that I wanted to hang out with anyone else. I stopped trying to fit in with the group of guys that I hung around with.

  What did it matter if they made fun of me for spending so much time with a girl? Shelby and I had fun. We talked about everything under the sun, and always laughed when we were together. I knew everything about Shelby, and she knew everything about me.

  It was only after my sixteenth birthday that I started to realize she was keeping something from me.

  At first, I had no idea what it was. We’d be talking about something, and suddenly she’d go all quiet. She’d blush, or turn away, or even walk away from me. What is she hiding? I kept wondering.

  That’s when I learned that I could read her mind by looking into her eyes. When she’d go all quiet, I’d find a way to get her to look at me. And it was all right there.

  She liked me…more than friends like each other. When I talked about girls, she was hurt. She was jealous.

  The thing is, I liked her too.

  So much that it scared me.

  And when she moved away, I realized how lucky I was that I never acted on my feelings. If I’d allowed myself to really like Shelby, as much as she liked me, we’d both be screwed. We’d both be hurting so much more.

  That was my first lesson in love, I guess you could say. Be careful how much you care about someone, because the next day, they might not be there.

  I look at my watch. Fifteen minutes have passed since I sat down at my desk. I let my head fall into my hands and I run my fingers through my hair.

  This is torture.

  I feel like every minute spent in my head, dwelling on this, is a whole hour. Time is creeping by, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about Shelby.

  I’ve got to do something. Something to distract myself.

  I pull up last month’s profit and loss statement and try to immerse myself in the data.

  It’s no use.

  By the time nine rolls around, I’m a complete mess. I’ve run my hands through my hair so many times that I can feel it standing on end, my eyes feel raw and puffy from my early morning start, and my hands are shaking because I’ve barely been able to eat, yet I’ve had three cups of coffee.

  A knock on my door makes me start.

  Max pokes his head in. “Hey, boss,” he says. “I have an invoice from our distributor for twice as much as—” He stops short, eyeing me. “You okay?” he asks.

  “Uh, yeah…I’m—I’m fine.”

  Max and I are close—he was one of my first employees, and we’ve been through a lot together—but still, I don’t want to tell him what’s going on.

  He doesn’t let me off the hook that easily, though. “Does this have something to do with your meeting with your lawyer yesterday?” he asks. “You getting sued or something?”

  I shake my head. “It’s nothing,” I say. Though, clearly, it’s not.

  “I won’t bother you with this,” Max says, holding up what I assume is the invoice.

  “No, it’s okay.” I beckon him in. “I could use a distraction right now.”

  “Okay…” He seems hesitant, but then steps into the office and brings the invoice over to my desk.

  We spend an hour sorting out the miscommunication with our main distributor, and clearing up the false charges. Then, the talk turns to Shelby.

  “Oh, yeah. I was on the phone with a home care agency in Massachusetts,” Max says. “You remember how you asked me to set something up for the mother of the U.S. head of marketing, Shelby Bright?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, it’s all set. And I notified the Springfield offices that she’ll be here until Thursday of next week. I changed her tickets; she’ll fly out Thursday afternoon and be back in the States by Friday. I extended her stay at the Jager for last night and got her a room at the Grand Royal, starting this evening.”

  “Good, good.” I think my voice sounds strained—maybe a bit higher than usual.

  Max looks sideways at me. “Is there something going on with you two?” he asks. “I don’t mean to pry, but the way you look at her is…different.”

  “Oh…well,” I rub my hand on the back of my neck, trying to figure out how to put what’s going on between Shelby and I into words, without giving away too much. “We actually used to know each other, back when we were in boarding school.”

  “No way!” Max says. “Did you know that when she was hired on?”

  “I had no idea,” I say. “I didn’t even realize she was working for us until Wednesday, at the executive meeting.”

  “Crazy!” Max says. For my young, punk-rock assistant to say something is crazy, it’s got to at least be a little bit out there.

  I manage a smile. “Yeah…it’s been a real throwback,” I say.

  “So you guys, like, knew each other? Took classes together or something?”

  “We were friends,” I say. “Good friends.”

  “That’s cool,” Max says. “I thought so, by the way you acted around her. I can tell she’s special to you. Well…if there’s anything else I can do…?”

  “Nope, you’ve nailed it, as usual.”

  “All right, cool. I’ll go send this in to accounting.” He holds up the revised invoice and then exits my office.

  I look at my watch, imagining that it must be lunchtime. It’s only nine forty-five. This day is dragging by!

  My mind turns to Shelby again, and all that Max has said. As I think over his words, I realize that he’s given me the perfect excuse to reach out to her with a neutral message. I’ll tell her about the change in hotels. Chances are, Max’s already informed her via email, but it would make sense if I told her, too.

  And while I’m at it, I’ll try to smo
oth things over from last night. I want to rid myself of this confusing, lost state I’m in, and that means I need a plan for moving forward. The ring, I think. Focus on the ring.

  I type out a quick message, detailing the change in hotels and offering up one of my drivers to help her make the move. Then, I add in the real purpose of the message.

  After you move into the new hotel, I can pick you up for dinner. A restaurant this time—nothing remotely mustardy, I promise. What do you say?

  I feel better after I send it. We have to be on good terms for the meeting on Monday, if we want to pull this off, and I think a friendly dinner could set us straight.

  We kissed last night, and that was a mistake. But we can get past it.

  I just have to put all of my focus on that ring.

  What’s a little kiss? Nothing but an obstacle in the road, and I’ve faced many obstacles in my day.

  Only, this time, I feel like our kiss isn’t merely a block in the road that I have to find a way around. Rather, it’s like a twister that picked me up and placed me down on an entirely new road all together. I’ve been watching this twister approach for days…years, even. I thought I could dodge it, but it swept me up, nonetheless. This new road feels strange under my feet. It’s one I’ve never been on. One I don’t know how to navigate.

  I have to make it back to where I started—to before where the twister swept me up. I have to find the road I started out on, so that I can continue moving forward.

  I stare down at my phone, waiting for Shelby’s response.

  Chapter 10

  Shelby

  It’s almost 10 a.m. and I haven’t even gotten out of my pajamas. I was supposed to be at Vermaak two hours ago, but I canceled my meeting with Martina and Enrique, claiming a migraine.

  I do have a slight headache, but it’s not enough to keep me in bed. I know the real reason I can’t get up.

  Julian.

  When we kissed last night, it was like a dream come true. For an instant, everything was right in the world. Julian’s arms were around me. His lips were on mine. I could feel the strength of him, holding me up as I practically fell into his arms.

  It was like I’d always imagined it would be, only better.

  But then, something changed. He pulled away.

  I roll over in the soft, queen-sized bed, and the white down comforter rustles around me. I place my hands under my cheek and gaze out the window, listlessly taking in the mid-morning sky and the tops of glittering high-rise buildings across the street.

  He wanted to kiss me. He enjoyed our kiss. But then, he changed his mind.

  What happened? He said we shouldn’t rush into anything, but for me, that kiss was not rushed. It was more than fifteen years in the making. What is he so afraid of?

  My body wiggles restlessly, and I toss over to the other side so that I’m facing the wall. The blankets tangle around my legs.

  I mean, is it because of all of this mess with the ring? Does he really have feelings for me, but is holding back because of the ruby?

  Or is that just wishful thinking?

  Maybe he doesn’t care for me at all. Maybe he can’t wait to get rid of me—to have this whole deal done with. I’m nothing but a convenient pawn in his game of Meijer Ruby Chess, and he has no feelings for me whatsoever.

  But that kiss…that kiss! There’s no way I imagined the passion with which Julian kissed me. For a minute, I’m back in his living room, feeling his strong hands against my back…

  Ding! My cellphone alerts me to a message.

  I throw the covers off and sit up in bed. After taking a quick drink of water from a bottle on my nightstand, I open up my texts. As soon as I see who it’s from, my heart starts hammering in my chest.

  It’s from Julian.

  I open it and read. I scan over the first part, which details a new hotel that I’ll be moved into that evening. After that, he suggests dinner.

  I bite my lip, still reading. “Nothing remotely mustardy,” he promises, and I feel myself smile slightly. I’ll never forget the way his chef looked when Julian suggested frozen pizza. I stare at the message for a few minutes, my soft smile fading. Soon, I’m back to chewing on my bottom lip. What does this mean? Where is he going with this?

  Could this be his way of apologizing?

  Or…does he want to kiss me again? Is this a date?

  The more I stare at his words, the more I read into each and every one. He wants to pick me up—that means it’s a date…right? But then again, there’s no apology here. Nothing about last night. Is he going to pretend that it didn’t happen?

  I set my phone down on the nightstand with frustration and pace across the room to the bathroom. I take a quick shower, brush my teeth, and get dressed for the day. The entire time, my mind is running over his text.

  What am I going to say?

  I pick up the phone a few times with the intention of responding, but nothing comes. I sit down on the edge of the bed and curl my knees up to my chest. Running my hands through my tangled, damp hair, I stare at the phone, hoping something will come to me.

  Nothing does.

  Finally, I do the only thing I can think of: I call my mother.

  She picks up on the third ring. “Shelby? Is that you?”

  “Yes, Mom. Hi! Did I wake you?”

  Her voice sounds groggy, and I suddenly realize that with the time difference, it’s about four a.m. for her. Practically the middle of the night.

  But my mom is one of the sweetest people in the world, and she brushes off my poor timing. “It’s no problem, honey; I would have been up in a few hours anyway. Tell me everything!”

  I spend some time filling her in on the business side of the trip so far—it’s going well and I’m getting on well with my colleagues. We chat about the extension to my trip, and she says that she’s happy that I’m staying in Amsterdam to do some sightseeing.

  “About this week, Mom,” I say. “There’s a bit more to it than just sightseeing…which is why I’m calling, actually. The real reason I’m staying in Amsterdam is a little complicated…”

  I brief my mom on the way I’ve reconnected with Julian Meijer, and that he’s asked me to help him fulfill the stipulations for owning the ring.

  My mother has always had a strong moral compass, and I like to think that I take after her. This whole thing with Julian is so unlike me, and I start to feel even worse as I lay it all out in black and white before my mom.

  She listens carefully, and once I’m done, I hold my breath, waiting for her response. Is she going to say she’s disappointed in me for agreeing to such a dishonest scheme?

  “Well…” she says slowly, drawing out the end of the word until I’m perched so precariously on the edge of the bed that I practically fall off. “It certainly is a complicated situation, honey. I know that this must be difficult for you. Julian was your first love.”

  I swallow. There’s sympathy in her voice. Compassion.

  “He was,” I say softly. “But…I was just a kid, then.”

  “That doesn’t make it any less real. It doesn’t matter how old you are when you fall in love for the first time. It always cuts deep…and sometimes, it leaves scars.”

  I feel choked up. I can hear from the tone of her voice that she’s speaking from experience. My mother never really talks about my father, but I know that they were high-school sweethearts. I know that she loved my dad.

  “Some people never get over their first loves,” she says, her voice distant. “There’s something about the first, Shelby. And Julian was yours.”

  “But Mom, I feel like now, we’re in this complicated business arrangement. You should have seen the legal jargon on the papers I had to sign. He had his lawyers draw them up. It’s just so…messy, now.”

  “Masterpieces are messy, honey, before they’re works of art. Let me ask you this: do you think he’s interested in you?”

  My mind flashes back to the way Julian looked at me yesterday, throughout the eveni
ng. It started out on the patio, and I kept catching those long, lingering looks as the night grew later. And then his kiss…

  “Yes,” I say. “I’m certain he’s attracted to me. Physically, at least.” I spare my mom the details of the passionate kiss, but I think she catches my drift. “But I’m also picking up on this hesitancy from him…like he doesn’t want a relationship. He can be so friendly, but then, he puts up walls.” I think of the way Julian pulled away from me.

  “All of us put up walls,” my mother says.

  I clutch the phone to my ear, eager to hear the wisdom she’s about to impart. Years with a chronic illness have made my mother a very thoughtful woman. I trust her advice.

  She continues. “It happens as we get older—I’m sure you have some of your own, sweetie. It wasn’t easy growing up without a father.”

  “I know,” I say softly.

  “There may be a reason you haven’t dated seriously. I know that you want to say it’s because of work, but honey, don’t you think that if you wanted to be in a committed relationship, you would have found a way?”

  Her words strike me dumb. All this time, I’ve been focusing on Julian’s flaws, yet I may be just as closed off as he is. My mother’s right. I haven’t dated more than a handful of men, and every relationship has been brief and casual.

  “It’s not your job to break down Julian’s walls,” my mom continues. “It’s an inside job…do you see that? The person who has put up those walls—they have to decide to open up a doorway and let the outside in.”

  She’s quiet for a moment, and I hear her breath coming in short, rapid puffs. I don’t know if she’s pausing so that I can absorb her words, or so that she can catch her breath.

  After a few moments, she speaks again. “Don’t worry about Julian’s walls, honey. He’ll open up when he’s ready. Focus on opening up your own heart.”

  “But Mom,” I say, bewildered by how much sense she’s making, but still struggling to fit it all together. “I see what you’re saying about me…I really do see that I have some stuff to work through. But what if Julian doesn’t even want to open up to me? I mean, I think he’s attracted to me…but if he was really interested, he never would have gotten me involved in this ring scheme.”