“Why wouldn’t they? They certainly measure up.” The second the words left her mouth, Lucy kicked herself for speaking without thinking. But she couldn’t help herself, she remembered Joel’s abs all too well.
“I mean…” What did she mean? She meant what she said. Crap. She hated putting her foot in her mouth. “You have nice abs, that’s all,” she muttered, staring at her toes.
“Okay, now that I have that uninvited image in my brain, let’s lock down the engagement party next Saturday at Bowie’s, 7 p.m. I’ll confirm with Gabe that the space can becleared, and then I’ll send an email.” Ivy spoke like she’d been Lucy’s bosom buddy for years, and not like they’d just met.
Lucy considered the circle of friends. They’d come here for Gabe and Hope’s family, but were now celebrating Joel and her without blinking an eye.
She could get used to this kind of immediate love and acceptance. Deep inside her another kernel of understanding grew as to why Joel now spent more time in Portland than San Francisco.
Back home, his life was all business and work. Here, he was surrounded by friends who loved him for who he was and were genuinely excited for his news, no matter how shocking it might have been. That was a very special thing.
“What’s your number?” Ivy regarded her expectantly, phone in hand. “I’ll need to reach you since it’s partially your party. You probably have relatives who’ll want to attend, so I’ll need contacts. You can stay until next Saturday, right?”
Things were shifting so quickly, her mind whirled. Her long overdue, two-week vacation had turned into a two-week wedding planning, fake engagement, party-hardy extravaganza. How had her life gotten so out of control?
All she wanted was to run her family’s company when her father retired in six months, and keep the business thriving. Now she was involved in—and distracted by— planning a party for her fake engagement.
Numbly, she rattled off her number, and Ivy typed it into her phone.
“Great.” Ivy shoved her phone back in her bag. “I’ll be in touch. We’ll need to meet to go over details, which is easy since you’re staying across the hall from me while you’re here.”
“Uh.” Lucy shot a glance at Joel, who was watching her with that odd glint in his eye that she’d caught earlier. A swirl of unidentifiable emotion. Quickly averting her gaze, she went with the truth, lest the lies pile up so high she lost track of them. “I’m staying with my aunt.”
Unfortunately, at the same moment she spoke, Joel said, “She’s staying with me.”
Ivy blinked, and Lucy felt her face warm. Crap, crap, crap. They’d forgotten to discuss this. Served her right for not devising a strategic plan on this Hail Mary of an idea.
“Well, while you guys figure it out, I’ll be in touch by text.”
Ten minutes later, and after several awkward congratulations by well-meaning strangers, Lucy was finally back in Joel’s car. She slumped against her seat and let out a long breath.
As soon as Joel rounded to the driver’s side and got in she said, “I don’t know if we can pull this off.”
He started his Porsche with the push of his finger. “Pull what off?”
She glared at him. “This, Joel. A fake engagement, a fake wedding. A fake party. A fake marriage.”
“Our marriage is real, Lucy, and has been since that neon chapel in Vegas.” Smoothly, he pulled away from the curb and onto the quiet residential street.
Frustration bubbled in her throat, tasting bitter. “Is it, Joel? Is living separate lives, in different cities, without a soul knowing the truth, considered an actual marriage these days? Because if so, then we’re killing it.”
He glanced at her, then back at the road. When they were together, they hadn’t fought often. But when they did, this was how it went. She lost her temper and her voice elevated, loudly. Joel replied calmly or more oftenremained silent. Which only riled her more. Infuriating man!
“I don’t understand you sometimes. To the rest of the world, you’re the perfect person everyone depends on. You have your shit together at all times. You’re not supposed to have a secret wife no one knows about that you’re too loyal to divorce. Is this what you envisioned when you thought of yourself as married? Not talking to each other and keeping secrets from the people we love.”
Joel’s gaze remained fixed on the road. Not even the damn muscle in his jaw ticked this time.
It only amped her up. If her hurt and frustration over being in this situation was fueled by her anger, his silence was the match. “Faking an engagement to the secret wife so she can get her father to take her seriously for once? I’m sure that was right up there on your list of things you were looking for in a partner.”
Why couldn’t her father see her differently? Why did he have to be so stubbornly stuck in his beliefs? Why had she gotten drunker than she ever had, been married by a two-bit Elvis, then proceeded to have unprotected sex with her childhood friend? Why did she want to run a company? Why couldn’t she be content to work at a job she loved, surrounded by family she loved for the rest of her life?
The thing that made her angriest was that she couldn’t bring herself to regret any of what she was lamenting. It would make everything easier to deal with if she could. Regrets gave a nice cushion for those pesky emotions like anger, bitterness, and resentment. If she regretted her choices, needs, and desires, it would make them easier to walk away from.
Easier to get the divorce she should have asked for long ago, easier to stay in a job that she was good at, easier tomaintain a smooth relationship with a father she loved. Just easier. But she didn’t regret any of it, dammit—and so here she was, married to a man who she felt bonded to on an almost spiritual level, and deceiving her father on her climb to the top of a company that was her heart and soul.
“Do you even know what you want?” she asked, suddenly deflated.
He said nothing. Damn silent, cerebral man.
