Page 16 of Chasing Clouds

“I love it. I really do.”

“I’m glad.”

I hold out my hand, and she walks over and slips hers into mine. I’ve never been one who particularly cares about hand-holding, but hers . . . I think I could hold on to it for a really long time.

“Ready to go?” I ask.

“As ready as I’m going to be.”

HE GAVE ME a paper airplane, a small sheet of paper folded into tiny angles, and I can’t think of one other thing in my life that has ever meant so much. No bribery, no sinister plan, no strings attached, just a genuine gift from him to me, because he thought I would like it. How thoughtful is that? I know in my head I’m being irrational, silly, but he’s already done more for me than he knows, and then to top it off he wanted to make sure I got a gift from him on my wedding day—our fake wedding day. Who does that?

My fake husband does, that’s who.

I’m so distracted thinking about this man sitting next to me, I don’t realize we’ve pulled up to my father’s house until Reid is leading me out of the car. Dread settles into the pit of my stomach. It’s not that I’m unsure about him, more that I’m unsure about the reception we’re going to receive from those behind the door.

I used to love this house. I imagine most do love their childhood home, but as I’ve gotten older, I see it now for what it is: a tomb, a place where souls go to die. Yes, I’m being dramatic, but originality isn’t welcome here. It’s all a false front for a life you want others to believe is real. Perfect politician, perfect wife, perfect twin girls . . . perfect perfect perfect—only, none of us is. It’s because of this expectation that over the years, this house just got colder and colder. No one wants to live in a place that’s devoid of warmth.

As we move up onto the porch, with each step it becomes harder and harder to move my legs. Reid feels the change in my stride and looks down at me. His forehead wrinkles in concern and he’s about to say something when the doors are swung open by a hired staff member and he presses his lips shut.

Walking inside, he redirects us into the vacant library. I find it a bit ironic that we’re back in here, where all this mess started just about twenty-four hours ago. The door clicks shut behind us, but this time there’s light from the dusk sky filtering in. I can see him perfectly.

Releasing my hand, he wraps one of his around my face and tilts my head back to look in my eyes. God, those stunning green eyes.

“Talk to me.” His voice is calm and smooth, but even so, my anxieties about being here surge forward.

“Reid, I don’t know what to do.” I reach up and grab his wrist, anchoring myself.

“What do you mean?”

My eyes trail over his nose, his lips, the stubble across his jaw, every detail so much more masculine than Patrick. If I allowed myself, I could get lost in him, but I know better. This isn’t about that; it’s about him helping me out of this situation.

“Them . . . out there.” My eyes blur with tears I refuse to let drop, and he shakes his head.

“No. Just stop for a minute and take a deep breath. Let’s talk this through.” His thumb swipes back and forth across my cheek. I push the uneasiness and the hesitation from my mind, because although I don’t know him, a stranger in every sense, I feel like I do. He’s on my side, I know he is, and I’m not doing this alone.

“Remember what we said earlier.” He pulls me into his warm body and tucks my head under his chin. “This is just for a couple of hours. Everything is going to be all right.”

“How do you know?” I plead for him to give me an answer, my eyes dropping to his chest . . . his very broad and muscular chest. I move my hands and slide them under his suit jacket, around his waist to fist the back of his shirt. The body heat trapped there seeps into me and spreads up my arms.

“Because I know nothing has to be decided today,” he says calmly.

“Well, we kind of did make a huge decision today.”

He chuckles, and the feel of it vibrates through him and into me. Leaning back, I look up to see his warm eyes humoring me while one hand spans my lower back, pulling me closer, and the other still cradles my head.

Why is looking at him like looking at the sun? Being held by him, the feel of him, the smell of him—it’s distracting and blinding as the heat spreads through me and curls in the bottom of my stomach.

“Listen, your family and friends are waiting outside for you. There’s nothing scary out there, just people who love you. I’m getting to spend time with my brother, there’s going to be some great food, and if you’re lucky, I’ll ask you to dance.” He winks.

“It is scary out there. You don’t understand . . . those people don’t love me. They’re social climbers and gossipers in the worst way. I feel like I’m being fed to the wolves. I always do, and especially after today. They’ll all know this is fake—if they don’t already—and it’s more humiliation for my family. That’s why I don’t know what to do.”

“So let’s make it real,” he says, his tone so casual.

“How do we do that?” My stare bounces back and forth between his eyes.

“Go on a date with me.” He grins.

“A date? What?”