I tilt her chin so she’s looking at me. “I don’t know what is happening between us. I can’t figure out if this is real or just a product of what we created, but I know that I like being with you. I like kissing you, touching you, and talking to you. I’m not looking for anything. I gave up on love and relationships because they all end the same way, but I am glad I made you feel safe. It’s what you deserve to feel.”
She smiles softly and then lifts onto her toes. “I like kissing you too.”
My arm moves around her back, and I pull her so her chest is to mine. “Then why don’t I do it again?”
And then I do. Our lips press together, and she opens to me without hesitation. I slide my tongue into her mouth, loving the dance we create. She’s playful, sensual, and sexy as hell. Her hands move up, tangling in my hair as she moans.
I could do this. I could strip her down and take her, make her feel so much more than just safe. I want to, but that would get emotionally messy, and I don’t do messy.
When I pull back, her lips are swollen and her eyes are glazed over. “Why did you stop?”
Because I’m a fucking idiot.
“I just . . . in the spirit of this whole thing, I’m not looking for anything. I gave up on love and relationships because they all end the same way. I have this resort to worry about, and I don’t know if either of us is thinking straight.”
She takes a step back, swallowing but keeping a smile on her face. “Right. I didn’t think that’s what we were doing. I know this was all fake for you—I mean us. And, well, you’re probably right about not thinking straight. We both drank a lot and are probably just caught up in the whole thing, right?”
I nod. “Yeah. I . . .”
“I am so sorry I kissed you.”
“Well, I kissed you first.”
“Kind of. I mean, I leaned up onto my toes, which was when the kiss started.”
I shake my head. “But I said I was going to kiss you.”
“Which you did.”
“Which I did.”
Maren pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, and the urge to kiss her again rises.
Shit.
“It’s fine,” she says quickly.
It really is not fine, but I’m not going to argue.
“I’m glad.”
“How about we get changed and watch a movie?” she suggests.
I don’t really want to watch a movie, but it’s really the only option we have.
“Sounds good.”
We both head over to our bags, and she stops. “Wait!”
“What?”
“I almost forgot.”
Maren heads to the other side of the room and starts going through the stack of envelopes. She pulls one out. “This. It’s the one from my father, and he said to open it when we were alone.”
“We’re alone.”
She nods. “I’m nervous.”
“Why?”
“Because I know my dad, and he’ll have gone overboard.”
“Whatever it is, he wanted you to have it.”
She sits on the couch, and I settle in next to her, taking her hand. “Us. He wanted me and my husband to have whatever it is.”
“Open it,” I encourage.
She pulls her hand away, carefully lifts the flap, and pulls out what looks like a document. I give her a second to read it, waiting for her to tell me what it is. But then her hand starts to tremble before a sob breaks free. I pull her to my chest. “Why are you crying?”
She hands me the paper, which turns out to be the deed to a lot of property in Virginia. Holy shit. He gave her land and a house.
“This . . . this w-was my m-mother’s. It’s her family’s land that I thought went to my uncle.”
I wipe her tears away. “Looks like it didn’t, and now it’s yours.”
“He kept it. All this time. He kept it, and I don’t know what to think.”
I’m not sure I understand why she’s so upset, but it’s clear this means a lot to her. “Tell me,” I encourage.
So, we sit in our wedding attire, and I listen to her tell me about her family’s farm in Virginia. It was where her mother grew up and where she dreamed of raising her kids. When she died, she didn’t have a will and the property went into probate, where her uncle argued it should be his. She thought he ended up with it because her father mentioned it and they stopped taking weekend trips out there.
“It’s here though. He had it all this time, and . . . now it’s mine.”
“Maybe he saved it so you could raise your family there if you wanted.”
Her head drops. “This is all too much.”
I wrap my arm around her shoulders, and she leans into me. I hold her, not caring about anything other than giving her what she needs. I hate this part of myself, the one that wants to save her, help her, be there when I know it’s all bullshit.
I am the friend, the guy who’s good at offering support but is never more.
I’ve been nothing more than that over and over. I’m the best man, but not the best man for her.
I shove that aside because, no matter what role I play in this, I want to touch her. I’ll take the selfish part that enjoys this and let it happen.
Maren lets out a long sigh and then smiles at me. “Thank you, Oliver.”
“For?”
“Being so damn amazing. I couldn’t have done any of this without you, and you are seriously the best.”
The best is so often not good enough. “Well, I’m good at a lot of things.”
“Like what?” she asks, the mood shifting.
“Oh, sweetheart, if you only knew.”
A blush covers her face, and she looks away. “Men, you’re all the same.”
“We like to keep you women thinking that.”
“Is that so?”
“Absolutely,” I reply, getting to my feet. “Now, let’s get out of this shit, get comfortable, and open the rest of our cards.”
Maren takes my extended hand. “Sounds like a plan, Mr. Parkerson.”
“Good thing you’re so agreeable, Mrs. Fake-Parkerson.”
She laughs and then heads over to her bags as I go to mine.
I grab my gym shorts and T-shirt, and when I turn around, Maren is tossing things out of her bag and muttering.
“You okay?” I ask.
She sighs heavily and continues her search. “No.”
“Why is that?”
Tossing down the item in her hand, she straightens and glares at the mess. “Because someone repacked me.”
“My sister and your maid of honor . . .”
“Yes, well, they didn’t repack me the same stuff I packed.”
“And that’s a problem because?”
Maren grabs one of the items she tossed down. “Because this is what they repacked!” She holds up the very thin scrap of white silk.
My brows shoot up, and I grin. “Well, that was nice of them.”
“Was it? Do you remember just about a minute ago when you were talking about all the things you don’t want?” Maren’s eyes narrow just a little. “When you reminded me that we shouldn’t be doing any of the things that I really wanted to do?”
“Sure . . .”
“Well, good luck to the both of us then.”
She lifts another item, and Jesus Christ, it’s another see-through nightgown—if you can even call it that.
“You can’t wear that.”
“Oh? And what would you like me to wear then?”
“Anything else,” I sputter. There’s no way in hell I have enough self-control to be anywhere near her in that.
“There is nothing else. They packed three of these to sleep in. Apparently, your sister and my best friend think I don’t need clothes.”
Clothes. I heard that word. “Okay, what about shorts?”
She smiles without any humor. “Oh, they took care of that too. All I have are bathing suits and dresses. I’m going to kill them.”