“I am not signing up for romance, or affection, or a full time job. You should never expect that from me.”
I grab my clothes from the floor and head to the bathroom to change.
CHAPTER 18
NATHAN
With Cecile, it had all been such a production. Two wedding planners. A hundred thousand dollars in flowers. Her days had been spent poring over catalogs, in dress fittings, auditioning musicians and writing checks.
All of that bullshit, and look how it had turned out.
He watches the courthouse come into view and turns to Candace. “Let’s go.”
They wait, sitting on metal folding chairs, then on a wooden bench, and listen to the other couples, each one a depressing Lifetime movie in the making. They were out of place here. His custom suit. Her dark jeans and silk shirt. She fidgets, her hands running along the length of her thighs, and he remembers the ring.
He opens his jacket, reaching into the left side and pulling out the dark velvet box. “Go ahead and put this on.” He holds it out to her, and she looks up at him.
Ten thousand dollars of beauty treatments and they couldn’t cover up that look. That nervous hope that floods her face and makes him feel like fresh Tennessee shit.
“This is for me?”
He doesn’t answer, and she takes the box carefully, as if it holds the Hope diamond. He’d had Mark pick the ring, something appropriate for the Nashville scene, and he watches her eyes widen at the three-carat diamond, one surrounded by emeralds, and its accompanying band. He looks away, and thinks of Cecile, the night he had proposed, the way she had screamed so loudly that everyone in Tahiti must have heard.
She pulls at the rings, fumbling with them, and he takes the box, removing the rings and reaching for her hand. “Here.” He slides them on, and doesn’t miss the small hitch in her breath, the lift of her eyes, and there is a minor moment between them in a day when he wanted no moment at all.
“I can’t believe we’re getting married,” she whispers.
He releases her hand, snapping the ring box closed with quick efficiency, and pulling his own simple band from the pocket of his jacket, looking up to the judge and willing their names to be called.
CHAPTER 19
As a girl, I always pictured my wedding. I stab a gold-tined fork into week-old cake and lift it to my lips. This was never what I had in mind.
“Hold it right there!” A voice calls out. “Now smile!”
I obey, and there is the flash of bulbs, my vision gone for a moment, then the dots clear and I can see again. I drop the smile, setting down my fork, and look up. “What’s next?”
“Let’s get a shot of you two dancing.” The man strides forward, his heels clicking across on the floor. He stops before a large backdrop, one that shows a stone balcony, vineyards behind it, with a peek of ocean in the corner.
I lift up the skirt of my gown, one that I swooned over thirty minutes ago and now absolutely hate, everything about this experience slicing my innards to bits. A reception shouldn’t be staged, the wedding dress rented, the love added via photoshop. I stop in the midst of the set and stare at the backdrop, a crease running along it’s outside edge. “It looks fake.”
“It won’t. Just wait till you see these photos. You’ll be amazed.” He snaps his fingers at Nathan, who looks up from his phone with a bored yawn. Two hours into this marriage, and I already want to strangle my husband.
We get into place, our position orchestrated by the photographer’s assistant, a spotlight added to perfect the image. Someone in the background hums, and we attempt a few steps.
“STOP!” the man shrieks. “God, you’d think you’ve never danced before. Just stay in place and look in love.”
Look in love. As if it is a simple request. I lift my gaze to Nathan and fight the urge to cry. He looks down at me, and his face changes, his brows tightening, eyes softening with what I almost believe to me concern. He cups my face and I feel the wet embarrassment of a tear.
“What’s wrong?” he says gruffly.
“That’s PERFECT!” the man crows, the rapid shutter of his camera clicking. “Now, kiss her!”
I close my eyes, another tear falling, Nathan’s hand lifting my chin, his lips soft against mine, and against his kiss, I swallow a sob.
CHAPTER 20
Boredom is a dangerous bitch, one that gives credence to idle thoughts, and gives legs to dangerous ideas. In my fourth week at Nathan’s, boredom has become item number one on my daily agenda.
My days are melding together, a constant cycle of working out, make up, hair, and boredom. I eat prepackaged meals. Wear preselected outfits. Dutifully move through a routine barked at me by a hundred pound pit bull. When I’m not attending to my physical health and appearance, I nap. Read. Sit and wait for the sound of Nathan’s car. Occasionally, we go to business dinners with his investors—long meals in five-star restaurants where I eat quietly and am mostly ignored.
Some nights he doesn’t return. I sit in the guesthouse with the doors open so that I’ll hear his engine. I keep the television on low, a magazine or book ignored in my hands. If he doesn’t return by eight, I eat. At ten, I close the doors and curtains.
I’m just another employee of the house, all of us here to serve a purpose. Drew: security. Mark: details. Me … I am still figuring that one out. Orgasm deliverer? Comedic relief? Charity case?
This weekend we are going to Napa with some of his friends and their wives. I’m embarrassed at how excited I am for the trip. Rosit Fenton has already come by, my wardrobe restocked, my hair touched up, a fresh wax job performed. The trip is part of some sort of charity event we are attending, and Rosit gave me a crash course on dining etiquette, along with backgrounds on all of the attending individuals. He also provided me with a false background of my own, something close enough to the truth so that I am less likely to screw it up. Prior to meeting Nathan, I was an event planner, from Destin. We met at a club one night. Had a whirlwind weekend and instantly fell in love. I’ve practiced answers from every possible scenario, and I’m still terrified over their questions. Not too terrified not to attend, mind you. I’ve been counting down the days to get out of this house.
“Are you coming with us to Napa?” I sit at the kitchen island, and munch on a carrot.
“No.” Drew’s answer, as typical, barely tells me anything.
“He’s not really in danger, is he?”
Drew regards me carefully from his place by the fridge. “What do you mean?”
“You’re supposed to be his security, right?” I hop off the stool and walk to the fridge, pulling open the door and searching for some bit of yumminess that Beth might have overlooked.
“Among other things.”
“So if he’s in danger, then who’s protecting him right now?”