My Darling Bride(55)

I open my bedroom door and walk in. “‘The best way to keep a secret between two people is if one of them is dead.’ Mark Twain. Or someone. I can’t remember because I’m pissed at you.”

He shuts my door behind him and faces me, his cheekbones flushed with twin spots of color. “And for no fucking reason.”

I take down the pins in my hair and toss them on the dresser. Threading my fingers through my hair, I release the chignon, and the strands fall to my shoulders.

Do I have a reason?

Not to him.

He’s just playing a role.

I’m the moth who flew a little too close to his flame.

A small huff comes from me as I try to clear my thoughts.

He never said anything different tonight, but I got caught up in the moment, especially after his generosity with the prenup.

I deflate, my shoulders slumping. “I forgot, okay. It felt real, and I was getting to know you. I forgot that there was an ulterior motive for our evening out.”

His expression turns quizzical, as if he’s trying to decipher my words.

I huff. “I’m angry at myself, and then Holden surprised me, and then Pia shows up and you don’t seem fazed at all. I don’t like being kept in the dark. It was all too much at once.”

He picks up a candid photo of Jane and Andrew and Londyn and me. “Who else have you told? Your brother?”

I shake my head. “No.”

He’s walking the perimeter of my room, taking it all in, from the Victorian doll collection I inherited from Gran to the mess of clothes on the floor to my stuffed animals. Magic abruptly darts out from under my bed, arches his spine, hisses at Graham, then runs from the room.

“He was just saying hello,” I say.

“Your cat is temperamental,” Graham says dryly as he gives me a look. “Like you.”

I sigh, changing directions. “I used to read Charlotte’s Web to my siblings. Are you familiar with it, Graham?”

“I wasn’t born under a rock. Yes.”

I grab the stuffed Wilbur off my nightstand and hold him out. About twelve inches tall with pink fur and gentle eyes, he’s a little ragged from all the years. “Whenever one of us is going through a tough time, we take the pig and sleep with him. Sometimes Jane gets him. Sometimes Andrew. We still do it to this day, not nearly as seriously, of course, but Wilbur is meaningful. Jane has noticed that I’ve had him for a week. You see, we’ve been through so much together, and she knows when something isn’t right. Wilbur is here to make it better. He’s a hopeful, dreamy, soulful little creature.”

He gives the pig a look.

“Don’t doubt the pig. He is magic.”

He rolls his eyes.

“I mean it. He knows you’re angry with me for telling Jane. Do you want to hold him?”

He cocks his head. “So you’re saying that she saw you giving extra love to Wilbur and deducted that you were faking an engagement?”

“Mostly. It’s hard to explain, but sisters have a weird connection. Andrew? Clueless. Here, catch.” I toss him Wilbur, and he catches him and stares down at the animal with a perplexed expression.

“How does he feel?” I ask.

“Like an old stuffed animal. Am I supposed to be getting some magic vibes from him?”

“Fine. I’m going to make you watch the movie. Maybe you’ll get it.”

“Now? No. I want to talk about you telling your sister. I’m angry.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Yes, I told her. Why? Because she was crying in my office and asking me questions, like how you take your coffee and what your middle name was. I was clueless. She has been sworn to silence. She knows the stakes here. And I couldn’t keep lying to her. I can’t hide things from a sister who’s so much like me already. There. Are you still mad?”

He lets out a big exhale. “A little. If you trust her, then I will.”

I smile. “See. The pig worked.”

“Here’s an idea. We never go to Borelli’s again,” he says as he tosses the pig at me, and I catch him, then set him on my nightstand.

I run a brush through my hair. “Agreed. It wasn’t even that good.”

I put my back to him and place my hands behind my back. My fingers catch the midshoulder zipper of my dress, but from the angle, I can’t get it to go down.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice husky.

I toss him a look over my shoulder. “Jane and Andrew aren’t here, and I don’t want to sleep in this all night.”

I point to where the zipper is on the outfit. “Please?”

His fingers brush over my skin as he tugs down the zipper, and my dress falls to the floor. His breath catches, and I look in the mirror and see us, me in my white lingerie and him with his head bent, his eyes drinking in my skin.

I don’t cover myself but stand with my spine straight. Gray eyes meet mine in the mirror, and when he speaks, his voice is rough. “We said we’d keep this professional.”

“That’s cool. I’m just breaking the tension between us.”

“‘Tension’?”

“Hmm, sexual. Very taut. Needs a release. That’s it.”

He rubs his jaw. “Sounds plausible.”

“And you asked about my piercing. It’s hard to describe, and I took you for a visual learner, so I thought it best to just show you.” I ease down the straps of my bra and undo the clasp in the front. My breasts swing free. I look at the piercing in the mirror. “It’s a curved titanium barbell design, with a half-moon shape on the ends. There’s tiny diamonds inside the moon.”