“That’s okay.” Oliver jumped up and pulled out my chair.
Ever the gentleman. All part of his act.
But I sat down and let him push me closer to the table, holding my breath as he took his place beside me. I didn’t want to catch his scent for fear I’d burst into tears. As it was, I had to avoid looking at my left hand, where that beautiful ring circled my finger, reminding me what an idiot I’d been.
Right away, my parents wanted to know how we’d pulled off our secret relationship. Over a first course of Waldorf salad, I attempted to explain, grateful for the summer theater camps I’d done as a kid when my parents needed a safe place for me to release energy.
“It was tricky,” I said. “We didn’t see each other very often, and I had no idea he was talking to Dad about my distillery plans.”
“I like to keep her on her toes,” Oliver said.
“And I like to make sure he doesn’t take it for granted that I’ll go along with what he says,” I shot back.
Uncle Soapy laughed heartily. “Sounding like an old married couple already, aren’t they? I’d say you’ve met your match, Oliver.”
“I’d say so too, Dad.” Oliver peeked at me, and I tried to take some of the murder out of my gaze.
It wasn’t easy.
Over lobster, corn, green beans, and fresh bread, I managed to answer everyone’s questions with what I hoped was convincing ease, laugh at Oliver’s jokes, say a few nice things about him, and even look at him adoringly a few times. I might not have been the actor he was, but by the time we ate cake and ice cream, I was pretty sure no one suspected the engagement was just a scheme. Even Gran managed to last through the entire meal, smiling benevolently in our direction the whole time.
The food was delicious, but I barely touched it. All I could think of was how we were lying to everyone we loved—for money.
When the dessert plates were cleared, Lisa took the boys up to bed, Gran retired to her room, and the other adults moved into the family room to play cards. I followed them, but I didn’t want to stay.
“What do you say, Chloe? Feel like some bridge or euchre?” Oliver asked.
“No, thanks. I’m actually not feeling very well. I think I’ll go to bed. Thanks for dinner, Aunt Nell. It was delicious.”
“You’re welcome, dear. Get some rest.” She came over and kissed my cheek. “Maybe tomorrow while the boys are golfing, your mom and you and I can sit down and talk wedding planning.”
“Oh, yes, let’s!” said my mother from her place at the card table. “I can’t believe I have two daughters to plan weddings for now.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t retire this year, John,” teased Uncle Soapy. “With two weddings to pay for and all.”
My father groaned. “I might have to sell the farm.”
“Don’t worry, Dad,” I assured him. “You’ll be all right. Goodnight, everyone.”
“I’ll go up with you,” Oliver said, following me out of the room.
I wanted to argue but held my tongue until we were going up the stairs. “You don’t have to babysit me. I won’t give away your secret. I’ll leave that for you after I’m gone.”
“Chloe, please. Can’t we talk about this some more?” he whispered as we went down the hall.
“No.”
“This whole thing was a shock, I know. But doesn’t your therapist want you to think things over before acting too rashly?”
I stopped to face him, giving him a look of pure disbelief. “You cannot be serious. My therapist is trying to keep me from making horrible mistakes, like jumping into bed with you. Like trusting you. Like falling for your act and thinking you’ve changed.”
“I have changed, Chloe.”
Shaking my head, I continued moving down the hall. “I will never believe another word you say.”
He followed me into the bedroom and silently shut the door behind him. “Can you at least just take the night to think it through?”
“I don’t need the night.” I pulled off the ring and laid it on the dresser before slipping my shoes off. “And you’re not sleeping in this bed with me.”
“Where am I supposed to sleep? All the bedrooms are taken.”
I shrugged as I walked over to my bag, where I began hunting for my pajamas. “Figure something out. I don’t want you in here.”
“Chloe.” He walked toward me slowly. “Look at me, please.”
I didn’t want to. I had a tender spot for him and he knew it. “Leave me alone, Oliver.”
“Give me another chance.”
I forced myself to meet his eyes. They appeared to reflect contrition and remorse, but I no longer trusted my assessment of his feelings. He was too good at the game. “You don’t deserve another chance.”
He sighed heavily. Nodded once.
In a moment, I was going to break down, but for now I steeled myself. “I’m going to the bathroom to change. When I come back, I want you gone. And take that ring with you—put it somewhere safe so you can give it back to your grandmother after I leave.”
He said nothing as I walked into the bathroom and shut the door.
Once I was alone, I gripped the sink and let the tears flow as silently as I could. I didn’t want him to hear me crying. I didn’t want him to know how badly he’d hurt me. I didn’t want him to know how much I’d miss his arms around me for the rest of my life or how devastated I was that all the plans we’d made would never see the light of day.
God, how could I have been so stupid?
Angrily, I grabbed a tissue from the box on the back of the toilet and blew my nose. Hadn’t I known before all this started that he could not be trusted? His entire life, when had he ever demonstrated that he cared about anyone other than himself? He’d never once stuck around long enough to develop real feelings for anyone, least of all me. He was a cad and a player and a con man who got through life on his lies and his charm, and he was never going to change. I’d known it all along.
So this was on me, I thought, as I looked at my mascara-streaked face in the mirror with its red nose and bloodshot eyes. Once again, I’d shown what shitty judgment I had. I’d jumped into something without considering the big picture. I’d let myself be swept away by pretty words and dreams because it felt good. It was like teenage me all over again. Had I learned nothing?
I wasn’t fit to be CEO of Cloverleigh or my own business. I was a terrible judge of character and had no idea how to control my impulses. No matter how much therapy I had or how much growing up I did or how strongly I felt things in my gut, I could not be trusted to do the right thing.
The realization hit me hard and brought on fresh tears that wrenched sobs from my chest. I sat down on the edge of the tub and cried hard for myself, for my crushed dreams, for my broken heart.
I couldn’t sleep.
I lay there alone in Oliver’s old bed in the dark for hours. Awake. Empty. Aching.
I missed him. I missed the excited feeling I’d woken up with this morning. I mourned the dreams we’d shared.
What if I never got over him? What if I never met anyone else who pushed my buttons the way he did? What if no one else ever got to me the way he did? Was I destined to live alone, cursing him and his stupidity for the rest of my life? Was he?