4. Delaney
CHAPTER FOUR
delaney
A DARK BLANKET OF night had fallen over the streets of Boston by the time Blake and I emerged from Giovanni’s. Indulging in so much wine meant that putting one foot in front of the other felt criminal, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d drank something of such quality and laughed so much.
That was the thing about being around Blake; he knew how to let me be me.
The same couldn’t be said for my family. Anything that involved too much emotion was somehow inappropriate. Anything that reminded them of tragedies outside their little bubble was uncomfortable. And anything that brought me happiness usually made them roll their eyes.
But with Blake, I didn’t have to act a certain way or avoid talking about things that were uncomfortable. I could laugh loudly if I wanted to laugh loudly, and I could break down a difficult day at work if I needed to. We experienced the same pressures our career brought, and he got it. He got me .
It only took us a single dinner to get back to a place of understanding, back to this level of comfort. Which was good, considering what we’d decided on. We had to get here if we were going to be married—well, fake-married—for the next year.
“Where did you park?” Blake scanned the street outside Giovanni’s. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“Oh, I walked. My apartment’s not far.”
He nodded. “Then I’ll walk you to your apartment.”
“You don’t need to do that.” I tipped back against the door to the restaurant. The world careened to the side a little bit before Blake caught me by the arm and straightened me again. “Although, you might actually need to roll me to my apartment,” I admitted.
His breathy chuckle warmed the skin on my neck, and I realized just how close he was and just how much I didn’t mind. My body strained toward his, seeking an escape from the spring chill in the air.
“Come on,” he murmured. “I’ll drive you home. No walking or rolling needed.”
“Oh, I’ll be fine. I’m just being dramatic.” I swatted at his chest, trying to push him away, but he was all hard and solid and wouldn’t let go.
“It’s late, and you drank nearly an entire bottle of chardonnay.” Blake started to guide me in the opposite direction of my apartment, and I let him, feeling too warm and fuzzy to put up my usual fight. “You’re not walking home alone, Lane.”
“Such a gentleman today,” I laughed, leaning far too much of my body weight into him as we walked. But he didn’t complain.
“I don’t know why you keep saying that as though I’ve ever not been a gentleman around you.” He sounded affronted, and I couldn’t help a giggle from escaping. But then I thought about what he’d said a beat longer, and my laugh died.
“Around me?” Something turned in my stomach as his words bounced around my buzzed brain. “Are there other girls out there getting a different treatment than me?”
He sighed, his breath ruffling my hair in a way that made a shiver work down my spine and goose bumps pebble my skin. It was just what happened when warmth invaded the chilled senses. Nothing more.
“You always get the best treatment, Delaney.”
My weird, momentary jealousy slipped away at his words, and I grinned up at him. “So you’re saying I’m special.”
Blake laughed. That wavy McDreamy hair flopped down over his forehead as he glanced down at me. “I haven’t asked any other girls to marry me today, have I?”
I pursed my lips. “You better not have.”
Blake stopped walking abruptly, and I realized we’d reached his car. He kept his grip on me while reaching for the car door, as though he thought I’d fall over if he let go. For the record, I wasn’t that drunk. But I didn’t entirely mind the way he tucked me into his car, buckling me in like I was incapable of doing it on my own.
It was a rare moment. Usually, I’d fight this. But I was too tired and fuzzy-feeling to care right now. There were a lot of things I did for myself, by myself—especially in the last months since he’d disappeared. I hated to admit it, but loneliness had definitely been a factor in moving back to the East Coast. But then I got here and realized that being in Boston wasn’t much better; besides Bryan, my family wasn’t exactly great company. So I was still alone, still doing everything on my own.
But now, Blake was here.
And while I’d hate to make it a habit, I’d let myself rely on him, let him take care of things, for just a few minutes. Just until I got home.
He slid into the driver’s seat a few seconds later, and I impulsively slid my hand over his as he grabbed the gear stick, stopping him in his tracks. Blake glanced over, his brows furrowed.
“Thank you. I realized I hadn’t said that yet.” I leaned my head back against the headrest because it felt too heavy to keep upright. Looking over at him from beneath my lashes, I felt my eyelids begin to droop. Damn wine. I cleared my throat and repeated, “Thank you, Blake.”
His lips curved ever so slightly. “You’re the one who paid for dinner while I was in the bathroom and then wouldn’t let me pay you back.”
I gave him a look. “I mean, it’s the very least I can do, considering…”
Blake held my gaze for a long moment, strung with a tension I didn’t understand. There wasn’t enough light in the car for me to be able to fully see his expression, but I noticed when his eyes dropped to my hand, which still rested on top of his. I tried to quickly move it back to my lap, but Blake grabbed it before I could.
“You’ll need a ring,” he muttered to himself, inspecting my fingers as though he could size them out just by staring at them.
I slipped my hand out of his grasp with a shake of my hand. “You don’t need to do that.”
“I disagree,” he said before handing me his unlocked phone to put my address into and training his attention on the road. He pulled out of the parking spot, and I started the directions. “We can’t take any chances with your grandparents’ executor, so you need a ring,” he added.
“Fine,” I sighed, knowing he was right. “But it can just be something cheap. And you need one, too.”
Blake frowned, but he didn’t argue. The car grew silent as he obediently followed the directions back to my apartment, and I watched the lights zip by outside the window in a blur.
Blake began to incessantly tap his finger on the car steering wheel, drawing my attention, and I looked over to see his concentrated expression. I’d always found it to be sort of adorable, the way his face scrunched up when he was trying to figure something out.
“What?” I laughed, wanting to know what he was thinking so hard about.
He blew out a breath. “Exactly how believable do we need to make it?”
“The more believable, the better, but I don’t want you to have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”
“Did your parents or Mr. Anderson know about your engagement to Austin?”
I shook my head. “I hadn’t told any of them yet. I was too worried my parents would try to put a stop to it. I knew they’d be suspicious, even though they didn’t really know anything about my life in Minnesota. My plan was to call them up after we eloped and tell them the joyous news.”
He nodded, taking my words in. “Is that your plan this time?”
I considered. “I hadn’t really had a chance to think about it, but probably. At least they know you exist, though.”
A light laugh left his lips. “What an honor.”
“I know you’re closer with your family,” I said with a hard swallow. “So if you want to tell them the truth about the entire thing, that would probably be okay. It makes me a little nervous, but I’m sure it would be a lot harder to convince them that you eloped with a random girl who you’ve never even dated.”
Blake laughed again, but it was humorless. “I think I can convince them,” he muttered as he pulled up to the curb outside my building. “You’re not a random girl, Delaney.”
I shrugged as I unbuckled my seat belt. “Whatever you want to do is fine with me.”
Blake nodded as he put the car in park and unbuckled his seat belt, too.
“What are you doing?”
He opened his car door and got out, calling over his shoulder, “Walking you to your apartment.”
“Oh, that’s really not necessary.” I flew—okay, maybe stumbled—out of the car after Blake, who walked confidently to the building’s front doors, holding them open for me. “I got it from here.”
The stumbling aspect of my quick escape did not go unnoticed by Blake, who simply looked at me with a raised brow.
I understood he was trying to be considerate, but I really didn’t need Blake going anywhere near my apartment. I was embarrassed enough that he’d seen the outside of the building, which definitely didn’t have a single fleck of curb appeal. The inside of the building wasn’t much better, with its chipped paint and decor that may or may not have been thrifted from the set of That ’70s Show . And my apartment, which was almost entirely still in boxes with the occasional rodent visitor, was definitely not something I wanted anyone, especially Blake, to see.
“What floor are you on?” he asked as I fished out the key fob to get into the second set of doors, accessing the building.
“First,” I said absently as I beeped us in. “I got it from here. Really. It’s just around the corner.”
“You shouldn’t be on the first floor.” A crease formed between his eyes as he ignored my insistence and brushed past me into the building. “You’re at more risk for break-ins being street level.”
“It was the cheapest option,” I huffed, resisting the urge to push him back out through the door. I’d never manage. He was way too big and broad and annoying.
“You and I both know you could afford a higher floor,” Blake said with a roll of his eyes.
“I could,” I allowed, “but then I wouldn’t be able to put most of my paycheck into savings for the clinic. Figured it would be a good idea after the whole Austin thing fell through.”
Blake’s gaze swept over the building entry, his lips pulling tight as he surveyed every little detail. He was always so scrutinizing ; I knew he’d get like this. And this was just the fucking foyer.
When he reached a hallway that ran both right and left, he glanced over his shoulder at me, seeking directions.
I sighed before relenting. “Right. Apartment 117.”
He waited for me to catch up to him before taking off to the right, marching down the hallway before stopping in front of my door.
“Thanks,” I said breathlessly as I leaned against the entry to my apartment, hoping to bar him from entering. “You really didn’t have?—”
“I swear to God, if you tell me I ‘didn’t have to do that’ one more time, you might have to find another man to marry.”
“Don’t make me do that,” I groaned, tipping my heavy head back until it thunked against the door frame.
Blake shook his head, a smile playing on his lips again. “I’d never. Now, let’s get you inside.”
I sighed, knowing he wouldn’t leave until I walked through this door. So, after taking a quick moment to gather myself, I turned and let us into the apartment, holding my breath the entire time.
When I didn’t turn on the lights, hoping that if the unit stayed shrouded in darkness, Blake wouldn’t be able to see how crappy it was, he flicked them on for me.
Fuck .
I felt his presence still behind me as the buzzing light illuminated the space. Then he cleared his throat. His voice was hard and unrelenting when he spoke.
“Delaney.”
“Hm?”
I didn’t dare look back at him.
“There’s a rat on your stove.”
I trailed my gaze over to the kitchen, and sure enough, Blake was right.
“Oh, that’s Fred.” I forced a laugh through my lips. “I think he’s just cooking himself some dinner.”
“Delaney,” Blake said again, groaning this time.
“What?”
I chanced a glimpse over my shoulder to see him pinching the bridge of his nose. When he dropped his hand, his eyes met mine, and they were dark, irritation swimming in them.
“Grab your stuff,” he grunted. “Let’s go.”
It took me a moment to register his words. “ What ?”
“It looks like it’s all still packed anyway. Just tell me which boxes to load up tonight. We’ll come back another time for the rest.”
“What are you—” He strode past me, beelining for a stack of boxes in my kitchen. He ignored Fred scampering across the countertop and popped open the top of one.
“Pots and pans,” he muttered to himself. “I’ve got plenty, so don’t need those.”
“ Blake .”
His head jerked up, looking surprised by my tone. And then he frowned at my indignant expression that probably told him all he needed to know about how stubborn I was going to be about this.
“You can’t live here, Lane,” he said forcefully.
“Well, I don’t have anywhere else to live.”
“You can move in with me. I have an extra bedroom. It’s fine.”
Everything about his tense tone did not make it sound fine .
“I can’t just—just move in with you, Blake.”
His eyes flashed with determination. “Well, I’m sure as hell not going to let my wife live in a rodent infestation. And no one will believe that we got married but have separate apartments. Come on.”
Fuck, he was right.
Of course he was right.
But I wasn’t going to tell him that. Not again. He might be doing far more favors for me than I felt comfortable with, but I was only going to allow him one you’re right a day. Still, his logic about keeping up appearances for our marriage made an irritating amount of sense, and because the last thing I wanted was for my grandparents’ executor to have any reason not to give me my money, I sighed and stomped my way to my bedroom to grab my stuff.
Ten minutes later, I was walking back out of my apartment, a suitcase wheeling behind me.
“I’m going to miss Fred,” I grumbled.
“Is your relationship with Fred going to come between our marriage, Delaney?”
I shrugged. “It might if you keep me away from him.”
A laugh filtered through Blake’s sigh as he followed me out of the apartment again.
“You can see whoever you want while we’re married,” he said, sounding resigned. “But not Fred.”
“Oh.” I almost stopped walking at that comment, surprised by it and unsure what to say. I hadn’t really thought that far, but I supposed there was only really one way to reply. “You too, of course. You can see whoever you want. Keep all those dating app girlies fed with a healthy serving of Blake London.”
I expected Blake to laugh, but he didn’t. His expression was tight as he led me back to his car. He loaded my suitcase into the trunk before opening the door for me.
“No, Delaney,” he said finally. “I already deleted them.”
I heard a gasp slip out of me. “What?”
“The dating apps.”
“When?”
“When you were packing your things.”
And with that, he closed the door, leaving me to wonder, as I was on my way to move in with my best friend, how fake this fake marriage actually was.
Definitely fake, of course.
I mean, he’d been my friend for years, and he’d never made a move, even though I’d been single the entire time. He’d go on dates with other women instead, trying to find someone to settle down with. And sure, we’d had our moments, little comments that some people might misconstrue as flirting. But that was just us, our humor. That was just Blake. And he had said that he wanted to take a break from dating for a while, so this was probably just a convenient excuse to delete his apps.
Living together and getting married wouldn’t change a thing. I’d stayed over at his place before—during med school and our fellowship at Mayo. Sometimes the roads heading home would be bad, or getting off his couch to drive across town seemed like too much work. Sometimes he’d have nightmares—I knew because I heard them, not because he told me about them, not at first—and then I’d come up with excuses to stay over more often. Sleep on the couch, in case he needed me to pull him out of the past.
So, sure, Blake and I had never been married before, but we certainly knew how to coexist. Knew how to be there for one another. And this was just that. It was real, in the sense that our friendship was real.
But the marriage?
It was definitely fake.
Totally fake.
Totally.