CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The One with Hearts
SERENITY
Many things are happening at once, and surprisingly, most of them are positive. Lake is nearing six weeks sober, his longest record in history. Despite Valentine’s day being long gone, he still asked me out on a Valentine’s day-themed date. To him, that means wearing something fancy and going out for dinner.
It’s a sweet idea and I’m non-stop smiling at the thought of our date tonight, but that’s mixed with a strong annoyance and an ounce of nerves.
What do I wear?
I want to wear a dress. Something that’s fitting for early spring but also something fancy enough to not look displaced in whatever restaurant we’re off to. I have one milkmaid-styled dress with tiny green flowers dotted all over the thin fabric, or a navy blue dress with long sleeves and a square neckline.
My eyes trail over both the dresses laying flat on my mattress. I repeat the same scan, eyeing the smallest of details, picturing what set of heels would work with each, what jewelry I could wear to tie everything together, but nothing clicks right in my brain, or nothing feels right enough.
I might be a little more nervous than an ounce. Every morning, I open my eyes and feel a surge of excitement spilling from my heart when I smell breakfast downstairs, or see a message from Lake on my phone, or even catch him still half asleep next to me. I stood beside him as he crawled out of rock bottom—where I questioned if he had his own sense of style or preferred decor, and that stranger I was so curious about turned into a man that kisses me each night with a familiar, calming longing on his lips.
I wanted to know Lake Phoenix so badly, and now that I do, I’m nervous he’ll know me too, that he might find the core of me, and he’ll stop liking what he sees.
My stomach does a tiny flip, but today is a good day, so I lower my palms from my hips and push back the doubts threatening to surface.
Maybe I’m too nervous to hold myself together and pick a dress, but one woman will have no trouble offering me a bit of help. Jimena always knows what to pick, and she’ll justify her choice with a five-lined paragraph.
I swipe my phone from the dresser and turn down my volume, then I snap a picture of both dresses, select them, and forward them to my best friend.
Me: Girl. Help me. I can’t pick which one to wear.
In the meantime, partially to stop my dwelling and simply enjoy my planned day, I’ll start with my hair. I have an hour before Lake’s rehab meeting ends. Then he’ll be on his way to pick me up.
Brooks caved in and he’s letting Lake drive himself to rehab again. They were both boiling with the previous arrangement, because Brooks is a busy man and Lake doesn’t like to listen to his brother. So, it was a punishment for Lake disappearing, but it quickly spiraled to Brooks roaring up the driveway and slamming his palm on the horn, only for Lake to get extra annoyed and take an extra ten minutes. They’d repeat that three times a week, and Brooks looked like he was suffocating.
I brush my hair back and pull it into a bun, but my stomach flips again, and I scrunch my nose. I let my hair drape around my head. Also not the current vibe. My hands start their natural incline to rest back on my hips, but before they make it, I catch sight of the basket where I keep my hair accessories.
“Oh, I know!” I reach ahead, shoving my hand into the basket and taking hold of the big black bow, holding it up like it’s a diamond. “Perfect.” I pull my hair back once more, lifting it into a high pony and securing the bow around it.
As I finish the look with a tiny slab of gel to keep my hair slick, my phone buzzes. I smooth out the last bit of product before skipping to my phone.
My eye twitches, and I slap my hand over my mouth.
Lake: Neither. I have something better for you, Angel.
How is it even possible that I sent the images to Lake instead of Jimena? It’s not a big deal. It isn’t, although the subtle embarrassment of being a twenty-four-year-old woman, and somehow still sending a message to the wrong person, specifically my fake-turned-somewhat-real husband, that I’m attempting to impress doesn’t feel amazing.
I make a fan out of my hand to cool myself.
Me: Omg I thought I sent those to Jimena.
Lake: Sure you did.
Me: No, really. This is embarrassing.
Lake: No, it isn’t. Don’t wear either.
I blink, glancing up from my phone to the dresses sprawled on my bed, then back to my phone.
Me: I don’t want to be arrested for indecent exposure.
Lake: As if I’d want anyone else to see you naked. Go check my room, Angel.
I raise an eyebrow, but I don’t question him. I walk past my empty laundry baskets and move through the hallway, popping open the door to Lake’s room. That same eyebrow gets a little higher on my forehead, but as I start typing, he sends another message.
Lake: Back of my door.
I lean forward, and I find a beautiful black dress hooked onto his door. My heart softens, steadying each beat with the flow of my breath. I take the dress in my hand, and suddenly, it becomes my favorite. The long and tight sleeves, the buttery fabric and the mid-length—all of it emits simple and elegant, but what makes it perfect are the tiny silver hearts, glistening all over the dress.
He bought me a dress for our date, almost like he was predicting the tiny flips in my stomach, and he wanted to prevent me from feeling the weight of my anxiety, even if he’s unaware of why I’m anxious at all.
Me: You planned out a whole date and sneakily bought a dress for the date?
Lake: Careful. Maybe I’m gonna propose.
Completely alone in my house, I giggle like a teenager at my phone screen, because this man, Lake Phoenix, became himself, and I have the blessing of knowing him.
I take the dress back into my bedroom with a smile on my face and an answer to my dilemma. The one with hearts, it is.
***
I make it to the finishing step in my makeup routine, smoothing the shiny lip gloss over my lips, only for my life to flash before my eyes and a glob of lip gloss ends up smearing on my nose as my bedroom door flies open. Lake stands in the doorway, in a black button-up shirt with the tag hanging off of his sleeve.
I wipe my hand across my nose and stare at him with my jaw on the floor.
He looks edible.
I think he’s thinking the same of me.
“Angel.” He fluffs up his hair, purposely slowing his movements as he approaches me. “You look perfect.”
“Thank you.” I pat my hand over my heart. “You scared the crap out of me.”
He moves another step closer. That umber shade of his eyes dances across every inch of me that’s covered by the dress he bought me.
“Oh!” I turn my back to him and cup my ponytail in my hands, raising it away from my spine. “Can you zip me?”
Peering over my shoulder, I watch Phoenix’s eyes dart around every area of my body. He tucks in his bottom lip and nods his head.
He is so handsome. It’s not something I’ll ever get over. I thought he was beautiful when he never spoke and sat sick in a hospital bed. I still think he’s beautiful now, so I open my mouth to tell him, “you look handsome, Phoenix.”
With his hair cleaned up, a ring on his finger and a brand new wardrobe—a whole new light. He’s become a changed person in less than two months, and honestly, so have I.
I face ahead as he stops behind me. His finger takes the zipper on my dress, but he doesn’t slide it shut. He kisses my nape and scatters more kisses around my neck, making his way up, breathing against my ear and kissing that, too. I don’t even realize my body is sinking into him, but it does, and his hand releases the zipper. Both his palms return to my hips, holding me steady and keeping me up.
“Got us reservations at The Grille.”
“What?” I open my eyes. “Lake, that place is extra fancy. How did you get a reservation?”
He goes back to his tiny kisses, not saying another word until my eyes flutter shut, and I’m back to leaning my body on his chest.
“I broke into Brooks’ office and found a list he keeps of different restaurants to take high-end clients to. Turns out he sold one manager a house and they’re friends.” Another kiss. “Called him up and pretended to be Brooks. I can impersonate his boring personality with ease. Got us reservations.”
My eyes shoot open again. “You did what?”
“Shh, honey.” His kisses move to my spine. “Reservations aren’t for another hour, and before you get anxious, we can stay up all night, and you can sleep all day. I packed a pair of your scrubs in the car this morning, your ID badge and all that bullshit.”
He continues, “we don’t gotta rush and come back home, and we don’t gotta rush to go to bed. House is clean. Can’t even tell you how many electrolytes I drank today.”
“You thought about everything, didn’t you?” I turn to face him.
His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Think about you more than anything else, Angel. Of course I’m gonna make a Valentine’s date for you perfect.”
Every part of me wants to kiss him, but a tiny twinge of guilt bubbles up in my throat, because I still haven’t told him about the major issue I’m dealing with, and I’m too scared to say. The longer I hide my truth, the more guilty I become.
Maybe I’m not nervous about Lake knowing me. Maybe I’m scared he’ll know before I can get it under control. That at some point, he’ll see the truth buried in my soul, and he’ll realize just how messy, how undeniably disastrous, my life is.
I suck in a breath, offering Lake a weary smile and spinning back away from him.
I’m figuring it out. Or at least, I’m trying, and I need to remember, as scary as it is, I need to fix my life on my own, because that way, nobody will feel ruinous to be near my messy life, including Lake.
I shake my head to myself. “I’m excited! Zip me up!”
My body shivers when his voice falls down the back of my head. “Why didn’t you kiss me, Serenity?”
“Lake,” I hum. “What are you talking about?”
“Just now,” he says, and another air-taking kiss sinks into my spine. “You wanted to kiss me, then you turned away.”
The soft lie leaves my mouth before I let my mind sink too far. “I don’t want us to miss our reservation.”
He chuckles. “Are you saying I have no self-control, Serenity?”
For a moment, I question if I should insist on us leaving, but I’m a hot mess when Lake gets me behind a closed door. I pivot back, taking a step away and looking him in his face, watching his eyes swirl with honey the longer more he studies me.
“We’re gonna be late, Phoenix.”
“No, we won’t get distracted.” He shakes his head. “Kiss me, Angel.”
Listening to Lake is easy for me, mostly because I actually like him, and he likes me enough to know what to say to me. I like his sweet demands. The pleasure. When he asks me to do something, I’m excited about doing it.
I step forward, scooping his cheek into my palm, lifting onto my toes, and sealing my lips with his. A moment—a millisecond of that touch, and I ignite.
Unable to exhibit any patience, my husband’s hands travel all over me. His fingers smooth over each fabric heart that’s layered on my hips and waist. “Serenity,” he draws back. “I’m never going to get over you, am I?”
I smile at the mutual feeling. “Says you.”
His movements get quicker. He takes my chin in his hand and kisses me with passion and desperation instead of sweetness, like a switch from smooth whiskey to hard tequila.
“My angel, I want you,” he tells me. “I haven’t had you enough for you to know you’re mine.”
We back up a few steps, rounding ourselves until my butt is resting against my vanity. I cup my hands on the wood behind me, and Lake practically meshes with me.
I breathe against his mouth. “I am yours, Lake. Entirely.”
His thumb presses on the front of my neck, and his tongue slips into my mouth, locking with mine and pulsing our saliva into one.
The kiss doesn’t stop. It keeps going, getting deeper and somehow drawing us even closer together. My heart drops low in my stomach and throbs like a broken, repeating record. I want more. More kisses. More Lake. The tiniest noise leaves my lips, and that’s all he needs to know what I want.
He lifts me up onto my low vanity, towering over me still, and he holds me tighter. The same way I did with the black bow tied in my hair. Like I’m a diamond. Something special.
“Lake,” I groan. “We need to—”
“Be my good wife,” he interrupts me, “and let me show you I won’t make us late.”
I stay serene, placing a hand behind me to help stabilize my lifted pelvis, but I keep my other palm on his chest. Then Lake pulls himself away, and the sexy smile on his face almost capsizes me into the hot-puddle I’m slowly descending into.
He puts his hands on my knees, spreading my legs apart to rest right against me. The sparks from his fingers travel into my thighs, and he grips my skin between them, ducking for only a moment to kiss the hearts on my hips and belly button.
I only catch a glimpse of the primal look on his face before his fingers lace into my hair, and his lips are back on mine. I tie my legs around the sides of his body and hold his face, dragging out a long, sloppy kiss. He kisses me again. Again. Again. Breathing into my mouth, and we push our tongues against each other.
I pull on his lower lip with my teeth, a groan erupting from his throat.
“All of you,” his voice muffles against me. “So perfect.”
The longer this goes on, the more desperate I’m getting. If it wasn’t for his detailed effort, I’d ask him to cancel our reservations so we could just stay here.
His mouth leaves mine, and he yanks my hair, exposing my neck for him to sink his teeth into.
“Lake,” I cry out. “Please.”
His tongue darts out, and he licks his way all the way back to my ear. “Please what, Angel?”
“I can’t take it, Phoenix. More, please.”
Lake’s smile is far from soft. That dimple that rarely appears is marking his cheek. “Angel, I’d love to toss you back onto your bed and listen to you cry out my name like that,” he sucks in lost air. “But we don’t have the time to do what I promise I’ll do later.”
I sigh, a big, desperate, and flustered sigh.
“One more minute Angel. Let me kiss you for one more minute,” he pleads. “I’ve been waiting all day.”
My body stills. His eyes are pleading, and as the rising of his chest slows, I can see clear as ever how distressed he is just to kiss me. All he wants is another minute to kiss me, like he might dry out and lose all hope of another tomorrow if he doesn’t.
“Only if you pinky promise to keep me up tonight.” I smile.
His hand flies between our faces, and he sticks out his pinky.
***
I’ve never been to The Grille before, but the atmosphere is electric. There are bright fairy lights over the bar, dark wood accents, and big smiles on people’s faces. Our table is right across from the bar. We’re in fancy red-leather seats right next to a window.
I barely remember anything from the moment we walked in until now. All I recall is Lake’s big hand clasping over mine, and dragging me through the different aromas of food and laughter, while Lake pulled out my chair and ordered us water.
Now I’m here, staring at Lake, who is only just beginning to take in the surrounding space. Every bit of his expression is full of wonder. He sits tall and straight, like he’s trying to blend himself into the environment.
“Lake.” My voice is soft. “You know you belong here, right?”
He takes a deep breath, giving me a tiny curve of his mouth. “Almost walked in here with the tag still on my shirt, Angel.” He pushes his palms flat on the white cloth covering our table. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever blend with this kind of scene.”
The little confession sends a twinge to my heart, but I keep myself muted. Instead of bubbling out all the reasons I know he belongs here, I ask, “why is that?”
He presses his lips into a flat line, then he runs a hand through his hair and looks at about eight different spots in the restaurant before landing his gaze right into my soul.
“I’ve never taken a pretty woman to a fancy restaurant.” He nods to himself. “Don’t think I’ve been in one myself. It’s hard to know I’m here, I guess.”
“Know you’re here?” I tilt my head.
“My life wasn’t meant to be much, Angel. Changing it is hard, but acknowledging the changes is harder.”
There’s no hesitation as I reach my hand across the table, and Lake is quick to follow my movements, lacing our fingers together. “You belong here, Phoenix. There’s no need to question it. Just know you are here, and that’s how it’s meant to be.”
He opens his mouth to respond, but our waiter returns. “Alright, are we ready to order some food?”
I sink back into my seat, turning the page of my menu. “Uh,” I poke my lip with my finger. “Can I get the sliced filet?”
I look up from my menu at Lake. He’s staring right at me, any sign of anxiety has left him, and he gives me a tiny nudge of his head. I know he won’t let me pay. Which is fine, but I’m not trying to empty his pockets.
“Of course, miss, eight ounces or twelve ounces?”
“Eight—”
Lake talks over me, “twelve. She’ll take twelve.”
The waiter smiles. “Sounds good. And how would you like that cooked?”
I narrow my eyes at Lake’s devious smirk, but I don’t attempt to argue. “Medium rare, please.”
Lake leans back into his seat and ponders as the waiter stands awkwardly, tensing his finger around the pen in his hand.
I tuck in my bottom lip, attempting to conceal the giggle creeping up my throat, because somehow, my little pep-talk has changed Lake’s entire attitude. He strokes his chin, like he wasn’t gushing over what he wanted to order five minutes ago.
He speaks with a hint of a British accent. “I think I’ll have the dry aged NY strip.”
The waiter hums. “Excellent choice, sir. How would you like that cooked?”
“Same as my wife,” he answers a little louder, declaring me as his wife to the bunch of people in our proximity. “Medium rare.”
My cheeks heat, and the first way I attempt to hide is by dabbing my clean face with a napkin. All Lake does is grin, and hand our menus to the waiter.
“Would you like any wine, or something else from our drinks menu?” he asks. “Or are you both still okay with water?”
Lake and I shake our heads. “All good.”
I wait until the waiter is gone. “I didn’t know you were rich and British.”
“Anything is possible, Angel.”
The last time Lake and I had a major talk was the other day when he confessed to texting his old dealer. It scared me, but I’ve been reassured since he chose to speak to me about it. Although, part of his growth makes me feel slimy.
Not about Lake, but about me. My mind is infused with fear of my future. I’ve been trying my hardest to uncover the truth of the Mancini disappearance, but I’m rather underqualified, and I feel dreadful about it.
Lake and I promised to help one another. I know that. It’s just with him recovering, and struggling to find himself worthy of recovering at all. I can’t see how telling him the truth would be helpful. He is doing so much more for me than he knows.
Yet every time the urge to spill my secrets resurfaces, it gets harder to push away, but I need to keep it together for Lake. This was a problem before he was in my life. It isn’t his to fix. No matter how guilty I feel about it.
“Serenity?”
I snap out of my thoughts. “Hm?”
“What’s distracting you, Angel?” He leans forward and takes a quick sip of his water. “We gotta eat dinner before I bring to life whatever rom-com scene you’re dreaming about.”
Goodness. I really need a miracle to save me from my sister’s entrapment so I can hear nothing but his voice ringing in my mind.
“Really, honey,” he says. “Anything on your mind?”
I force a smile. “Everything’s perfect, Lake.”
Another successful day with my fake-turned-maybe-real-husband, and another day of pure, soul-sucking dread for being a liar.