Chapter 17
CHARLOTTE
Trent drove the same way he did everything else, steadily and confidently. The early evening sun cast him in warm gold that gave his hair a rich, coppery hue, and for a stupid second, I caught myself staring at his hands on the wheel, big and sure, and callused in a way Gregory’s would never be.
We were heading to the Pacific Heights Country Club in Dallas, where Trent was a member. In addition to immaculate golf greens, I’d been told there was more whispered gossip per square foot here than anywhere else in the state.
That was why we were going. I’d thought he was just taking me out for dinner, but nope.
“Being seen together at that club will make the news that we’re dating spread like wildfire. Guaranteed,” he’d told me as we’d left the ranch. “That’s exactly what Alex wants, for the whole world to find out that you and I are as good as a done deal.”
I pulled my hair over one shoulder and tried to keep my voice casual, but if I was being honest, it stung a little that my brother and his friend were planning on parading me around all over town like some kind of show pony.
One of the things that made it bearable, however, was that I’d be parading Trent around as well. This was an equal opportunity lie.
“Why doesn’t Alex just tell my dad I don’t want to marry Gregory?” I asked. “Wouldn’t that be easier than all this?”
“Yeah?” Trent snorted under his breath. “Why don’t you just tell him you don’t want to marry Gregory?”
My throat tightened so fast that it hurt. “That’s different.”
“Really?” He glanced at me, and in the dimming light, his gaze felt sharper. Like he could see through whatever lie I was trying to tell myself. “How?”
I opened my mouth, but the only thing that came out was a weak exhale. I wished I knew how to put it into words, how much it meant when my dad finally paused long enough to look at me. How rare it was to feel like I mattered to him at all. How terrifying it was to risk losing that.
Deep down, having his attention felt too good, like being eight again and getting a pat on the back for something I’d actually done well. Only, the stakes were much higher now and the spotlight burned so much hotter.
“I just…” I sighed as I trailed off, picking at a loose thread on my dress. “It’s been so long since he’s paid this much attention to me and I want to make him proud. Just not like that. Not with Gregory. Anyone but him.”
Trent didn’t say anything, but his jaw flexed in a way that made me suspect he was trying not to argue or lecture me. A wave of defensiveness rose up from deep within and I lifted my chin, turning to face him fully.
“I’m hoping Alex’s plan works because then it’s not on me,” I said firmly but quietly. “That way, I can stay in my dad’s good graces. At least until he finds out about you. By then, hopefully Alex will have fixed it all and we won’t have to deal with the fallout.”
“He doesn’t know yet?” Trent tapped the steering wheel twice, like he had something to say about that, then seemed to change his mind. “Okay, well, it’s not dealing with the fallout that I’m worried about. It’s Alex’s plan.”
We passed a pair of old stone gates marking the entrance to Pacific Heights. A row of grand houses lined the slope, glowing warm and perfect under the dusk, but I kept my attention on him. “Why are you worried about the plan?”
“You know this is going to blow up at some point,” he said, his voice low and steady as he took a quick look at me. “When it does, you need to be ready.”
I nodded and let out a soft sigh. “I know.”
“Do you?”
Instead of answering right away, I turned my face toward the window, watching the world get richer and cleaner the closer we got. “I’m choosing the option that doesn’t break my dad’s heart or dash his hopes. I don’t feel like I need to apologize for that.”
Trent didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to.
Tonight, we were playing pretend again, smiling and holding hands, letting the gossips do their work.
For everyone else, it would look like a perfect match, but for me, it was starting to lean toward something messy.
Something that was becoming more complicated the more time we spent together.
We pulled up to a massive, fancy old building with the neatly manicured lawns of the golf course stretching out on either side of it. Not surprisingly, Trent’s huge, gleaming truck wasn’t the only one in the lot. Welcome to Texas.
He parked and came around to open my door, then helped me out and led me to the wide, double doors, the scent of old money and expensive cologne wafting out before we were even inside.
Once we stepped past the threshold, I realized it was the same as the country club we belonged to back home, with polished wood, crystal glasses, and the faintest hint of chlorine from the pool out back.
People turned the second we walked in and Trent’s fingers slid between mine, warm and sure, as if he’d been holding my hand for years. Those full lips also spread into a cocky but somehow warm smirk and he said hi to just about everybody on our way in.
There was a chorus of, “Evenin’, Trent,” “Welcome back, son,” and, “You bringin’ your girl home again for the holidays?”
With each greeting, I expected him to drop my hand or to push me aside the way the very important men in my life always did when they turned their attention to the very important business of networking, but it never happened. Instead, Trent tugged me closer. Every time, without fail.
“This is Charlotte,” he said over and over, my name coming out on a charming smile.
When asked what I did for a living, he fawned over my volunteering like it was his own greatest achievement.
“She does a lot of charity work with kids in Chicago. Support. Fund-raisers. Youth development stuff. The whole deal. It’s incredible. ”
People lit up at that—and he let them. He asked my opinions when they started talking about some of the issues the youth and schools were facing, and when I spoke, he didn’t interrupt or correct me.
He didn’t translate my words into something more convenient.
He actually listened, and because of that, so did everybody else.
They nodded like I was the leading authority on this, accepting that I actually knew a few things. It was, sadly, potentially the most validation I’d ever received.
We drifted from group to group, his thumb brushing lazy circles on my hand whenever someone made a joke or asked a question. Sometimes he’d lean down, whispering sarcastic commentary in my ear that made me snort into my drink.
I was actually having fun until I spotted a woman watching us.
She was gorgeous, probably in her early thirties with blonde highlights, a body honed from Pilates, and the sheer will of someone who competed with every woman in a ten-mile radius.
She swept through the room like a force of nature, smiling big at Trent’s friends when they made eye contact, and I swore, the second she came near us, she made the air change.
Trent’s posture shifted subtly, not leaning into me or staring at her. It was more like awareness, and not the happy kind.
Her smile tightened when she reached us. “Well, look what the wind blew back to town.”
“Savannah,” Trent said curtly, starting to turn back to me when she leaned over to tap his arm, her fingers lingering longer than necessary before she gave me a cursory onceover.
“And who’s this?”
“Charlotte,” he said coolly. “My girlfriend.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh! How adorable. You’re quite young, aren’t you?”
“I just seem young to someone your age.” I dropped my gaze to her fingers on Trent’s arm, surprised to see a shiny band on her left ring finger.
Meanwhile, she didn’t seem at all bothered by the fact that she was married. She tilted her head at me, red-painted lips pursed, and that classic glint of mean-girl danger in her electric green eyes. “Which high school did you just graduate from, honey?”
Heat rushed up my neck, embarrassment mingling with anger. I couldn’t tell which was stronger. Trent’s clean-shaven jaw got harder. He didn’t say anything or rush to defend me, but the look he gave Savannah was a cool, pointed, deadly calm glare, and it told me everything I needed to know.
Whatever history they clearly had, she’d earned that glare and he didn’t want her anywhere near him. Wrapping my fingers around his bicep, I pulled him closer to me and lifted my chin. “I graduated quite a few years ago, actually. If you’ll excuse us, we’ve got things to do.”
Savannah’s eyebrows hit her hairline. “Well, good for you, honey. Enjoy your night.”
She left in a cloud of perfume and condescension, but as I watched her walk away, so did Trent.
The weird pinch of jealousy in my chest twisted a little tighter.
I knew I had no business feeling it, but I suddenly had the urge to grab his face and turn it to me, because that was where his eyes belonged, on me and only me.
Jeez, possessive much?
“Friend of yours?” I asked lightly, not really wanting him to know that somewhere inside, part of me was struggling to care that this was supposed to be fake.
He huffed a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh but wasn’t quite a scoff either. “Not anymore.”
Great. Not enough information to satisfy my curiosity. Just enough to make me wonder.
Once she’d disappeared, we drifted back into the crowd, his hand returning to mine like it belonged there. Weirdly, it kind of felt like it did. That irrational, possessive witch inside practically purred with satisfaction at feeling his strong fingers between mine.
While his acting remained on par for the rest of the night, he ended up pulling me back to the truck before dessert. The drive back to the ranch was mostly silent. A tense, thick suffocating kind of silence while he stewed, his teeth so clenched that I could practically hear them grind.
It started raining again about halfway to the ranch and I sighed. Perfect. At least the weather matches his mood now. Wonder if it makes him feel any better.
The rain came down in sheets that seemed to intensify with every mile, thunder rolling across the fields like the world was trying to shake itself apart. Trent drove through it like he didn’t even notice, one hand on the wheel, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Cool as a cucumber.
I, on the other hand, was very much not a cucumber. On the dark stretch of road leading up to the ranch, I finally couldn’t hold it back anymore.
“So, Savannah. What happened between you two?”
His grip on the steering wheel tightened. Barely but enough that it was visible.
“Nope,” he said.
“Nope what?”
“Nope, we’re not talking about her.”
That was it. He didn’t offer any sort of explanation or detail. All I got was that hard stop and it only made me more suspicious.
“Why not?” I pushed, unable to help myself.
Curiosity was chewing at my gut, but it wasn’t only that. There was something about his reaction that made me want to crawl into his lap and comfort him, and I was hoping that if he could just tell me what had happened, that instinct would go away.
Because I absolutely can’t climb into his lap, can I? No. Well, maybe if—No.
He exhaled sharply, irritation flickering across his profile as lightning flashed, bright light piercing the air for a fraction of the second. “Because there’s nothing to talk about. Drop it.”
Right. Sure. Of course, there’s nothing to talk about. And I’m the Queen of England.
After that, there wasn’t much point in poking him again. Obviously, he wasn’t going to open up about this, so I turned toward the window, watching the storm rage outside while the rest of the ride stretched out in awkward silence.
By the time he pulled up in front of the house, the rain had eased into a drizzle, but Trent’s mood hadn’t lifted one bit. He killed the engine, unbuckled, and murmured, “Goodnight, Charlotte.”
I swallowed the offer of comfort, though I was tempted to throw my arms around him, and nodded, stepping out into the damp air after him. Upstairs in my room, I paced for maybe thirty seconds, but it probably wasn’t even that long before I grabbed my phone and called Alex.
He answered, and as always, he sounded distracted. “Hey, Char. What’s up?”
“What’s up?” I hissed. “Are you kidding me? I’m living in Texas with Trent, which was your ridiculous plan. I have no idea what’s happening back home or how long I’m going to be here, and you’re asking me what’s up?”
“Right, right,” he muttered. “Sorry. It’s been a long day. How’s it going over there?”
“Great,” I said dryly. “Except for the part where Trent’s mystery country-club something-or-other basically implied I was twelve.”
Alex didn’t even pretend to care. “Yeah, well. How’s Gregory? Oh, that’s right. You don’t know because you don’t have to deal with him.”
“Alex.” My voice sharpened. “Why are you being weird? How is everything going in Chicago? Are you actually handling this?”
“It’s under control,” he said, but it was way too quick and much too vague to be true. “Don’t worry.”
I stopped pacing in front of the windows, looking out into the night to see moonlight occasionally breaking through the clouds, casting silver streaks across the fields. It was so flipping beautiful out here. Truly. But I needed to know what was happening in my real life.
“Does Dad know about me and Trent yet?”
“No. Not yet.” A sigh. “He’s still pushing for Gregory, but I’m working on it.”
Well, that’s not reassuring. Not even a little.
“Look, I’ve got this, Char, but I have to go, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.”
We hung up after that promise that meant nothing, and I stood there in front of my windows for another beat before I turned to look at the quiet hallway, staring across it at Trent’s closed bedroom door.
A soft glow leaked from underneath, telling me that he was still awake.
For a moment, I thought about knocking, even if just to clear the air.
Maybe to ask why Savannah could ruin his whole night.
Just to do something that didn’t involve me just standing here, completely in the dark about everything that actually mattered.
Instead, I crossed the room and shut the door gently, then got ready for bed and climbed into it alone, wondering what exactly I’d gotten myself into and just how long it was going to last.