Chapter 16
sixteen
. . .
SUMMER
Rory proposed.
In the pharmacy parking lot.
Okay, it was more like a demand.
Breach of independence!
Walls up. Scowls loaded. Snark engaged.
But my body, noticed the way Rory’s jaw clenched with protectiveness. How his cornflower blue eyes were filled with concern. And then, in the pharmacy when he’d stood there, broad shoulders squared, arms crossed like he was ready to fight the whole damn world for me, I’d felt safe. The same way I’d felt when he wouldn’t let me sleep alone in my van after the break-in. Safe and cared for. Like for the first time in a long time, someone was on my side. And it had felt good. I’d found my shoulders lowering away from my ears as a trickle of calm had washed over me.
I liked the feeling, but it scared me, too.
I can’t depend on a feeling. Those have steered me wrong in the past.
After we picked up my prescription at the pharmacy, and I’d taken a puff from my inhaler, Rory drove us to a local burger place near the beach for dinner since we hadn’t had a chance to eat anything at the club.
I’m browsing the menu, contemplating dinner with a side of matrimony while Rory is using the restroom.
I’ll admit, I did start this whole thing by telling his parents we were already married, so that’s on me.
But getting married isn’t an option. After everything I experienced with my parents and Tripp, it’s something I vowed never to do.
We won’t be like your parents.
That was Rory’s argument when I told him about my parents’ toxic marriage.
But how does he know that? He can’t predict the future and there’s no way I’m going to put myself in that position.
But getting married would keep his parents off his back, or at least from discovering our lie, and I could be on his health insurance to reduce the cost of my medication. We found out that with his insurance, my medication is thirty-eight dollars a month. Thirty-eight fucking dollars! I could stockpile it for years at that rate.
But I can’t marry him, can I? Getting married would be like walking into a trap I’ve spent years making sure I stay free from.
My eyes lift from the plastic-covered menu to find him stopped at a table with two young boys and their parents. He’s signing something and giving the boys high fives. His smile is genuine and unbothered as he waves goodbye. Then, he’s turning and walking toward me.
It’s annoying how sincere Rory is and how easy it is to believe him. To trust him. My guardedness usually pushes people away, but not Rory. It’s like he thrives in hostile environments. He’s like the ocean waves slamming against the rocks. No matter how much resistance there is, he keeps showing up, eroding my defenses in a way that’s natural and unstoppable.
Rory drops into the booth across from me.
“Fans of yours?” I ask.
“Isn’t everyone?” He grins.
My lips twitch at his confident gaze. “Pretty sure of yourself for someone whose recent marriage proposal was rejected.”
“About that—” Rory starts before the waitress appears with our drinks. She sets down a Dr. Pepper for me and a chocolate milk for Rory.
“Thank you,” I say, pounding the straw against the table to remove the paper wrapper before inserting it into my soda.
“What can I get y’all to eat?” the waitress asks around the smacking sound of her gum. She reminds me of Darcy.
I order the classic cheeseburger with extra pickles while Rory orders the double bacon cheeseburger, no onion, and a basket of fries.
“Is that all?” I lift my brows, surprised he didn’t order half the menu.
“Yeah, I’m not that hungry.” He hands the waitress his menu.
My instinct is to analyze what I did wrong.
Is it because of my announcement to his parents? Or my wheezing on the beach?
I push those thoughts away. Rory’s hunger level has nothing to do with me.
When the waitress leaves, Rory stands, then slides into my side of the booth until our thighs are pressed against each other.
“Excuse me. What are you doing?” I jerk back.
“Showing you what it would be like if we were married.”
“Um, no.” I turn to scowl at him. “We wouldn’t be a same side of the booth couple.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s weird.”
“I like being close.” He props a muscular arm over the back of the booth behind me. “Physical touch is my love language.”
“Of course, it is.”
“What’s yours?”
Scarlett made me do one of those quizzes senior year. All three versions said the same thing, physical touch. I won’t be sharing that with Rory.
“Personal space.”
He chuckles. “That’s not a love language.”
“It is if you want me to even consider your proposal.”
Rory moves to the other side of the booth with a huge smile in place. “So, you’re still considering it?”
I stare at his handsome face filled with optimism and warmth. He’s a good guy. Why does he want to marry me?
Because it wouldn’t be real. He needs a decoy wife. Maybe my standoffishness is appealing for an arrangement like this.
“How do you know this arrangement won’t be miserable? We don’t know anything about each other.”
“That’s not true. I know you like pickles and Dr. Pepper. And I know you like painting.”
“What?” My heart rate ticks up a notch at his mention of me painting. “How?”
“The way your face lit up when I returned your paints.” His smile is soft, like he’s remembering the moment.
My heart pounds, but I swallow back the discomfort. “They were a gift from Scarlett. They meant a lot to me.”
“And Scarlett is your best friend and would know what kind of gift would make you happy.”
He lifts his brows. Gotcha.
“Fine. I paint. It’s a hobby.” I stir my straw around in my soda. “What about you?”
“Hobbies?” he asks.
I nod.
“Training and traveling for competitions take up most of my time, but I enjoy music. Going to concerts. When I’m in town, the Tunes & Tides concerts at the Emerald Beach band shell are a good time. Hanging out with the guys. Playing video games.” He takes a sip of his water. “Snuggling on the couch with my wife.”
“Ah, congratulations. Who’s the lucky lady?” I say with mock-sincerity.
“You,” he says, tossing me a wink.
My body responds by melting further into the cushioned booth.
“There wouldn’t be any snuggling.”
“Oh, come on. You know you get handsy when you’re sleeping.”
“I do not.”
The waitress arrives with our burgers and I take a moment to dress mine. Putting the onion and lettuce to the side, I stack the tomato and pickles on the burger before squeezing mustard on top of everything, then cut the burger in half.
I take a bite. As the blend of savory meat, sweet cheddar cheese, tangy mustard, and sour pickles hit my tongue, I sigh. Maybe it’s the chaos of the last few hours, but damn this is the best burger I’ve ever had.
I look up to find Rory’s burger hovering halfway to his mouth as he stares at me.
My eyebrows lift. “What?”
He blinks, realizing he’s caught. “Nothing.”
I take a huge bite of my burger. “Doesn’t look like nothing,” I say around a mouthful.
Maybe I’ll gross him out and he’ll withdraw this silly marriage idea.
“Just thinking.”
I tilt my head and finish chewing the bite of burger. “Dangerous.”
That gets me a small smile, but it fades as his eyes stare intently at me.
“I was thinking…” He leans forward slightly, elbows on the table. “That you don’t even realize when you let your guard down.”
I stiffen at his words, my guarded personality taking offense to his observation.
“Just now, when you took that first bite of your burger? You did this little happy sigh, like it was the best thing you’ve had all day. And for a second, you weren’t overthinking. You were just…you.”
He’s right. I felt it. The ease of just being here and eating. With him .
But other than Scarlett, I don’t do that with people.
I set my burger down and stare back at him.
“That’s why you were staring at me?”
“Yeah.” He picks his burger up again. “It’s a good look on you, Wildflower.”
My body flushes at his words, but I cool it down with a drink of my soda.
For the rest of the meal, Rory doesn’t mention us getting married. He tells me about the guys on his team, and his goal of returning to the Olympics for his final run. The way his face lights up when he talks about his teammates and how much he loves swimming, it makes my chest ache. It’s how I feel about painting. Except, while I paint in the shadows, Rory is pursuing his passion publicly.
And I could help him.
My eyes snag on Rory’s basket of fries. I opted for a side salad, but those fries look good. He must catch me eyeing them because he grabs a handful and puts them on my plate.
“There’s more where those came from.” He winks.
“Thanks.” I give him a small smile, my stomach tingling with the sweet gesture.
“You two make a good-looking couple,” the waitress says, laying the check on the table. Rory snatches it up before I even blink. He’s got great reflexes.
“She makes me look good.” Rory smiles at her, then when she walks off, he grins at me. “If that’s not an endorsement, I don’t know what is.”
We finish our dinner, then Rory drives us to the RV park.
When we arrive at my van, I don’t even question Rory coming in and making himself at home.
He pulls off his shirt and tosses it on the bench like it’s an old habit now.
The water glass in my hand slowly lowers as my eyes slide down his naked torso. I watch as he picks up Edgar and cradles him between his chest and bulging bicep.
I cross my arms to hide the way my nipples pebble beneath my tank top, then move past Rory to climb up into the loft.
Now that I’m in my own space, I see why Rory’s unhappiness under his parents’ control hit me so hard. It’s a mirror of my own childhood.
Behind me, Rory climbs up then settles in next to me. The scent of mint toothpaste mixed with his cologne, and the faintest tinge of chlorine, is a heady combination.
He sighs.
“What?”
“My mom texted me. She thinks we’re lying.”
“Because we are. We’ve known each other for a week. Who gets married that fast?”
“They don’t know that.” He shifts to his side to face me. “And people in love do crazy things.”
“People in love.” I laugh sardonically. I hadn’t hesitated to tell Daphne that Rory and I were in love but that had been out of spite. But what is romantic love? An ambiguous measure of feelings you have for someone that ultimately leads to resentment and disappointment? Or a feeling that at first is so intoxicating, that one day you look up to see you’ve completely lost yourself in someone else?
“Have you ever been in love, Summer?” Rory asks.
My parents’ relationship was constant fighting, hurtful barbs lobbed like grenades, all in the name of love. If that was love, I wanted no part of it. Then, I’d met Tripp, and for a while he made me think I was wrong about the whole love thing. Turns out, he made me think I was wrong about a lot of things.
My relationship with Tripp isn’t one that I like to claim. It wasn’t simply a young love that didn’t work out. A relationship I can look back on and see all the ways the relationship helped me grow and discover who I was. It’s the opposite. In my relationship with Tripp, I shrank into a version of myself I didn’t recognize and instead of learning who I was, he dictated it.
“No.” And then because Rory makes me so damn curious about everything, I ask, “Have you?”
His eyes lift to mine. He searches my face for a moment, as if the answer to his past love life is written there, then rolls onto his back, resting his hand next to mine.
“Yeah.”
He must be talking about Daphne. I don’t confirm because I don’t want to talk about their relationship. I know Rory has a good heart and if he loved her, she must have redeeming qualities. Tonight, I didn’t see any but they’ve got to be there.
I roll to my back, both of us now staring up at my Flaming Lips poster while the rustle of Edgar settling into his bed beneath us fills the dead air.
“I don’t even know what a healthy relationship looks like.”
Awareness creeps in as Rory’s pinky finger edges closer to mine.
“But you know what you want. And what you don’t. Isn’t that what matters?”
It’s quiet between us as I chew on my bottom lip and consider Rory’s questions.
I know I don’t want to be like my parents. Be complacent in my relationship. Unhappy and unwilling to change something that isn’t working. Life is too short to be miserable.
And I know I’ll never allow another man to treat me like Tripp did. Feeling small and unwanted in my relationship with him are still wounds I carry. Therapy at the university free clinic helped me see that, but I haven’t challenged those beliefs in a new relationship, I’ve simply avoided them.
Now Rory wants me to make the marriage I fabricated tonight legit.
Because if his parents and Daphne were to find out our marriage isn’t real, he’ll be miserable dealing with the fall out of my false declaration. And distracted from his training.
Ugh. This is such a mess.
Could I really marry Rory?
I never planned to get married. I’m not waiting on Prince Charming, and it’s not like marrying him would be wasted. It would be practical. Responsible. For my health, and to help Rory.
“If we did get married, your parents would leave you alone, right?” I ask. As soon as the question leaves my lips, an erratic pounding beneath my rib cage begins. It’s my body’s unmistakable response to the idea of marriage. I focus on taking measured, even breaths, willing my heart rate to slow.
“If there’s a ring on your finger, and a valid marriage certificate, there’d be no room for discussion.”
“Then you could focus on swimming? And be the GOAT?” That’s what one of the articles I read about Rory had called him. That with twenty-five medals, he’s the most decorated swimmer of all time. And another run in Los Angeles would cement his status. As long as he stays focused and healthy to make it there.
He chuckles. “Yeah.”
“What about logistics?” I ask. “If we did get married? Hypothetically speaking.”
“You and Edgar would move into my house. You can park your van in the garage. It’d be safe there. And you’d have health insurance.”
“Swoon.” I roll my eyes playfully even though he can’t see me.
I pretend to shift, letting my fingers move another centimeter until our pinkies are brushing against one another. The simple movement has a rush of electricity lighting my body up like a sparkler on the fourth of July. Everything tingles, everything burns inside me.
“I know it’s the practical things that get you all hot and bothered.”
Rory’s voice is low and deep, right next to my ear, causing a rush of warmth between my thighs.
I wish I could control my body, continue to deny what being around Rory makes me feel.
Until now, I’ve done a decent job ignoring Rory’s absurdly handsome face and unfairly chiseled body. But if we do this—if I move in with him—he’ll be everywhere.
And shirtless, no doubt.
“You know nothing of the sort,” I counter, hoping my attraction to him isn’t obvious.
Health insurance would be a game changer. Cheaper medication would help me get my head above water with other expenses.
I quietly squeeze my legs together beneath the covers because access to Rory’s insurance isn’t the only thing that’s getting me worked up.
This is transactional. Get your hormones under control.
I love living in my van, but a house would mean more space for Edgar. From below, his soft snoring filters up to the loft followed by a shaky snort.
I’d also have a place to store my paintings, and maybe slowly compile a collection for a gallery show. The idea has a ribbon of excitement twirling inside my belly. But a show would require putting myself out there. Putting my art on display for everyone to see and judge. I’m not ready for that. But I’ll never be if I don’t have the space for my art.
Why am I even considering this? Marriage is the miserable institution I watched my parents navigate. The blaming. The gaslighting. The insecurities and fighting. The tears and disappointment. Bickering that would build into an explosive fight, only to be swept under the rug and the cycle start over again.
There was no abuse, at least not physically, but I don’t know how either of them wasn’t emotionally scarred from the rollercoaster. I know I was. Still am. And yet, they’re still together. Posing happily on Business Today magazine covers, no one the wiser that their advice for how to run a successful business while being happily married for twenty-five years is a complete sham.
I glance back at Rory, and that ache in my chest is back. The one that had spurred me into action earlier tonight when I’d marched across the dining room at Coral Cove Beach & Golf Club and declared that Daphne remove her hand from my husband . It’s the same troublesome feeling that got me into this position.
I should pluck that feeling by the root and yank it out for good, but the origin is unknown.
So instead, I try to imagine Rory treating me the way my parents do each other. Him nitpicking my clothing decisions, while I nag him about how often he golfs. I don’t even know if Rory golfs. There are so many unknowns between us.
Or the way Tripp had treated me. Acting like I was everything to him in public, but recoiling at my touch the moment we stepped out of view.
The only way to make sure I don’t end up miserable like my parents, or hurt like I was with Tripp, is to keep my heart out of this. A marriage of convenience.
“Maybe,” I turn my head toward him, “this could work.”
My eyes have adjusted to the dark, making the spread of Rory’s smile visible.
“Yeah?”
There’s so much optimism and gratitude in that one word.
“If we do this, it would be a marriage in name only.”
“Which means?—”
I rush to answer his inevitable question.
“We’re not involved romantically. No intimacy and no sex. I want to keep it simple between us. We’re doing this to help each other out, and I’d rather not complicate things with any emotions. No pesky romantic feelings. You know?”
“What kind of feelings should we have?” he asks.
“Fondness.”
Rory chuckles under his breath, but it sounds a little too warm. A little too hopeful.
“You make it sound like we’re in the 1800s marrying for a dowry.”
“No, we’d be marrying to keep your parents off your back so you can train with no distractions. So you can qualify for another summer games and shatter all the records.”
His lips spring into a grin. “I like your confidence in me.”
“Yeah, well,” I smile back, “I think you’ve got potential, Flipper.”
I move to tap him on the nose, but before my finger lands, he catches my wrist and presses his lips to my palm. “Thank you, Wildflower.”
The sincerity in his voice makes my chest squeeze. It also reminds me we need to agree on the most important rule of all.
“Just so we’re clear, you’re not allowed to fall in love with me.”
“Okay.” He smirks. “That means you’re not allowed to fall for me, either.”
“Not a problem.” I pull my hand back to break the connection between us.
It’s silent for a minute, before I add, “Don’t make me regret this.”
“I won’t.” He stretches again, sighing with exhaustion. “I’m going to be the best fake husband.”
I don’t doubt that Rory would be a good husband, but something about the way he says it makes it feel like a threat. A vision of a life together flashes in my mind. Beach camping under the stars, nights cuddled on the couch, early morning walks with Edgar before Rory heads off to the pool for training.
We’ve done none of those things together, yet the image is so vivid.
None of that aligns with what I’ve witnessed marriage to be. What I’ve experienced in previous relationships.
What am I agreeing to?
With the quiet around me, my thoughts start to spiral.
A few minutes later, I open my mouth to take it all back, but Rory’s already asleep.