Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Luka
My head is pounding, and I don’t think there’s enough caffeine in the world to turn my foul mood around.
I’m normally not someone who struggles with sleep, so this insomnia bull shit is a whole new form of torture for me.
I don’t think I’ve gotten more than a few hours of sleep a night ever since I invited Scout to stay with me.
It’s like my body is keenly aware that she’s right downstairs.
Like my dick’s been converted into a fucking antenna, tuned to her exact frequency and alerting me with every shift of her mood.
And no matter how hard I try, I can’t turn it off.
I find myself lying there awake… just thinking about her.
Thinking about how jumpy she’s always been and the way she freaked out the other night when she accidentally spilled her wine at my parents’ house.
How panicked she was in that moment, like she was expecting a much harsher reaction.
Fuck, something about it doesn’t sit right with me.
It has me wondering what else I’m missing…
I know I was out of line when I pulled her to the side and made her pour out her wine in front of me… But I couldn’t help myself. It was obvious that she was spiraling, and it seemed like she just needed someone to take control, to give her a little space to breathe.
So that’s exactly what I did. I took control of the situation… And maybe I pushed her a little further than I should have, but fuck if she didn’t give me the exact response I was craving.
As if I needed any more confirmation of what I was already suspecting about her—that little act of submission, the blind trust on her face, the way she seemed relieved to hand over control. Not out of force but because she wanted to. Jesus. I don’t know how I’m supposed to function around her now.
It’s a cruel joke that my childhood best friend, the woman I’ve been in love with since I was twelve, would not only betray me after I went to prison for her, but also turn out to be the perfect counterpart to my darkest sexual desires.
Out of all the women in the world, did I really have to find my match in my fake wife?
It’s a confusing mix of emotions that’s got my head all kinds of fucked up, and I don’t know what to do about it. No wonder I haven’t been sleeping.
Add in a healthy dose of sexual frustration on top of the pressure of pulling off this goddamn festival, and it’s a miracle I’m still functioning at all.
If sainthood was determined solely by self-restraint, I’d have my own feast day by now.
“Luka—what are you doing? You can’t park here.” Scout’s voice crackles through the speakers in my helmet as I ease my bike between two cars squeezed up against the curb.
She’s not wrong; it’s technically not a real parking spot, but I don’t really give a shit. Besides, what’s the point in riding a motorcycle if you don’t take advantage of the perks?
I’m not in the mood to explain myself. I’ve got enough on my plate with tonight’s town meeting. So I kill the engine, shrug off my helmet, and head for the door without a word.
“You’re in an extra-foul mood this evening,” she says behind me, a little breathless like she’s hurrying to catch up.
“Wow, aren’t you perceptive.” I pause at the curb, waiting for a break in traffic. “What was it that tipped you off?”
I know my anger is mostly misdirected. It’s not like she knows what she’s doing to me. If anything, she seems oblivious, which somehow makes it feel so much worse.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the flicker of hurt on her face, and for a second, I think she’s going to let the comment slide. But then she surprises me.
“You know what I think?” she says, not bothering to wait for a response. “I think you’re nervous about this meeting, so you’re taking it out on me.”
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. “Hate to break it to you, but I couldn’t give less of a fuck about this festival, definitely not enough to be nervous.”
“Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean you don’t care what people think. Otherwise, why do anything more than the bare minimum?” She lifts her chin. “You asked me to paint a mural.”
“Because I thought it’d be fun to rub it in everyone’s face.
That’s all they ever see when they look at me anyway.
” I take a step toward her, close enough that she has to tilt her head to meet my eyes and lower my voice.
“Don’t get it twisted, princess. This isn’t noble.
My reasons are selfish as hell. I only offered to marry you because I knew I could use it against you and your family.
I step back, the space between us suddenly feeling colder.
“I may be your husband, but I’m not your fucking friend. Try not to forget that.”
I reach for the door, but before I can touch it, it swings open.
“Finally,” Fergus says, poking his head out. He grabs my elbow before I can protest. “We need you to help decide something.”
He leads me to a long table where several posters are laid out side by side. Miss Scarlett and Clyde Collier, the town handyman, stand shoulder to shoulder with their arms crossed over their chests.
“We can’t agree on the lettering style, and since they put you in charge, we need you to choose. Fergus thinks…” Clyde starts, but Fergus holds up a hand and shushes him.
“Don’t tell him!” Fergus cuts in. “We need an unbiased opinion. Otherwise, you know he’s just going to pick Scarlett’s.”
Miss Scarlett bats her eyelashes and shrugs, but as soon as Fergus turns his head, she tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear and lets her gaze drop to the poster on the left.
I pretend to study the nearly identical designs, then nod and tap the one I now know is hers. “This one is my choice. It’s definitely the best of the three.”
Fergus narrows his eyes at Scarlett, visibly annoyed to have lost whatever competition they’ve been playing all these years.
Miss Scarlett just fans herself and blows him a kiss. “Sorry, Gus. I can’t help it. I’ve just got a great eye. What can you do?”
“You cheated,” he grumbles. “Probably bamboozled him with your cleavage.”
Miss Scarlett shimmies her shoulders and winks. “It is rather bamboozling tonight, isn’t it?” She leans in and whispers behind her fan, “My secret’s bee pollen. Add it to my morning oatmeal every morning.”
Fergus’ face turns beet red. “Come on, Clyde. We’re sitting in the front row tonight.”
You’d think the actual festival planning would be the most stressful part of this gig, but I’ll take logistics over playing referee any day. I swear, I don’t know how Mayor Stone does it.
The sound of chatter and chair legs scraping against the laminate fills the room as people file in and take their seats. It may be a weeknight, but the place is packed. My first instinct is to think it’s because they’re all so nosey, here to see if I’d actually show up after last time…
But I also know how important this festival is to everyone in this town. This is so much bigger than me or any of the resentment I feel toward any of them.
Everyone in this town wrote me off the moment I was sentenced to prison, so why the fuck would I waste any energy trying to win them back? I don’t need their approval. I don’t need them to like me. If they’re still clutching their pearls over something that happened years ago, that’s their problem.
So while I may put on a friendly face and plan this festival. I’m not doing it to impress anyone. I’m doing it because I was assigned the role. Unlike Scout, I don’t need anyone’s stamp of approval. I can act with integrity—or not just because I fucking feel like it.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun while I’m at it…
I make my way to the podium, mentally reviewing my notes, when my eyes find Scout sitting in the back of the room.
She’s got that soft smile on her face, the one that barely lifts the corners of her lips, and her eyes are bouncing around like she’s soaking in the chaos and loving every second of it.
She looks… different. Lighter. Nothing like the hollow version of herself that showed up here not that long ago.
But looking at her now, I can see that sparkle in her eyes starting to return. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was happily married, riding high on newlywed bliss.
Of course that couldn’t be further from the truth…
Which begs the real question. If being married to me has her looking this happy… how fucking toxic was her life before?
A high-pitched ringing draws my attention back to the room, just in time to catch Fergus ringing a triangle that he’s apparently brought with him.
“Everyone, please take your seats. It’s six o’clock, the meeting has officially begun,” he calls from the megaphone he’s also somehow produced out of thin air.
I clear my throat as the room quiets and people start settling in, my eyes catching on Scout again. She’s chewing on her bottom lip, looking nervous.
I have to look away before my dick starts getting ideas.
The last thing I need is to pop a boner in front of the whole fucking town. Talk about giving them a reason to clutch their pearls.
I clear my throat. “Uh… Thank you… Gus… for that… Let’s jump right in with it, shall we?” I hand the stack of papers to Miss Scarlett to pass around just as Jett pushes through the doors.
“Oh good… he made it,” Gus mutters under his breath. I swear this man has beef with every other business owner in town. God only knows what he and Jett are sparring over now.
Jett slides into the seat behind Clyde and gives me a nod to keep going.
“Right… So… I guess we’ll pick up where we left off last time.” I rock back on my heels as I glance around the unusually silent room. “Why don’t we open it up. Get some ideas flowing.”
“Are the rumors true?” I hear someone call out from the back.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Todd,” a woman hisses. “You know Judge Sinclair would have a heart attack if it were.”
“Wasn’t she just engaged to someone else, too?”
A collective gasp ripples through the room.