15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Madison
“ I can't believe you did that,” I started the moment we entered Parker’s car.
“Did what?” He played dumb and waved my mother and Mike goodbye through the window. Clementine, Lucas and Tyler left about an hour earlier than us.
“Talk about aliens for forty-five minutes.”
He smiled, pleased with himself. “I wanted to change the subject. It worked.”
“You sounded like a loon. How did you even know all that nonsense?”
He lifted a finger in the air and pointed it at me. “It's not nonsense. When we get back at The Gem, I'm playing you a podcast. Joe Rogan had this guy on...”
“You need to find a real girlfriend before your crazy starts to overshadow your good looks.”
“Finally,” he shot me a teasing look. “I’ve been waiting for a compliment ever since I came to pick you up. I tried extra hard tonight. I’m glad you noticed.”
“You're missing the point.”
“I remember something about you calling me a bulky brute,” he continued. “It didn't occur to me back then that you meant it as a compliment.”
“That’s because I didn’t.”
“And yet you found me good enough to meet your demanding mother. Now that is a true compliment.”
“Don't flatter yourself that much. Normal, sane men don't go around offering women to be their pretend boyfriends.”
“True. But normal, sane women don't need a pretend boyfriend. We are a match made in heaven.”
I turned to look out the window, trying to hide my smile, but I couldn’t. I burst out laughing. “Aliens. Really, Parker?”
He glanced at me for a moment. “It worked, didn't it? She stopped listing your qualities as if she was auctioning you off.”
“I think she is seriously debating if she can support our relationship now.”
“Wealth beats crazy in the eyes of people like your mother. Status is more important to her than quirkiness.”
I examined his face. His body. The calmness he oozed.
“You are really confident when it comes to these things,” I said. “That's unusual for a single man at your age.”
“I'm just good at reading people.”
I was sure there was more than that. “Why do you hate weddings?”
That muscle on his jaw ticked. “I don’ t hate weddings.”
“I’m good at reading people too. I think you do hate them. You just refuse to admit it.”
“And how many years did you silently hate ballet before you had the guts to tell your mother?” Parker attacked me and I was sure I had hit a nerve with my question.
“Our game doesn’t work that way, remember? You have to answer my question, if you want to ask me one.”
“Fuck that stupid game,” he paused for a moment, then continued. “And your private French lessons? Three times a week? Seriously? The only excuse I would accept, is if you had been fucking your teacher at least half of that time.”
Laughter burst out of me.
“Have you?” He asked.
“My teacher was a sixty-eight year old lady.”
“Is that a no?”
“It’s a no,” I said through another burst of laughter.
“Who were been fucking then? In high school?”
“My boyfriend.”
“The boy that tricked you into cheerleading? The one your mother hated?”
“You picked up on that.”
“She didn't make it hard for me not to. Why did she hate him?”
“Besides her fear of him influencing me more than she could? He was a quarterback. I wanted to become a cheerleader. She thought I was doing it just because of him.”
“Were you?” He asked and sounded genuinely curious.
“No. I was sick of ballet. I wanted to try something new.”
I felt his gaze on the side of my face. “And did you enjoy being a cheerleader? "
“I did,” I smiled at the memory. “It was exhilarating to be part of a team and support the school during games. It was liberating in a way that ballet never was. At least for me.”
I saw with my periphery that he nodded. “Sometimes we have to break free from the expectations others have for us and do what truly makes us happy.”
I turned to face him fully. “And what makes you happy, Parker?”
He surprised me with his answer. “I honestly don’t remember.”
***
I could feel the shift in my dynamic with Parker. We weren’t exactly friends, but we were friendly. There was even a level of understanding between us that didn’t exist before. But apparently I was the only one sensing the change, because Parker sent the person who hated me the most at The Gem to inform me I was to leave my room by noon the day after the family dinner at my mother’s house.
“I would suggest you start packing immediately,” Melany looked at me like I was finally getting what I deserved.
“He can’t kick me out. I have a contract.”
A contract I was very pleased we had signed after all.
“Mr. Wilson said you might bring that up. He told me to tell you to check your email.”
Mel walked out and I grabbed my phone.
There was an email from Parker’s assistant Katie.
Ms. Hartley,
The Gemstone Hideaway Retreat needs this room for other purposes and we can no longer accommodate you in it. Please pack your personal belongings by twelve p.m. today .
I have arranged a staff member to come and move them to the Pink Diamond, where you will live until the end of your stay at The Gem.
Let me know if you have any questions.
Best wishes,
Katie
I blinked at my screen and read the email again. I was moving to Тhe Pink Diamond.
There was only one question in my mind.
Why? Genuine care? He already showed he had a protective side when he helped me get rid of George and then when he openly challenged my mother.
I wanted to dial Parker and ask him, but I also wanted to live in Тhe Pink Diamond, and history had proven that one of my main talents in life was pissing Parker Wilson off. So I decided it was better for me to move first, ask questions--aka annoy Parker--later.
I packed and left the main building with a huge smile on my face. A smile I made sure Melany saw on my way out to the gardens. By the sour look on her face she must have learned where I was going and she wasn’t happy about it.
Walking into the living room area of Тhe Pink Diamond, I immediately spotted one white rose in a glass vase with a yellow sticky note tucked under it.
If it wasn’t for the note, I would assume it was part of the decorations.
The moment I was left alone, I walked over to the rose and buried my nose into it, then picked up the vase and looked down at the note.
Sub rosa
P .
So he moved me here because of our fake dating situation. It made no sense to me, since we wanted to hide that from his employees. Moving me right next to him in a private villa wasn’t helping.
I took my phone and shot him a message.
Me: This is reckless. People will start talking.
He answered immediately, as if he was waiting for my text.
Parker: As far as people know we hate each other. It will be fine.
I hesitated on how to answer. He sent another message.
Parker: Do you like it?
Me: You know I like it.
It was his turn not to answer, so I changed the subject.
Me: Can I use the hot tub?
Parker: Knock yourself out. I never use it. It’s all yours.
Neither of us continued the conversation and had a meeting with Sheila at a bakery an hour later, so I got ready and left.
Unfortunately for me, Sheila wasn’t as pleasant as Annie Foster was. She whined a lot and every decision she had to make came with the question of what Annie had decided.
“Every bride has her own style,” I said what felt like a hundred times over the afternoon.
My mother didn’t help my situation at all, because she lit my phone on fire with her ringing the entire time I was with Sheila.
“Has Parker forgiven me about George?” She asked as soon as I returned her call.
“Did you actually apologize?” I asked all smug because I was there the entire time and the answer to that question was no.
“Not with words. But it was understood.”
I didn’t want to get into an argument about how apologizing worked. “I already told you. Parker doesn’t care about George. ”
That part wasn’t a lie at least.
“Good,” she sighed. “Did you see him with Daphne? And the way he looks at you?” She lowered her voice, like she was about to tell me a secret. “That man is ready for commitment.”
That man was a really good actor. It was a good thing to know. If he had convinced my mother that he was looking for a bride with just one dinner, who knows what else he might be lying about without me suspecting.
I have to read my contract again.
“Don’t miss this opportunity,” my mother used her warning tone.
“Opportunity? It’s not a business, Mom.”
“It is, when you’re marrying a wealthy man like him.”
“We are not getting married,” I laughed bitterly. “We just started dating.”
I was pretty sure I was never getting married. I wasn’t wedding material. What was the point in binding your life with someone when independence meant more to you than connection?
“You wouldn’t be the first woman to get married after a few months of dating. At your age…” She started again but I couldn’t stand hearing another lecture about my dying eggs.
“What is that obsession you have with marriage? It’s not like you held on to yours when push came to shove. You chose yourself instead of fighting to keep your family.”
I knew it wasn’t fair, but that didn’t stop the words from coming out of my mouth. Besides I was in my twenties when they divorced, already living in New York. Clementine got hit the hardest. She was the one that stayed with Mom and had to suffer through her depressions and moods .
Dead silence followed my outburst, but I refused to speak first. Sylvia Hartley invaded my personal life without an ounce of remorse or guilt. Why should I spare her the uncomfortable questions?
“I should go,” she said after a few beats. “I have an AA meeting today.”
“Enjoy,” I said and hung up on her before she could hang up on me.