Thirty-Six
ISTAND BESIDE MY FATHER IN FRONT OF THE BAY WHILE THE SUN descends. In the light of golden hour, he holds me close, smiling with his dear daughter on his wedding day.
The drone whizzes in front of us, firing off shots. The hovering camera and four photographers surround us, a platoon devoted to capturing every angle. Over the softer sounds of the water, the robotic hum of the drone’s propellers fills the day.
My heart is still pounding from his words in the office, but I keep my expression serene, as if I’m a wanted part of this family. I guess I’m smiling, the feeling not unlike sculpting stone with my hands. The photographer issues us directions I can’t hear past the roar in my head, and Dash laughs, pulling me closer. As if nothing happened.
It didn’t, to him. He probably barely remembers it.
But to me, it’s everything.
Part of me wants desperately to forget it ever happened, to let my dad hug me for the cameras and pretend it’s not a show. To hold this up as proof to McCoy, to anyone, that there’s something worth saving here.
Not even I can lie to myself that well, though.
When the photographers tell me to exit so they can get shots of only the couple, I welcome the chance. I walk out of view of the cameras, feeling stress and sadness aching my back. I gulp down the clean scent of the ocean, free of my father’s cologne. It’s ironic, how houses with everything can make you wish you were anywhere else.
“Olivia? Are you okay?”
It’s Jackson’s voice, reaching into my heart in ways my exhausted head can’t fight fast enough. Regaining control of myself, I turn, finding him watching me. The bridal party waits nearby, on hand for photographs. Jackson has wandered away from them.
His expression is rich with compassion, his favorite counterfeit currency. It unfortunately only makes the handsome lines of his face more undeniable. I hate how much it hurts to see him look so… loving. Like he cares about me.
Not for the first time, I find myself asking why. Why did he throw away what we had? Am I so easy to toss aside?
Of course I am.
My own father has done it, hasn’t he? Why would Jackson have ever wanted to stay?
The fool I was, I remind myself. Jackson Roese had everything I could have wanted. Popular-guy charisma matched with quirky streaks and an unpretentious, joyous sense of humor. He cherishes mundane details like they’re in the Louvre. He looks… like he does. He smiles as if you’re the only person in the world.
None of it was what stole my heart. I fell for how caring he is. Hey, new girl. What do you say we walk together? I fell for how much patient kindness fills the soft space under his renegade charm.
Except, when I was falling for him, I was really just falling for his lies.
Jackson made me notice the phrases’ similarity. Falling for someone is loving them. Falling for something is getting conned.
I was falling for him, in the end. Just not the way I expected.
I close my eyes hard, settling into the hurt I can never escape. Tears fill my eyes again. This time, I don’t fight them. I look up at Jackson, letting him see how they glitter on my lashes.
I have a job to do here. I might as well make the most of my pain.
He rushes to my side. “What happened?” His voice vibrates with low fury. He darts a scathing look at Dash.
I wish he hadn’t. I don’t need the painful reminder of how much I let him into my life. Of course he’s correctly guessed my dad has done something to hurt me.
“Tom and I broke up,” I say.
When Jackson pulls his gaze back to me, startled, I revel in the neat misdirection.
“Oh,” he replies hollowly.
“It probably doesn’t surprise you,” I continue. “You know better than anyone how easy I am to get bored of.”
He reaches out as if he wants to take my hand—then stops himself. He’s respecting my wishes, part of me says. He’s out of patience, part of me replies.
“I was never bored of you,” he says firmly.
I look to the side, only half acting now. The wrenched feeling in my heart provides exactly what my performance needs. Yes, I engineered this conversation in order to have Jackson invite me to be his plus-one in the dinner seating arrangement—filling the space intended for the wife of the absent Sam Peters. The position will put me in proximity to other groomsmen, namely Jerry Hausman, who I’ll probe over filleted cod for information on Dash’s infidelities.
Even so, part of me needs to have this conversation with my ex.
“I wish I could believe you,” I say to the water. “I just really loved you, you know. Tom was… a rebound, obviously.” I laugh wetly. “But ending things with him is still just…” I let the tears flow harder, using the reserves of real feelings exactly the way I need them. My own heart is my co-conspirator now.
It works flawlessly. Jackson pulls me into his arms and strokes my hair soothingly.
“Hey,” he whispers. “Hey, there, new girl. I’m here.”
The tenderness in his voice cracks my heart wide open. I let myself cry into his shoulder, something I’ve wanted to do for weeks and am only permitting myself now because it furthers my goal.
The fact of its objective doesn’t change how it feels, however. It’s wretched heaven. When I’m in his arms, he feels like he’s still mine. I pull back, wrenching myself from his intoxicating magnetic field. Despite how much I want to, I know I’ll implode if I stay. Instead, I smile bashfully as I wipe my eyes. Remember The Plan. The objective.
Jackson’s warm eyes make it very difficult. “How can I help?” he asks.
I breathe in through my nose, preparing myself for the sting of what I’m going to do next.
I reach for his hand, entwining my fingers with his. He looks down, startled, then grips my fingers tightly, as if I’m his life raft after he’s been drowning for days.
“Olivia.” He exhales my name desperately. It steals the air from my lungs. “You believe me now? You know I didn’t cheat? That there’s no one I could want but you?”
I stiffen. I don’t want to say it. But I need to be at that table.
“I believe you.” I force a smile and lean in to brush my lips against his. It’s only for an hour, I tell myself. I can end things with him again when the cake is cut, when I have the information I need.
Jackson leans in, his gaze on my lips, his hand rising to cup the back of my head. It wouldn’t be so bad. Letting myself pretend for just an hour I’m everything Jackson once made me feel. Loved. Important. His.
If it’s for the job…
Even if everything else fails, I’ll have stolen something. An hour of my old life.
A breath away from his lips, I feel his hand grip my hair, halting me. I open my eyes and find him watching me, his expression stern.
“You’re lying to me,” he says. “Why?”
He releases me. I step out of his embrace, the facade shattered. While I’m relieved for the excuse to drop my act—forcing my reassuring words felt like chewing glass—I’m frustrated by how easily he figured me out. Jackson’s goodness makes it easy to forget he isn’t guileless. He’s maddeningly savvy and strategic when he wants or needs to be. Less golden retriever, more German shepherd.
Embarrassed he caught me in the deception, I cross my arms. While I mean it to look indignant, I end up feeling like I’m just defending my heart. “What gave me away?” I ask, surrendering myself to the irritating reality instead of the painful ploy.
“I know you. You can’t lie to me,” Jackson replies evenly, as if he’s remarking on the weather.
It snaps the fragile filament of desire in which the past few minutes have wrapped me. The heat in my cheeks contorts my features into fury. My voice comes out scathing. “If only I could be more like you, then.”
He looks exhausted by the reminder. His eyes smolder like hot coals after the fire has gone out. “What is it you want, Olivia? It’s obviously not me.”
I glance to my father, then back to Jackson, weighing my remaining options. I go with the direct approach. “I want your plus-one’s seat at the head table,” I say flatly. If playing him won’t work, negotiating might.
“Okay,” Jackson agrees.
I falter, eyeing him curiously. “Okay?” I repeat.
The photographers behind him call for the bridal party to join the photos. “You could have just asked. You didn’t have to try to seduce me or whatever,” Jackson says. He starts walking backward, talking to me while heading toward the edge of the bay. “I’d do whatever you asked of me.”
Without waiting for my reply, he turns. He leaves me watching him, the black outline of his jacket receding into the dying light.
I should be happy. I got exactly what I wanted. Instead, I’m stuck with Jackson’s words ringing hollowly in my ears. The truth is, the one thing I ever asked of Jackson Roese—in stolen kisses, shared confidences, and hopes I only ever dared with him—is the one thing he wouldn’t give.