Chapter 21
River
We drive to Tate International, and as often happens, I’m stuck with my first view of it as we come around the bend. It’s built into the mountainside with mid-century modern planes and weighty, classic touches. It’s both a jewel box and a fortress.
I only have a couple of minutes before my first meeting, but I’m prickling with thoughts of Gabriel and me sharing his bed and waking up entwined in each other’s arms.
What happened? We built a pretty solid barrier, but it was gone by morning. As embarrassing as that was, it was also nice. There’s a silent agreement between us—a fog of this never happened wafts along the air inside the Bronco.
Well, I won’t be able to forget about it, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be talking about it, either.
This skewed the lines of our financial arrangement.
Right before I move to open the car door, Gabriel drops a bomb in my lap.
“River, thanks for this.”
His eyes are the darkest shade of blue now, his voice gravelly. From his gaze out the windshield, he darts a sideways glance at me. The one dimple I see in his profile puckers.
He seems to be grappling for his next words, so I wait to respond. And it’s not that him thanking me is the bomb in my lap. The bomb is what it means, all that’s happened in this short amount of time and the emotion in his voice.
I’m not available for these feeling things. I have to be mother and father, sister and guardian to Skye. I can’t have this life. I squeeze both fists shut in my lap, trying to convince myself of something my heart and gut don’t agree with.
Finally, he says, “I think this is going to work out, and I’m grateful for all that you’re sacrificing to make this possible.”
By “work out”
does he mean to get his job back or to “work out”
work out? Like how a relationship works out?
A low hum of panic hits my gut. I swivel my new wedding ring on my finger back and forth before clamping my hands down in fists again.
“I think we pulled it off yesterday,”
I say. “Your siblings seem surprised but accepting. And your mom was . . . actually really great.”
“I’m sure she has mixed feelings. She loves event planning and making things special for people, though. This means a lot to her, so thanks for being willing.”
I shrug. “No prob!”
But inside, there’s nothing casual about this. Because I’m trying so hard not to get invested, I’m suddenly having visions of Celine loving me, thinking of me as her daughter, splurging on the reception to make it special for me.
I know, I know. I have to stop.
“Can we keep the reception small?”
I ask, finally allowing myself to rotate in my seat so I can better see him. He turns to me, but seeing his chest reminds me of the way I clung to it last night.
“My brothers and their wives. Your sister and a few friends. My aunt Stella and her kids. I like the idea of keeping it small.”
To avoid staring at him, I dig in my bag, find a tube of lip gloss, and run a slip of it over my lips. “Good. That’s settled. I suppose it’s important for us to have one. I just don’t even know where to begin.”
“I imagine that by your lunch on Friday, my mom will already have most things planned.”
“She’s Celine Tate. I know she’ll come up with something classy. I—”
I sigh, thinking of every protest I can but nothing’s good enough. “It will be good to get it over with.”
I fluff my hair. “I’ve gotta go. But another thing we need to decide is when we’re going to your parents’ place.”
“My parents’?”
“You know. To show them the rings and to be all happy and in love in their presence. Solidify the story.”
“Right. Except my dad’s out of town.”
“When he gets back then.”
I nod, shoring myself up at that thought. I’ve heard the stories about Thomas Tate. How he’s ruthless, unyielding, and honestly, kind of a dirtbag. Those traits helped him become rich, but he’s a pain to be around.
I do feel rude for thinking my new father-in-law is a dirtbag, but in the face of strong evidence, how can I not?
“Oh, and I emailed you the press release I wrote about us getting married. If we get it sent out ASAP, I bet it will resonate with the board and start the process of them seeing you in a new light.”
“Thank you for writing that up.”
Gabriel’s face stills and he gives me a pleading look. “Can I promise you something, River? Because my dad can be . . . difficult.”
“Gee, really?”
I offer quietly.
“I know you know that, as it’s partly why we’re in this . . .”
he pauses and then shakes his head. “. . . situation. And I know doing this for a year is going to be difficult. He’s going to pester and pry and make assumptions. He’s going to look for the holes in the story we’re presenting, because that’s what he does. But I promise I’ll protect you from him, okay? You don’t have to worry.”
I start to shake my head, like he doesn’t need to do that. But again, his serious expression tells me he is in this. He’s glad I’m partnering with him. And he didn’t mind us waking up in each other’s arms. “Okay,” I say.
Because he’s right. For all the hard times Sebastian and the others might have given us, that’s nothing compared to how Thomas Tate could respond. Guilty until proven innocent. That’s what’s going to happen here.
On Friday, I see Celine in the first-floor eatery before she sees me, and it gives me a chance to notice all the things about her that she shares with Gabriel. Dark blonde hair, eyes like a rugged mountain lake, the trim, long physique, an effortless and classic sense of style. She’s wearing a sheath dress in a pale blue cotton and pumps. Thank goodness I decided to forego my self-imposed “Casual Friday”
for my burnt orange suit and ivory blouse.
Crisis averted.
My next thought is I shared a bed with your son, Celine.
Geez, that phrase sounds wrong, like it’s implying more happened than actually did.
If you could call snuggling together in the middle of the night “things,”
then “things”
did happen.
He was so warm. Not in a too-hot way but just right. He was the bowl of “just right porridge”
in this little fairy tale we have going. How I felt comfortable to sleep so soundly in his arms, I don’t know. It’s not like me. I usually need a free perimeter of at least a couple of feet around me to be able to sleep.
But the next morning, he went to a big box store and got a new air mattress, and we’ve kept our polite distance ever since.
Celine smiles when I make my way to her small corner table, and I swear, she’s genuinely happy. I was bracing myself, wondering if she would see me as a gold-digger or maybe even think there was a baby on the way and that’s why we rushed into this.
Gabriel told me he shut the “bun in the oven”
rumor down so fast that his brothers haven’t ever brought it up again.
All this to say, it’s intimidating being here.
But then, the pressure in my chest begins to diffuse when she gives me a hug and then gushes over the ring. “Gabriel got his sense of style from me,”
she says, laughing. More pressure is released the moment she orders chili cheese fries as her lunch entrée and a large Coke, not Diet, no ice.
And apparently, as far as possible mother figures go, I can be easily persuaded to allow myself to feel something tender because when she takes out a small notebook and pen and begins asking me what I envision for the reception, I see something in her expression.
She’s . . . happy about this. She’s happy with me.
I pretend for a moment that it’s real. That’s she’s actually my true mother-in-law. I know what they say about mothers-in-law, but for me? She’s the only mom I’ve got.
Once I’ve told her the colors and styles and types of finishes I like—and I know only because she was asking all the right questions to get my brain going—she puts her notebook back in her bag and uses her napkin to dab again at the small stain in her lap.
Yep. Celine Tate spilled a bite of chili on her dress and only laughed about it.
Wonders never cease.
“I hope this marriage will help Gabriel and my husband, Thomas,”
she says, surveying my expression.
That was basically the whole idea, but I don’t mention that.
“They were close right from the beginning.”
She offers a sad smile. “But Thomas wasn’t a very good father.”
She holds up a hand. “Not that that’s news to anyone, himself included. He’s had a lot of amends to make. But there was something about Gabriel that softened him. Gabriel was patient with him, and it was this sort of give and take thing unlike any of the other kids could do. Thomas and Gabriel were genuine friends. And even after Gabriel grew up and started working for him, they continued that mutual respect.”
She takes a long drink of Coke. “Not that Thomas was all soft and sweet with him, but there was an understanding there. He really wanted to pass Foundations Financial down to Gabriel. I think Thomas overreacted when Gabriel did the things he did in Prague. And yes, the board took their lead from Thomas and responded in kind, too.”
“That’s really rough for everyone involved.”
What am I supposed to say? That Gabriel’s “love”
for me is going to change everyone’s mind?
“I’m just grateful he has you in his life.”
Celine’s expression is wistful.
For a moment, this all feels so real.
The next week, as per our new routine, I leave work so Gabriel can pick me up. My car is still in the shop, and I hate having to rely on him and Jana for everything. But hopefully, the parts will come in soon and I can be independent again.
Despite this, and despite being married to a man for a finite amount of time as a business arrangement, things feel a little bit okay.
I still worry to death about Skye. I realize I’m too invested in this . . . her case manager at Caring Souls has basically said as much. She’s been kindly suggesting I do some self-care before I call to check on Skye.
So, yeah, they’re basically saying they’re sick of my hovering.
The thing is, taking care of Skye hasn’t been a burden, not exactly. She has the single most loving, amenable, happy heart I’ve ever known.
But the weight of responsibility, to make sure she’s safe and engaged in life has been a lot. And let’s be honest. She wasn’t amenable all the time. She had her moments, like we all do.
Now?
Having Skye at Caring Souls and not having the house anymore? It’s . . . different.
Still, saying goodbye to the house, where every nook and cranny was a tangible piece of our parents, felt wrong. Like I’d broken apart my entire ancestry and future progeny for not holding onto the place where our family was intact and thriving.
Gabriel pulls up outside the resort. He rarely comes in. I know he’s been busy working from home with his freelance stuff, but he’s not ready to hobnob with his brothers, acting like everything’s all good. He feels Sebastian doesn’t want him around.
And honestly, that might be true.
Gabriel lights up when I climb into the passenger seat. He’s a diplomat if I ever saw one. Noble, as his default setting. Yet, still, maybe I’m not just imagining that his eyes light up a little extra around me.
And that is not a tingle I feel flitting over my skin. It can’t be. I have to be strong. When this ends, in eleven months and three weeks from now, I’m going to need to be a pillar of strength for Skye.
“I asked Jana to put that flier up on the bulletin board for the staff at Caring Souls,”
I tell him once I’m buckled in and he’s whipping the Bronco through the parking lot and onto Lakeside Road.
“Oh, the one inviting them to the reception?” he asks.
I nod. He was supportive of the idea. Skye’s been talking to everyone there at Caring Souls about getting to wear her dress again for her sister’s wedding, so it made sense to throw the invite out there in case anyone wanted to come.
The reception is in two days, and I’ve been dreaming a little about how it will be. And I’m not sad that I get to wear that gown again. Besides, one of the major pain points isn’t worrying me so much anymore. Gabriel said he would protect me from the ire of his father and I’m choosing to believe he will. Thomas won’t be back from his business trip until the day of the reception, making this a do or die moment for our ruse.
“That’s great.”
Gabriel is extra excited—almost. And maybe a little nervous.
In kind, my stomach starts to whir.
“River, I got you something.”
He starts to speed up as pastures appear on either side of the road.
“What is it?”
He points to a small giftbag on the floorboard, peeking out from under my seat. I grab it and give him a quizzical stare. The bag feels empty.
“What is it?” I repeat.
He laughs. “I’m not telling you. You have to open it.”
I pull the fluffs of tissue paper out of the top. “It’s a…”
I’m trying to sort it out. I pull out a thick shape made from paper. Origami?
He groans and pulls over on the shoulder of the road. Reaches over and flips it around. “It got turned upside down in the bag. There. Now can you see it?”
I take the manipulated, four-inch tall, off-white paper shape in my hands again. “Whatever it is, it’s cool.”
“It’s Lunch Lady Liz! See?”
He points to one of the ends. “She has a lunch bag hanging out of her mouth.”
“Oh! Right. I see it now.”
I stare at it, turning it to its front and back. There is a rudimentary shape of a dog. I can see the long floppy ears. Maybe. Or are those the paws? “Thank you!”
I giggle. “It’s very clever. I want to show this to Skye.”
He flourishes with his arms. “Happy Anniversary!”
“Have I been in a coma or something? It’s only been a week, right?”
“Yes.”
He nods. “Since we’ll only be married a year, I wanted to commemorate our arrangement every week. And the traditional first anniversary gift is—”
“Paper,”
I whisper. “That’s the traditional gift. How long did this take you?”
I slide my finger along the softened edges.
“You don’t want to know. I might have had to go buy a whole other pad of paper the other day.”
He dips his head and stares out the window.
I don’t want to notice the thrill that goes through me as I realize the effort this took and his boyish excitement. It looks nothing like a dog or horse or anything in the animal kingdom. But he gets an A for effort.
“I’m . . . I’m pretty amazed actually.”
“You like it?”
And he’s vulnerable. Sweet.
“I do. I really do. Thank you, Gabriel.”
I suddenly feel shy. “I didn’t get you anything.”
He laughs. “I didn’t expect you to. This is just something I wanted to do.”
“I’ll take care of next week’s, okay? Not that I know what the traditional second anniversary gift is.”
I could protest. I could say, don’t be ridiculous, why would you be giving me a gift for a fake marriage?
But I don’t. Because my mind starts firing with ideas for next week.
And by the end of the evening, after we cook breakfast for dinner, I’m online, looking up second anniversary gift ideas. Cotton?
Gabriel’s across from me in the chair and when his phone rings, he picks it up. “It’s Milo,”
he says to me, before stepping outside.
With it being warm in the house, I’d opened the windows in the living room earlier and now I can hear his voice through the screen.
I’m not trying to eavesdrop, but he’s right there and I have my computer in my lap and, well, when my name comes up in a conversation I can only hear half of, I can’t help it. Call it a freeze response.
“It’s not a big deal,”
Gabriel says and then waits as Milo responds.
“River’s fine. She knows it’s not like that.”
Gabriel’s voice is frustrated.
After a moment, he says: “I’m sure.”
Then, “You were the one who said you’d support me. Are you growing a conscience all of the sudden?”
I hear his footfalls along the patio. “Wait,”
he says to Milo. “Did you say something to Sebastian?”
A quick sigh. “Good. I need to really play it up on Saturday night, that’s all. I don’t care about Dad. I mean, I care, just . . . it’s hard to explain. Right. Okay. It’s all being handled. Everything’s fine. You’re mistaken. She’s a good actor, too. That’s all there is to it, Lolo. Acting.”
So, that’s why he’s giving me anniversary gifts? Because we’re acting?
I mean, I know that. I know we’re pretending. But the gift felt . . . intimate. Never thought a paper craft of barely passable quality could feel intimate, but it did. And I didn’t think I was imagining things when, every morning, he looks a little forlorn while dropping me off and then excited to see me when he picks me up.
Apparently, I did imagine it.
Because we’re only acting.