Chapter 27 #2
When I come out, he’s lying on the bed fully dressed and waiting. He catcalls me. “Turn for me.” Funny how I found that so charming yesterday, and today, it makes me want to light a fire to burn the place down.
“We should go.” I pull the door open and start down the hall.
His heavy footsteps echo behind me. “Hey, Shortcake?”
I keep walking, reaching the top of the staircase. As soon as I take hold of the railing, I’m stopped by his stupid giant wall of a body standing in my way. I shift to the right, but he shifts with me. I go left, and he’s still there blocking me. “What’s going on? Why are you mad?”
“Oh god,” I say, throwing my arm up. “Where do I start?”
“The beginning is good.”
I wonder if he means the beginning, when two grown-ass men made a bet for him to sleep with me?
I’ll assume he thinks he’s slyer than that.
“Ha! I bet.” I attempt to maneuver around him, but I know it’s wasted energy, and I’m not willing to risk my life in these heels to outrun him. “Can you move, please?”
He tries to take hold of my hand, but I tuck it into the pocket of the dress. That was one of the features that sold me on it. It’s coming in handy. “You’re not talking to me?”
“Not if I can help it.”
His eyes harden. He grabs the railing and stands taller. “What the fuck is going on, Lauralee?”
We’re at an impasse. I’m in no mood to talk to him at all about anything, and that’s all he wants to do. I exhale, my shoulders falling from the mental exhaustion. “Can we just go to the party? Please.”
Our eyes stay fixed as seconds pass, but then he steps to the side and out of my way. “So much for the happy newlyweds.”
“You don’t have to worry, Baylor,” I say, taking the steps slowly so I don’t trip down the spiral.
“I’ll play my part as I promised. You’ll be heralded as the family man they’re looking to promote and then we can go our separate ways.
The bank can send the paperwork to you.” Yeah, I’m not letting him off the hook.
Stopping at the marble-tiled floor of the foyer, as Mrs. Goodman called it because she’s rich and fancy like that, he waits for me.
He holds his elbow out for me when I reach the bottom step.
I debate if I need to take it or if I want to walk beside him instead.
I take hold with my hand and lift my chin, ready to make our entrance.
I feel bad for being so bored.
Sure, everyone is nice enough and all the ladies have been fawning all over me as a newlywed, more than happy to impart advice, and coo over my rings. But I never want to hear another thing regarding fashion in Capri. Who cares ?
They do. Apparently, a lot. No matter the season, they have the perfect outfits ready to go.
“Do you get to Europe much, Lauralee?” Mrs. Goodman asks as she sips her watermelon spritzer.
I’ve already downed three. They’re light on the alcohol, so I asked for a double last round to get me through the rest of this event.
“I’ve never been.” The audible gasps startle me. With all the ladies staring, I don’t know where to go with this, so I lie to spare myself the humiliation, “In fall.”
The four women take a collective sigh of relief. One even had her hand over her heart in concern. She lowers it, so I think I’m in the clear. Mrs. Goodman rubs my wrist. “You should see Paris in the fall. It’s stunning.”
“I’ll have to make it a point to visit during the season.”
I keep eyeing Baylor, the anger I felt earlier subsiding with the passing hours.
Should I have said something and given him a chance to explain?
Am I the bad guy for being hurt in the first place?
No. But my pain has morphed into disappointment in myself for falling for a playboy.
Of course he’d treat dating like a sport.
It’s what Baylor Greene has always done.
So the bet shouldn’t come as a surprise.
He’s doing what he does best—winning. Whether it be on the football field or in the bedroom, he’s been spoiled with choice.
That’s not something I want to be a part of. Anymore.
Spotting the buffet, I say, “If you’ll excuse me,” and slip away from the group. I should have done that an hour ago. I get a plate and walk the length of the table, adding everything from a slider to potato salad, a scoop of mac and cheese, and a cookie because I need to eat my feels.
I take my plate and head to the edge of the lawn that leads to a beach and the ocean. I’ve never seen a house this big, and the lawn with the pool, the guesthouse, and landscaping are something I always imagined celebrities having.
The mac and cheese is good, so I take another bite, staring ahead at the water.
“I like to see a woman who eats.” Baylor’s boss slides up next to me, facing the ocean.
Nothing like being shamed when I’m holding a damn appetizer plate. I lose my appetite and struggle to swallow down the last bite I took. I lower the plate, wishing I could dump it now.
He says, “My wife and her friends eat like birds to keep their figure, but they’re much older than you.
” I’m not sure why he’s still speaking to me when I’ve given him no indication of interest. But he keeps going.
“Baylor’s going places.” That has me glancing his way.
He’s grinning like we’re old friends and sharing secrets.
He’s older than expected. He has at least ten years on my mom.
With white and gray hair combed to the side, he’s smaller in stature standing in opposition to his arrogance, which befits a tall male model, basically Baylor if I’m being honest. “We’re happy he brought you into the Taylor and Goodman family.
We’ll be seeing lots of each other. That will be nice.
You and I spending more time together. I can take you out on my yacht. Have you ever been on a yacht before?”
It’s not a question, but it sure does sound like a threat of him insinuating more than business acquaintances. “You’re crossing a line you don’t want to, Mr. Goodman.”
“I’ve crossed many lines.” He rocks on the heels of his loafers with his hands tucked in his pockets. I can hear the jangle of change or keys, which grates on my last nerve. “It always works out well for me.”
Squaring my shoulders to face him, I reply, “Not this time.”
“You’re very pretty.”
“I’m also married and have no intention of cheating on my husband.”
His hands go up in front of him. “Who said anything about cheating?”
“Bob?” Hearing his wife standing behind me stiffens my spine.
I release a heavy sigh. He’s good, making it look like I was the one coming onto him. Asshole.
I could bother to tell her the truth, but when I look back over my shoulder, there’s no anger nor jealousy scribed in her expression.
Disillusionment might describe it better by the lack of fight in her eyes.
She probably accepted this fate years before I entered the picture, trading the lifestyle for happiness.
She puts on a smile that can’t be more fake, and says, “It’s time for the toast, dear.”
He walks by me, hitting me with ire in his eyes when he passes.
If this is what it means to be rich, I choose my life with all the struggles that come with it any day.
I’m still unsure what to do about the bet and the betrayal of Baylor, but a plan finally comes to mind. I cross the lawn, tossing my plate in the trash, and go to him.
He walks to meet me halfway, his smile holding the uncertainty of someone who cares and is worried about me, not someone who would make a lame bet to sleep with me.
He extends his arm, then I walk into the offer, and he brings me to his side.
He’s still so comforting, like my favorite blanket that keeps me warm on stormy nights.
It’s more difficult to stay mad when I still see him as my friend and feel him as my husband. Yesterday wasn’t that long ago. The impact it made still lingers and thrives in my heart .
He kisses the side of my head, then asks, “You excited to see the fireworks?” There’s such innocence and hope in the question.
It’s not ideal, but I’d rather lose everything than sacrifice my soul. Even him, if it comes to that. “I’m leaving, Baylor.”