Chapter 15 #2
I flag the bartender and order two glasses of red wine. One for me. One for Jordan. Then I make my way back to the patio where I left her, surrounded by a small group: Nate’s friends, Jensen and Alley, Megan and Kevin.
So far, we’ve managed to avoid the topic of the ring. We’ve stayed busy telling stories about Nate, laughing quietly, remembering old times.
But Megan’s eyes have veered to Jordan’s hand more than once. She can’t help herself. Megan’s nosy and loud. Zero filter. I love her for it, most of the time. Sometimes, though… it’s too much.
Jensen, on the other hand, keeps giving me a look, like he suspects something’s going down.
I don’t blame him. Jordan and I have been playing the part a little too well.
Holding hands. Leaning close. Whispering.
Little touches. My hand settling at the small of her back.
Every time my fingertips skim the top of her ass, it reminds me just how dangerous this line is.
I’m like a rabbit wandering into a lion’s den.
Yeah. If the rabbit was attracted to lions and horny as fuck.
Jesus. Not the time.
I shake the thought away and step back into the circle beside Jordan, handing her the glass of wine.
She smiles at me. “Thanks, babe.”
I don’t miss the exchanged looks between Megan and Alley. Jensen doesn’t bother hiding it. His eyes are locked on both of us.
I’m tempted to tell him to mind his fucking business. He’s always been like that when it comes to Jordan. Always poking. Always questioning. Maybe because she’s the one subject I’ve never indulged him on.
I’ll give Jensen a play-by-play of a Saturday night hookup. A threesome. A business deal that went sideways. I’ll even embellish my relationship with my father if it keeps him entertained.
But when it comes to Jordan? I keep it vague. I never give in to the What happened? or Where is she? questions.
Possibly because I never really know what the hell happened. Jordan’s a goddamn magician. A pro at making shit disappear. Only it’s always the same damn thing that goes missing.
Her.
I’ve never shared details about our sex life either. Any other woman? I’ll tell Jensen everything. Down to the dirty details of what she did to me and what she tasted like.
Not a fucking chance with Jordan.
I still remember how pissed he was the first time Jordan and I had sex. We were young, and Jensen wanted details. He was curious. Of course he was.
I didn’t tell him a single thing. Not even the color of her bra.
One of Nate’s buddies wraps up a story about the first time he and Nate took Cole camping. He said he saw Nate in a whole different light after that trip, the way he wanted to teach Cole every little thing: how to set up a tent, light a fire, shoot BB guns. He was Nate, the dad.
Megan’s eyes flick to Jordan’s hand again, and a spark of panic hits my chest.
I brace myself, waiting for her inevitable question about the ring, knowing the jig might very well be up, when Jordan says, “So Matt and I have some news. We were hoping for a better time to share, but now seems as good a time as ever since you’re all here.
” She darts a glance at Megan. “Especially since I know you’ve noticed my ring. ”
She clears her throat and plants a genuinely happy-looking grin on her face. “Matt and I got married last week!”
Wait...
What?
I hope to God no one notices the shock written all over my face as I force myself to recover. I smile and nod, playing along.
What the hell, Jordan?
Guess she just gave her answer.
We’re married.
She took the reins on this whole act and ran with them.
But... married? Already?
Holy shit.
I wish I had this moment on video, because goddamn. The look on everyone’s faces is priceless.
Alley’s jaw drops. Megan gasps. Kevin looks confused. Nate’s friends shell out a round of happy congratulations.
But Jensen? He’s not fooled.
His eyes narrow, locked on my every move. There’s no way he missed my surprise. He takes a slow sip of his sparkling water, his gaze shifting between Jordan and me, before smothering a grin and giving a subtle shake of his head.
I don’t know what the hell that means, but I’m sure I’ll find out soon.
“What?” Megan gapes. “I’m sorry… you’re married?” Her brows pull together. “Since when were you even a couple?” She looks to Kevin. “Did you know about this?” Then back to me. “How did I not know about this?”
Poor Meg. She hates being out of the loop. She takes it personally.
“We haven’t told anyone,” Jordan says quickly, sensing Megan’s injured pride.
“We’ve been seeing each other for a few months.
After the whole thing with Richard went down, Matt didn’t want people spreading rumors about me, so we’ve been staying out of the spotlight.
Keeping things private while we… navigated our feelings. ”
She glances around the circle, then shrugs.
“We’d been talking about getting engaged, and then Nate died…
and when Matt was back in New York last week for work, we went to the courthouse.
” Her gaze slides to me. “Sometimes it takes something awful happening to make you realize what’s most important.
” Her smile turns sweet. Soft. “Right, babe?”
Shit. She just handed me the baton. My eyes widen a fraction as it hits me that it’s now my turn to add onto the show.
But I’m slow. My brain’s still stuck on the first thing she said. That we’re married. It hasn’t even made it to the last sentence. The one where she looked at me and told me how important I am to her.
I know I’m important to Jordan, but does she actually feel that way? Did Nate’s death really make her feel that?
I brought it up in the car as a scenario we could use, but hearing her say it, the way she said it…
I can’t tell if it was real or pretend.
Either way, she’s a great actress. And I love her for it. I really do. Jordan didn’t just show up for me today. She fucking showed up.
I force words out of my mouth whether my brain’s caught up or not. Time for Matt to go into CEO mode. Take action. Take charge.
“Right,” I say slowly.
That’s it. That’s all I’ve got. No more words come.
I’m apparently no good when it comes to declaring a fake love story in public. I’m a pro in a room full of executives. Presenting in a boardroom. Over Zoom.
But this?
A complete idiot. An absolute rookie.
Words have never really been my love language, but physical touch?
That I can do.
I slide my hand from Jordan’s back to her hip and pull her into me, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“When you know, you know,” I murmur, more to her than anyone.
Stop talking, dumbass.
I hear Alley’s voice, maybe a congratulations? I’m not sure. I’m too focused on the way Jordan’s looking at me, and the fucking fireworks going off in my stomach.
“Wait, hold on,” Megan says, blinking between us. “You’re married-married? Like… how?” Her eyes lock on me. “How did you propose?”
Jesus Christ.
You’d think I didn’t know English. That I was deaf. I’m having a real-life Billy Madison moment. I see her lips moving, but I can’t make out the words.
Jordan swoops right in, saving both our asses.
“Oh my God, it was perfect. My pappoús—” she starts, then catches herself when she realizes she’s not at a Greek function.
“My grandpa has a beach home in the Hamptons. Matt and I grew up going there together. There’s this private stretch of beach, sort of a hidden cove right on the water. ”
My chest contracts.
“We went up for a weekend getaway a few weeks ago. Our second night there, we were walking along the beach, and Matt led me through the trees to this spot.” She smiles like she’s remembering it, like this actually fucking happened.
“It was lit up with tea lights on the ground and hanging in the trees. Blankets were sprawled across the sand. There was a speaker hidden in the bushes with my favorite music playing.”
I try to swallow.
I can’t.
“It was perfect,” she continues. “Just us. In every way.” She looks up at me. “He grabbed my hands and led me to the center of blankets where he said some really beautiful things. Then he got down on one knee and popped the question.”
What the fuck is stuck in my throat?
Heat creeps up my neck, my pulse thudding so loud I swear everyone can hear it.
Am I having a hot flash? I thought only women got those.
I tug at the collar of my shirt.
Christ.
That cove on Jordan’s grandfather’s property? That’s not just a place we would go to.
That’s the place where I first told Jordan I loved her.
The one and only time I’ve ever said it out loud.
And she remembered. After all this time.
There was no hesitation. No reaching for details. This story just fell from her lips like something she knows by heart. Like she thinks about that night, that moment, that one time I decided to be vulnerable, right before everything fell apart.
My heart pounds, my head spinning, my mouth going dry.
Jesus fuck. I need water.
“Oh my God!” Megan exclaims. “Isn’t that the place where Matt first told you he loved you?”
The fireworks in my stomach turn into TNT, detonating straight through my core.
She told her about that?
Megan and Jordan have always been close. Even closer back then. So it shouldn’t be surprising. I know women talk, but…
She told her?
My fingers find their way back to my collar, and I clear my throat, my voice coming out rough. “I need some water.” I steal a quick glance at Jordan, my wife, and ask, “You need anything?”
She shakes her head. “I’m good. Thanks.”
I make my way to the bar, my head so wrapped up in my thoughts that everything else blurs: the people I pass, the murmured condolences, the clink of glasses and silverware against dinner plates.
That story.
That place.
My new wife.
“Can I get a water?” I ask the bartender.
What the hell was that?
She wasn’t just selling the lie. She chose that place because it meant something to her.
Christ. It’s hot in here.
The bartender slides a glass of water in front of me, and I down it like it’s oxygen.
This whole thing was my idea. I know that. And whether we’re married now or next week shouldn’t matter. The timeline isn’t the problem.
It’s the realization that whatever we’re calling this—fake, temporary, strategic—it just became something else entirely. It crossed into a territory I wasn’t prepared for.
“Can I get another one?” I ask.
The bartender lifts a brow. “Water?”
I nod. “And a shot of tequila,” I add, before I can overthink it.
“Sure thing.” He takes my glass.
I’ve lost control.
Fuck.
Of everything. Custody. The lie. My goddamn feelings. The fact that this just cracked something open I’ve spent years keeping contained.
And I sure as shit can’t control or predict my fake wife and the thoughts going on in her head. If that were possible, the last decade would’ve gone very differently.
I pound the tequila shot the second it’s set in front of me, then draw in a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
“Shots at a funeral,” a deep voice says behind me, smug and sharp enough to cut glass. “Classy.”
My spine stiffens, goosebumps prickling up my neck.
My father.
He steps in beside me. “Two glasses of Bordeaux, please.” He looks at me, waiting for me to meet his gaze.
I don’t.
“Did you want another shot, son?” he asks. “I wasn’t aware we were at a frat party.”
“Nope,” I say, my tone flat. “I was just leaving.” I slide my glass forward and turn to leave, then freeze when he speaks.
“Shame. I was hoping for some bonding time with you,” he says, voice smooth. “But it looks like you’re preoccupied with…” He turns, spots Jordan, and chuckles. “Old trash. Same as always.”
My fists clench into a ball, knuckles turning white. If blood could reach a simmering point, mine just did. There’s nothing I’d love more than to punch my father in the fucking face. Right here. Right now.
It felt great the first time.
Too great. But he’s not worth it. It’s what I tell myself, anyway. Even though it’s a partial lie. Nothing would feel better than seeing his blood at the end of my fist. But I have too much to lose.
Instead, I inhale deeply and count to five, something I learned in therapy years ago, then release it.
I don’t look at him. I fix my gaze on Jordan, like a lion protecting his lioness, and say, “Stay the fuck away from her.”