Our Forbidden Love Affair

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

DIXIE

M y neck ached as I tilted my head back to admire the red brick exterior of the swanky Manhattan townhome that had me wrapped around its figurative finger. This house had called to me ever since the first moment I saw it, and when the for-sale sign went up outside a couple months ago, I’d dreamed a glorious dream that I would make it mine.

I would slide the key in the deadbolt and turn the handle to step into the belly of what I could only imagine was a stunning interior.

“But it’s not mine,” I murmured to myself as I took the front steps in a slow procession—as if I was walking to my own beheading.

Sure, tonight counted as “stepping into the belly” of my dream home, and I had every intention of snooping, but it wasn’t mine. The townhome was Pamela’s. My best friend from childhood, the girl I used to build pillow forts with, now owned the very Manhattan townhome I’d coveted since I was fourteen.

“Fuck you, Pamela.” I stopped in front of the front door. A flower planter on each side just rubbed more dirt in the wound. I sighed down at the welcome mat beneath my feet. She’d better be grateful for this new house of hers. If she complained one time tonight I would have to burn the place down.

Pamela and I used to be heading in similar directions, but at some point in time, things shifted and we diverged. She went further one way, and I went further the other. As I stood in front of her door I couldn’t help but feel like she’d chosen the wiser and more rewarding path. I couldn’t even pinpoint when it happened. Just like in real life, I could get lost driving around the block. I lived in a tiny apartment because if I couldn’t see the kitchen from my couch, I would lose my way trying to find the fridge.

But not Pamela. Her compass worked very, very well. She married well. Not just because he had some money. Ryan was a good guy. And as if marrying the perfect man wasn’t enough of a reminder that I got shafted, she was now glowing with pregnancy. Her perfect husband gave her the perfect life, complete with a baby and her dream home all wrapped up into one obnoxious open house invitation that had been taunting me from where it hung on my fridge for weeks.

As for me?

It was just plain embarrassing at this point. Nobody in New York City had ever been as single as I currently was. I was overworked—and a thousand percent at fault for my lack of work-life balance. I could barely scrape by and afford my basic lifestyle in my tiny apartment downtown, which was in a not-so-desirable area with nosy neighbors. I didn’t have time to troll for Mr. Right to find my own Ryan because I was too busy collecting pennies to keep groceries in my fridge.

I flashed back to the moment Pamela had told me about the housewarming party. “You have to come, Dixie. It’s going to be amazing!”

She had been so excited when they signed the closing papers and she was just as excited about the party. That much had come through loud and clear. I couldn’t just leave her hanging. Like a good friend, I’d agreed to come even though the little green monster was trying to make me bitter. Even now, with a bottle of wine clutched in one hand that I hoped look more expensive than it was, I could feel it trying to claw its way out. Don’t be a bitter bitch, Dixie. You’re better than that.

I plastered on my best supportive smile even though my insides twisted with envy.

“I can do this.” I rang the doorbell and wouldn’t you know it, the thing sang. It didn’t ding dong or buzz—it sang.

Of course.

As the door opened, the warm glow of chandeliers spilled onto the street, revealing Pamela in a flowy dress that hugged her baby bump. Her house was just as stunning as she’d described: a grand foyer with a spiraling staircase, scents of sandalwood candles mingling with roasted rosemary and garlic, and an artfully mismatched collection of guests who looked like they belonged in a glossy lifestyle magazine.

“Dixie!” Pamela wrapped me in a soft hug, her happiness as contagious as ever. “I’m so glad you made it!”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said, lifting the bottle of wine I’d brought. “Housewarming gift.”

She beamed, taking the wine and ushering me in. “Make yourself at home. And don’t forget, I have someone I want you to meet.”

Ah, yes. The blind date. The part of the evening I had been dreading most of all.

I sighed. “I really wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“I want you to be happy.” Pamela smiled. “You can’t find a man if you don’t date.”

“Honey, do you remember the last guy you set me up with? He thought that a gourmet meal was a hot dog from the convenience store and spent the evening explaining the intricacies of his fantasy football team as if I’d asked for a rundown. As if I know anything about football. As if I cared .”

Pamela’s laugh bubbled up. “Okay, so that was a bust. But I have a really good feeling about this one. He’s different, I promise.”

Inside, I braced myself for yet another well-intentioned disaster. Pamela had always been the optimistic sort, seeing potential matches for me where I saw red flags. She was so eager to see me married and happy and popping out babies, she wasn’t really looking at long-term consequences to marrying a man I couldn’t stand.

As we wound through the crowd of her elegantly dressed acquaintances and friends, the disparity between our lives seemed to swell with each step. Her guests floated from room to room like they belonged in this grand house.

Amid the elegant chaos of the party, something caught my eye—a flash of silver reflecting off a pocket watch in an older man’s hand. It wasn’t the watch itself that snagged my attention, though. It was the way the man kept glancing at the time, his jaw tight, as if counting down to something. A shiver ran down my spine, a strange premonition I couldn’t shake. But before I could dwell on it, Pamela’s laughter snapped me back to reality.

“Come with me and we’ll get you a drink,” she said.

As we walked, she did a few drive-by introductions. There was no way I would remember the names, but I smiled and said hello anyway. Pamela led me to the kitchen—an expansive space dominated by marble countertops and stainless-steel appliances—where a small group gathered around an island, wine glasses in hand.

“So, this guy,” Pamela said as she put my bottle of wine on the bar and grabbed an opened bottle. “He’s cute, charming, and successful. Like really successful.”

“Pamela, I do appreciate the thought, but I don’t think I’m ready for all of that.”

She poured a glass of wine and handed it to me. “Sweetie, you’ll never be ready. You just have to jump and take the chance. If he’s not the one, that’s okay. Process of elimination. Just four billion more guys to go.”

“Dixie! Dixie Holland! Is that you?”

I turned to see one of my old friends, Carly, walking toward us. Of course, she looked amazing. She was a cheerleader in high school, went on to be a fitness instructor, and last I heard she married some real life Ken doll and now they owned a gym.

“Hi, Carly.” I smiled and accepted her hug. “How are you? You look good.”

“Thanks, girl! So do you! It’s been ages!” Carly beamed, her energy infectious. “How are you?”

As much as I liked all these people, it was torture. They had all moved onward and upward and I was still here treading water. Could they smell it on me? Surely, I oozed desperation in contrast to their easygoing laughter as they held their wine glasses and swirled the liquid while they discussed real estate prices and home renovation companies that had ripped them off.

I didn’t belong here. “I’ve been good. Busy, busy, but loving every minute of it,” I said. A half-truth at best but tonight wasn’t about my problems. It was about surviving this party without a meltdown.

“That’s awesome to hear!” Carly squeezed my shoulder. “We should catch up properly sometime, grab some coffee?”

“That sounds great,” I replied, knowing it would never happen but appreciating the gesture all the same.

Carly moved on and before I knew it Pamela was being pulled away as well. I sipped my glass of red and steeled myself for more reminders of my failure to launch. I recognized a lot of faces. Pamela had stayed in touch with the people we went to school with. Me, not so much. I spotted a few of Pamela’s cousins and even her high school soccer coach. It was like stepping back in time, except I felt like a stranger among people who seemed to have figured life out.

I wasn’t envious. Not really. Okay, maybe a little.

I was pretty sure my life path did not include a rich husband that could buy me a townhouse like this. If the past was a predictor of the future, I was on my own. I was going to be the one to make the money that bought a house. As far as a baby went, it was a little easier to accomplish, but of all the men I had dated in the last five years, that situation was bleak as well. Either I had dismally poor taste, or I was a magnet for man-child momma’s boys with the emotional availability of a teabag.

I turned to survey the other side of the room and nearly choked on my wine when my vision was interrupted by a tall shadow falling over me. Looking down at me was a man so absurdly handsome he looked like he’d walked off a movie set. He was all dark hair, darker eyes, and a sharp jawline that could’ve been sculpted from stone. His tailored suit fit him too perfectly, and his broad shoulders had me thinking about climbing him like a tree.

“Hi,” he said with a drool-worthy smile.

“Hi.” Did I squeak? I cleared my throat. “Sorry, am I in your way?”

“No, it seems like you’ve got the best spot in the house,” he said, nodding at the bottles of wine and glasses on the counter beside me. His voice was a smooth baritone that felt like he was caressing my shoulders with his fingertips. For a moment, I forgot about my self-doubt and allowed myself to be drawn in by his charm. Then I gave myself a mental shake and tried to sneak away.

“No, no. Stay,” he continued.

“Erm…” I stammered, trying to place his face. With features as incredible as his, he had to be someone , right? People like him weren’t wandering the streets and coming to parties like Ryan and Pamela’s. Was he hired to come to this party? Was he some sort of performer? With smoldering dark eyes like his, I could imagine he would have an easy time charming an audience.

“Is everything alright?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yes, yes everything is food.”

“Food?” He cocked his head.

“I meant good !” My cheeks burned. “I was going to say fine but then I started saying good and it came out as food . But yes, I’m fine. And good. I’m… why am I still talking?”

While he had a good laugh at my expense I caught Pamela’s eye as she watched us from across the room. She grinned at me like a loon.

This was her blind date pick?

Damn. Pamela upped her game. This might not be the worst thing to ever happen.

“So, how do you know Pamela?” I asked, trying to recover from my blunder.

“I don’t know Pamela all that well. Ryan invited me. We go way back.”

“Oh, so you work together?” I guessed, trying to focus on his words and not the way his lips moved. Full lips. Did men really get blessed with lips women spent a small fortune for, with lipstick, plumpers, and botox?

He chuckled, a sound that somehow felt intimate despite the crowd around us. “Something like that.”

“And this is your scene?” I teased, gesturing to the elegant chaos around us.

“Not even close,” he admitted with a crooked grin. “I was promised good food and better company. So far, the company’s delivering.”

I struggled to keep my eyes on his face. I wanted to look down and check out the rest of him. There was a button straining on his shirt. It was fitted to his muscular torso, and if I didn’t get myself under control, I was going to embarrass myself.

Heat rose to my cheeks as I recognized my thoughts. I took a sip of wine to mask it. Before I could think of a clever reply, Pamela materialized beside us, her timing as impeccable as ever.

“Dixie, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

I looked up at my mystery man with a half-smile. I was about to tell her she was too late when another man appeared beside Pamela. He had a shaggy haircut, a lopsided smile, and an earnest energy that screamed “golden retriever.”

“This is Paul,” Pamela said, grinning as if she’d just revealed the winning lottery ticket. “Paul, meet Dixie. You two have so much in common. You both love travel and… uh… sushi!”

“I’m allergic to shellfish,” I muttered.

Paul extended his hand, his smile widening. “Nice to meet you, Dixie. Pamela’s told me a lot about you.”

“All good, I hope?” I said, shaking his hand.

“Of course.” He chuckled. “I’ve never left the states, but I hope to be a big traveler.”

I glanced over at the man I thought was my blind date. He nodded once and slipped away, along with all my hopes and dreams.

“Traveling to Paris is on my bucket list,” Paul gushed. “You know what else is on my bucket list? Skydiving! Have you ever done that?”

“Can’t say I have,” I said, craning my neck to see if I could spot the tall dark and handsome stranger. Where had he slipped away to? “I’m more of a feet-on-the-ground kind of person.”

“Oh, totally get that,” Paul said, his head bobbing like a buoy. “But if you ever change your mind, I know a guy. He’s super safe—only two broken legs in the last five years.”

My attention snapped to Paul, unsure whether to laugh or run. “Sounds… promising.”

“Yeah, you’d love it,” he continued, oblivious to my growing disinterest. “I bet you’re the adventurous type.”

“Uh, maybe. Not really.”

“Did you know there’s vegetarian sushi? Do you like avocado?”

“Who doesn’t?” I said weakly.

The guy was truly like a dog bouncing all over the place.

“Do you like water?” he asked.

“Water?”

Pamela was going to hear about this.

“Yes.” He bobbed his head up and down. “Watersports. Skiing. Surfing.”

“Uh, I haven’t actually had a chance to do anything more than swimming,” I said.

What must it be like inside his brain? Bouncing from one topic to the next.

“Paul, will you excuse me for a minute?” I asked as nicely as I could. “I’m going to find the powder room.”

“I’ll be right here!”

I exhaled sharply, glancing around for an escape route. My eyes landed on Pamela. She gave me a thumbs-up of her own before disappearing into the crowd.

I navigated through the sea of guests, my heels clicking against the polished hardwood, searching for a back door. I was a terrible person. I didn’t care. I just had to get away.

I spotted the door and practically ran for it, like I was being chased by the hounds of hell. Just as I reached for the handle, the man I hoped was my blind date stepped out of a small room. When he saw me, he grinned.

“Caught in the act,” he said, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Bailing on poor Paul already?”

“I’m not bailing,” I defended. “I’m… regrouping.”

“Regrouping,” he repeated, nodding as if that made perfect sense. “And the glass of wine in your hand?”

“Fuel for the mission,” I said, narrowing my eyes. I quickly put it down on a small table. “Are you coming, or are you going to be a narc?”

His smirk widened. “Lead the way, troublemaker.”