4. Rosie
4
ROSIE
Daire: The offer was accepted.
I have to read the text message three times before the meaning becomes clear. Once I realize he’s talking about the townhouse, I want to smack myself in the face. My brain is officially fried from studying. It’s time for bed.
Me: That’s good.
Daire: Closing is in a month. We’ll both need to be present.
Me: Why me?
Daire: So the deed can be in both of our names.
Me: Why? You’re paying for it. I don’t need my name on it.
Daire: eye roll emoji>
Daire: Because we’re going to be married. I’m putting your name on it.
Now I’m the one rolling my eyes, but for real this time.
Me: It’s fine with me to leave my name off it. No hard feelings, I swear.
Daire: Rosie?
Me: Yup?
Daire: Shut up and just accept it.
Me: Okay.
It doesn’t feel right that he’s paying for the house, yet I’ll officially be part owner. But arguing with Daire Hendricks is exhausting. I would know. I’m a pro at it.
As I scan my room, it hits me that I have a ton of crap to pack up. I’ll have to notify the school that I’ll be living off campus too and?—
Let the anxiety spiral begin.
Deep breaths, Rosie. It’ll be fine. Everything always works out.
I’m moving in with a man for the first time. Yet it isn’t because we’re madly in love and want to be together all the time. It breaks my heart a little, which is probably absolutely pathetic of me. It’s like no matter how shitty I’ve been treated by the guys in my life, the small part of me that wants the fairy tale never gives up hope.
There’s a soft knock on my door, and a second later, it creaks open a couple of inches.
“Hey, do you want to watch a movie?” Bertie asks. Her eyes are sunken and ringed in dark circles. She hasn’t been sleeping much since the breakup, which seems to actually be permanent this time. Color me shocked.
“Sure? What did you have in mind?”
She grins, the gleeful expression at odds with her previous sullen demeanor. “Barbie Princess and the Pauper.”
I lower my head. “I should’ve known.”
Bertie is a sucker for the animated Barbie movies. I am too, not that I’ll willingly admit that to her. I leave my phone in my room, not wanting to deal with Daire if he texts again.
“You seem like you have a lot on your mind.” She stands on her tiptoes in the kitchenette, pulling out the big bowl we use for popcorn.
I open the pantry cabinet and shuffle our snack food around until I find the box of kettle corn stuffed in the back. There’s nothing wrong with good ole butter popcorn, but I go feral for kettle corn.
Once I’ve got the plastic wrapping off, I put the popcorn in the microwave.
“I’m fine.” I turn to her and pull my hair up into a bun.
She arches a brow, her face the picture of doubt. “Trouble in paradise?”
“No, we’re great.” I paste on a smile. “He just texted me to let me know our offer was accepted.”
“Oh.” Her face falls. “Really?”
I bite back a grimace. It hurts to know I’m disappointing her by leaving. But since it’s so late in the semester, there’s a good chance she won’t be saddled with a new roommate. That knowledge goes a long way in easing my guilt.
“Yeah. Closing is in a month.”
“Well,” she says, pulling two cans of Sprite from the fridge, “congratulations.”
I frown. Dammit. I’m such a fraud. I want to tell my best friend the truth. That none of this is real. That it’s just a game of pretend to help Daire out. But I can’t. I trust Bertie more than just about anyone, but even though Daire drives me absolutely insane, I would never do anything to compromise his chances of getting his son.
“Thanks.” Just as I pop the top on the can, the microwave beeps, and Bertie yanks the door open and grabs the popcorn.
Once we’ve each got a bowl, we settle on the couch and cover ourselves with our favorite blankets, hers a pale blue color and mine red.
“I can’t believe we’re watching Barbie movies like we’re eight,” I say, adjusting the pillow behind me.
She laughs and pops a piece of popcorn into her mouth. “You never get too old for Barbie.”
I point a finger at her. “Facts.”
I ignore Daire as he tries to flag me down outside of my class. I’m not in the mood to deal with him. I’m blaming it on my period, but honestly, just looking at his face makes me angry on a good day.
I cut down the hall on my right, taking a shortcut with the hope of losing my husband-to-be in the process.
Unfortunately, there’s one person in the world more stubborn than I am, and I’m marrying him.
I’m not the praying kind, but if I were, I’d be begging for all the strength and patience in the world right now. I’ll need it to get through this impending marriage.
“Rosie!”
Ugh.
I come to a stop, and when he catches up, I cock my head to the side. “Yes? I have another class to get to.”
“Did you not see me waiting for you?” He swings one arm around, gesturing behind us. “I need to talk to you.”
“About what?” I stick my hands on my hips. “I really do have to get to class.”
I have time, but not for him and his infuriatingly good-looking face.
He grips my wrist so I can’t run away again. Smart man. His touch is firm but warm. “We need to get our marriage license,” he whispers, looking around to make sure we’re out of earshot of the students coming and going. “I want to go today.”
“Today?” That simple sentence has my heart rate accelerating so violently I think I might pass out.
I knew this was coming, and soon, but now? Perhaps, subconsciously, I had an inkling, and that’s why my natural reaction was to run when I noticed him.
“Yes, today. We need the license before we can have the ceremony.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat, panic threatening to suffocate me.
Is this what a panic attack feels like?
“Rosie?” There’s true concern in his voice.
I suck in a sharp, shallow breath. “Mhm?”
“Are you okay?”
“Just having a smidge of a panic attack.” I take another breath, this one a little deeper. I no longer even remotely resemble the girl who wrote Mrs. Rosie Hendricks over and over again in my notebooks when I was a teenager, like I could somehow will it into existing.
I guess I did. Huh. Just not in the way I wanted.
His blue eyes widen. “You’re not backing out on me, are you?”
“No, I… this is a big deal, okay?” I push my hair out of my eyes and focus on taking another breath. “All of this… the proposal, getting married at the courthouse, looks nothing like what I always wished for, you know?”
I’ve been doing my best to delude myself into thinking this whole thing isn’t happening, but here he is, confronting me with solid evidence. We’re doing this thing. This thing being marriage.
He rubs slow, soothing circles against the pulse point on the inside of my wrist with his thumb. “I can’t keep apologizing to you.”
“I know.” I lower my head and study the shiny tiles beneath my boots.
He exhales heavily and squeezes a little tighter. “I need you, Rosie. But if you need to walk away from this, I’ll…” He looks away, jaw pulsing. “I’ll understand.”
It’s the first time since the fiasco in my dorm that he’s voiced his reluctant agreement that I can say no.
It would be easy too.
I could walk away and forget all about this. Him. I’ve ignored him for years. I could certainly do it again. But if I do it again now, I’ll always feel guilty, especially if it ends up costing him a relationship with his son.
Worst of all, I don’t like the idea of him doing this whole fake marriage thing with someone else. Envy for a faceless, nameless girl rises inside me.
“No, no.” I shake my head quickly. “I’m in.”
I’m possibly the biggest idiot on the planet for not taking him up on his offer to bail out of this whole mess, but I can’t back out now.
“Good.” He lets out a breath and gives me a cautious smile. “When’s your last class of the day?”
“I’m headed to it now.”
With a nod, he releases his hold on me and steps back. “We’ll get the marriage license after. I’ll meet you outside the dining hall. Make sure you have your social security card, and license too.”
Though panic once again washes through me, I dip my chin. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he echoes.
For a long moment, the two of us stand there, watching one another like idiots.
“I… uh… better go.” I toss my thumb over my shoulder and take a step back.
“I’ll see you soon.” With that, he turns on his heel and strides away, towering above many of the other students shuffling their way to their next classes or just hanging around and catching up.
The whole way to class, I give myself a mental pep talk, but by the time I enter the classroom, I don’t feel any better.
Sure enough, I find Daire outside the dining hall just as he promised, his hair damp from a shower. He probably went to the gym while I was in class. It wouldn’t have made sense for him to go all the way to his off-campus housing just to turn around and come back to get me.
“I could’ve met you there,” I grumble as I approach.
“And chance you not showing up?” He tugs on the strap of my backpack, pulling it easily off my shoulder despite the weight. “Not happening.”
I roll my eyes. “I wouldn’t have done that to you.”
Because, apparently, I’m too honorable for my own good.
Outside, I follow him toward his sleek black Porsche 911, curious about whether he still trades cars as much as he used to. He went through at least five cars just while we were in high school. Last I remember, he had a motorcycle too.
“You know,” I start as I reach for the door, only to be gently moved aside so he can open it for me, “you’re going to have to get a new car.”
His lip curls as he looks from the sports car to me, then back. “Why?”
“It’s a two-seater. Where are you going to put Junior? Strap him to the roof?”
“Fuck.” The curse is a low sound.
I smile as I slide into the buttery smooth red leather seat, pleased with myself for thinking of something he obviously hasn’t yet. It’s a shame the Porsche needs to go. It’s gorgeous. He could always keep it, I suppose, but what’s the point?
Daire’s phone automatically connects when he starts the car, and EDM music blares from the speakers.
He turns the volume down with the push of a button on his steering wheel, buckles up, and backs out of the parking spot. Despite the fancy cameras that show him a view all the way around the car, he puts one hand on the back of my headrest and cranes his neck so he can look out the back window. It’s kind of hot, the way his bicep is flexed at my eye level.
Turning back around, he puts the car into gear. The engine purrs, the low vibration sending a shiver through me.
“When are we telling our parents about this?” I ask after several minutes of silence. “After the deed is done?”
He rubs his jaw with his left hand, then quickly grasps the wheel so he can use his right to change gears as we navigate the small-town streets.
“I think that’s best.”
He’s probably right. None of them would be against the union, but my mom would insist on having a wedding rather than waiting like we discussed.
“We’ll make a trip home after it happens.”
I hum in assent. “We’re telling them together.”
No way in hell am I facing the wrath of my mom on my own. I can already imagine the hysterics that are in my future.
“I figured,” he says in that gruff way of his that has me wanting to smack him upside the head.
Some things never change.
Once we’re parked outside the courthouse, Daire parks and hops out, waiting for me to join him. “Try to act like you like me.” He slips his sunglasses off. “Think you can manage that?”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve faked a million orgasms. Pretending to like you is nothing.”
“Faked. Right.” He barks out a humorless laugh.
What would he think if I told him not a single guy has ever given me an orgasm? Not once. Not even with the ones who tried to get me there until I inevitably faked it just to get things over with. The only way I’ve ever gotten off is with the help of my trusty little toy. Maybe that’s what has kept me chasing guys. The hope that, eventually, I find one who can. After so many, though, I’m thinking it’s a me problem. I’ve tried and failed so many times that I get way too in my head about it, and that certainly doesn’t help.
I trail behind him into the building. While he navigates the way and talks to the woman behind the counter, I paste on a smile and only say a word or two here and there.
I pass over every item they ask for, batting my eyes at Daire like I’m so in love with this man that I can’t bear not being married to him for another minute. I put my hand on his arm and slide it down to entwine our fingers. His hand is stiff in mine, so I give it a squeeze, a silent reminder to play along. Who is he to tell me to act like I like him when he can’t do the same? If one of us is going to give away our secret, it won’t be me.
When we’re done, we leave with the license in hand and another ten pounds of weight pressing down on our shoulders.
“Listen,” I say once we’re in the car, “I’ve agreed to help you out, but it’s going to be a long… who knows exactly, if we don’t at least try to be friends. I’m here. I’ll do what needs to be done. But I don’t want to waste what could be years of my life tiptoeing around you.”
With a sigh, he starts the engine. “I know.”
“And don’t tell me to fake it when you’re the one who needs to work on his game face.”
His mouth drops open. “Are you fucking kidding me? I was fine in there.”
“Fine? Fine?” I drop my head back and cackle. “I’m pretty sure the clerk was concerned that I was holding you against your will.”
He groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Okay, perhaps I could’ve been warmer, but?—”
“Perhaps,” I scoff.
He backs out of the parking space, grumbling under his breath. “If I take you to get ice cream, will that make you feel better?”
A sudden lump rises in my throat. When we were younger, we’d always get ice cream when one of us had a bad day. I once told him that I was certain ice cream could solve any problem.
“If you’re buying, then yes.”
He scoffs. “As if you don’t have a black AMEX in your purse right now.”
I shrug, smiling. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to turn down a treat on your dime.”
Ten minutes later, I’m licking fresh strawberry ice cream from a cone and feeling like I won something, even if I’m not sure what.