2. Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Emory
It takes everything within me not to cry, but I'm losing the battle as tears well up. I've been nervous about meeting Ben, but he assured me he couldn't wait to meet me. Obviously, it was a lie.
I can't believe I allowed myself to do all this. I’m just tired of being alone, and when I saw the website about a mail order bride, it was like an answer to my prayers. No pictures or anything were exchanged in the beginning. We got to know each other. For three months, Ben and I have been corresponding, and it's been amazing. At least I thought so.
Maybe all of this is some big joke like everything that happened in high school. When it appeared like all I was good for was a punchline to a bad joke.
Seriously? When am I ever going to learn? Especially after looking at Ben in his picture. The man is a bearded Adonis, and I for sure thought he’d stop emailing me, through with the idea of us getting married. Instead, he wrote me back instantly, telling me I'm beautiful and he can't wait to meet me. I couldn't believe it. Within two weeks I had a train ticket and was ready to meet my future husband. I even jumped the gun and quit my job. There’s nothing holding me back in Los Angeles. No friends or family. Not anymore. The need to move on is strong, and Ben seems like the perfect excuse. I was so sure this would work out. I'm such a fool.
"Whoa. Wait a second. Fiancée?" His gruff voice sends chills down my spine. Not only is the man sexier than sin, but his voice could be a siren call. "Miss, I think you have the wrong address.”
I open my mouth to argue when a loud, impatient group of knocking sounds on the door. It opens without an invite and an older woman with beautiful white hair strides in. "Damn, I'm late."
Ben looks at the older woman. "Mom. Now is not the time."
She ignores him and walks over to me with a big smile on her face. She grabs my hands and lifts them up, looking at me. "Oh, honey, you're even prettier than your picture."
I gasp and stare at the woman. She winks at me before turning around. Her son is glaring at her with his hands resting on his hips. "What did you do?"
All the pieces are fitting together, and embarrassment floods my cheeks. This whole time I've been emailing this woman and not her son.
Oh God, the things I wrote. The fantasies I have. I gasp at everything I remember writing. All the books I read and particular scenarios I made note of wanting to try. I said all this to the man's mother. I want to melt into a puddle in this very spot. I can't believe it. I think I’m going to be sick.
"You're not getting any younger. And I'm not going to live forever. I want grandbabies to spoil while I'm still young enough to enjoy them. So, I found you the most perfect lady. Emory is a gem. You're going to love her like I do."
While embarrassment sketches itself all over me, Ben's a different story. Rage covers him like a cloak as he works to reign in his temper, so he doesn't yell at his mother. He clasps his fists at his sides, takes a few deep breaths, and finally runs his hands through his hair.
"I hate how you seclude yourself up here,” his mother continues. “Life isn't meant to be lived alone. You used to be so full of life and laughter. I miss my son."
This is turning into an intimate talk, and I want to leave, but I know I'll be noticed, and I don't want that. Invisibility is a superpower I truly wish I had right now. Instead, I do what I can to shrink myself as Ben walks off toward the windows at the back of the cabin. It's dark, so there's nothing to see.
"So, what exactly is all this?" Ben asks.
I watch his face from the reflection in the window. The lights are on, showing his face clearly. And if he was angry a moment ago, nobody could tell with how blank his expression is right now.
I take this moment to study him without getting caught, and there's no other way to describe it—the man is breathtaking but guarded. And I thought I had major walls up.
"I did what any good mother would do. I joined a mail order bride site, posed as you, and found you the most perfect wife imaginable." She smiles and looks at me. “You're going to love her. I swear you two are made for each other.''
She walks over and kisses my cheek. "I'm sorry for deceiving you, honey, but I'd do it all over again. Oh, and my name is Margo." She lifts her hand for a shake like we’re meeting over brunch. I tentatively take it, and she pulls me into a hug, whispering in my ear, "He's a good man. You'll see." She kisses my cheek and steps back. “Okay, well, I must be going now."
"What?" Ben turns and glares at his mother. "Where are you going?"
She looks at her son like he asked the silliest question. "Bingo." She waves her hand over her shoulder, then turns, glaring at her son when she's at the door. "Don't mess this up. You have one week to get married. Site rules.” The door shuts and Ben stomps across the room, bursting out the door and slamming it shut behind him.
I remain in the middle of the room, wondering what I should do now. The urge to cry sounds like the most desired option, but not until I'm alone.
Instead, I grab my suitcase and head for the door. I'm never going to stay where I'm not wanted. I learned that lesson and won’t do it again.