47. Nora
CHAPTER 47
NORA
“Are you scared?”
I look up at West. “No.”
A smile tugs at his lips at my quick response. He looks out at the people around us, the food stands, the chaos. We’re on a pier an hour west of King’s Point for a sailing regatta.
“You can tell me,” he says. “I won’t hold it against you.”
I’m a little annoyed at how easily he’s read me. “I know you won’t,” I say, “but I’m not scared. I’m… tense.”
“Tense,” he repeats.
“Yes.” It’s weird to know that he might be here, looking, watching us even now. It’s unsettling, even if this was the point. West even made sure his attendance here was announced beforehand.
His hand slides down my arm, coming to rest at my elbow. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”
I look over West’s shoulder and briefly meet Sam’s eye. He’s wearing a blue cap today with the name of a yacht club on it, dressed in a T-shirt and a pair of frayed jeans. In one hand, he’s holding a beer.
Just a casual attendee.
The curly ends of his hair cover the earpiece he’s wearing. He meets my gaze for a millisecond before turning back to chat with another undercover guard.
I shift closer to West. “I know. Still, it feels…”
The last time we were in public together, my phone lit up. We’re hoping the same thing happens today. That West and I can provoke the stalker to reach out if he’s watching us in person.
“It feels like what?” he says. “Tell me.”
“Is this a lesson too?” I ask, striving to make my tone light. “In sharing our feelings?”
“I’m not sure I’m the best at teaching that one,” he says.
“I have a great therapist I could recommend. Dr. Zeina Fares. She mainly practices in French, though.”
West’s face doesn’t change. It’s easy, when he looks like that, to see the man I once thought I knew. Arrogant, a bit cold, gruff. But there’s amusement in the liquid of his honeyed eyes. “Could I ask her about you?”
“No. Told you—privileged information.”
“What I wouldn’t give to hear your conversations.”
I shake my head a little. “I’m sure it would be endlessly amusing, but?—”
“Not amusing,” he cuts in. “Enlightening.”
“I’m an open book,” I say.
West lifts his scarred eyebrow. “ You’re an open book?”
“Compared to you, I am.” My gaze slips past him to the boats passing beyond the pier on the roaring waves to mine. They’ve already rounded the farthest edge of the course. “You used to compete in these. I saw the trophies. In the library.”
“Yes.” The answer comes easily, steadily. “Did you like sailing the other week?”
“You know I did.” Behind us, outside the VIP section, someone walks by with a giant grip of balloons. “Do you think he’s watching now?”
West’s eyes darken. “I hope so. And if he is watching…” He tilts my head back and brushes away a tendril of my hair. His eyes are bottomless on mine. Inscrutable. “He’ll see that you’re mine.”
I slide my hands up his broad chest and over the slightly rough linen of his shirt. It’s a warm spring day, and there’s laughter in the air, shouts to the sailing boats passing. A strong wind from the ocean and the hot sun. “Is this when I look at you like I’m deeply in love again?”
“Try,” he says. He’s so much more than I once thought he was. More of himself , more dimensions, more intrigue. But he still swallows all my attention when he’s around. Consumes it.
Looking at him like I’m in love might be the easiest thing in the world.
“Look at that pretty smile,” West says. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
I dip my head in the smallest of nods.
“It’s going to look possessive,” he warns.
“Isn’t that the point?” I press up, my lips inches from his.
His eyes flash, and then he presses his lips against mine. It’s a hot, claiming kiss. It’s the kind of kiss he’s given me in private, a little open-mouthed, warm, dizzying. I hold on to his neck and feel the world shift beneath me when his tongue brushes against mine.
His hands slide down my body and come to rest right above the curve of my ass. An inch too low to be entirely decent. He’s pulled me flush against him, like I really am his. Like he’s feeling possessive.
Like all the people around us don’t matter.
Or maybe they do , and it’s a statement to them all. Here we are, and look how well we match. See how much we want each other.
I nip at his lower lip, and West groans into my mouth. “You’re such a good fake girlfriend.”
“I am?”
“The best fake girlfriend I’ve ever had.” His gaze dips to my mouth again. “Your lips look rosy now.”
I feel light. Like one of the sailing boats out at sea, bobbing across the waves. Someone knocks West on the shoulder, and he levels them with a stare. “Yes?”
“Sorry to interrupt, but Terry from the sailing association wants to talk to you. Something about the prize ceremony. He saw that you were here, and…” Madison shrugs. She takes a step forward, and her voice lowers. “Michael suggested we see what happens if Nora is alone. Maybe the stalker will text her then.”
West looks down at me. “I’m not leaving?—”
“Go,” I tell him. “Sam is right here, and I know I’m being watched by all the guards. It’s fine. Let’s see if it works.”
West kisses my forehead. “Fine. But I’m not happy about it.”
“Noted,” I tell him with a smile. I put my hand on his chest. “Now go.”
He walks toward the prize podium. Madison disappears back into the VIP crowd around me, and I take a sip of my champagne.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
I want to find this bastard.
I want it to be over with, and I want my life to return to normal. To begin again. To stop being scared?—
A hand grabs my upper arm, and I’m tugged backward around the edge of the tent. I shove my elbow back like West has taught me, connecting with someone’s soft body. There’s a low, muffled groan.
I turn, my knee already halfway up.
“Shit. Stop, stop…”
My knee pauses an inch from Dave’s groin. West’s cousin. The man we pretended in front of at the Paradise Lost party.
Last time I saw him, he was in a cigar-smoke filled room, playing poker for stakes higher than I could imagine. Now he’s standing in front of me under the blazing sun.
“What?” I ask.
He can’t be the stalker. That’s impossible. It has to be.
“I just wanted to talk to you.” His hands are pressed against the side of his stomach. “Shit, you reacted fast.”
“Talk to me? Why would you?—”
Sam is there in the next instant, standing behind my shoulder, an arm out and pressed against Dave’s chest. “Step back.”
“It’s fine. It’s all fine,” I say quickly. “Why would you want to talk to me?”
Dave’s eyes dart from my guard to me. “Because it’s near impossible to get you alone. I wanted to make you an offer.”
“An offer?”
“Yes. We don’t have much time.” He glances at Sam again. “Clearly you know about the marriage clause for Fairhaven. You’re dating my cousin.”
I give him a small smile to hide the turmoil inside. “I’m dating West, yeah.”
“And you’re Raphael’s little sister.”
“I am, yes. Do you know him?” My question is polite, but I can’t help the hint of tenseness that seeps through. I don’t like this man. Don’t like how he pulled me back here.
“I haven’t had the pleasure.” Dave looks over at the crowd, like he’s waiting for West to appear at any moment. “You’re clearly getting ready to marry him before his thirtieth. I’m sure you think you’re being compensated fairly and think you’re doing him a favor. But think about what you’re agreeing to,” he says hurriedly. “A life tied to a Calloway isn’t a happy one.”
I don’t let my face change from the neutral mask I’m wearing. I have a lot of practice in being kind and polite, and right now, I wield it like a sword. I glance down at his left hand. “I believe you’re married.”
“Yes,” he says, “I am. Listen, we don’t have much time. If Weston told you that you could get a divorce in a few years, he’s probably lying. The trust is hard to break through. Tell me what he’s paying you, and I promise to double it if you leave him.”
“Double what he’s paying me,” I repeat.
Sweat beads on his forehead. “I’ll triple it if you wait to pull out of the wedding until the week before his birthday. String him along.”
Several things click into place at once, and it takes me a moment to find the words. To let the anger come, but when it does, it burns. “I’m not with him for money.”
Dave laughs. It’s a short and hard sound. “Yes, yes, of course you’re not. Look, if you would rather have this conversation somewhere less public, I’m available.” He presses a business card into my hand. “Just think on it.”
There’s always been such a weird insistence on marriage: West’s mother, people’s comments. Marriage clause for Fairhaven.
“Thank you,” I say, “but I don’t need saving, and I don’t want your money.”
Dave’s eyes widen, as if he’s realizing I might be a fool. “He can’t give you love. Surely you must know that. Whatever he’s promised you, it’ll never turn into something real.”
“And what would you know of that?” I ask him. My voice is still kind, but it drips with insincerity. “Are you the person who shares his bed every night?”
I’ve never spoken like that to anyone before.
Anyone who’s not West.
Dave shakes his head slowly, and there’s an incredulous look on his face. “I can’t believe?—”
“Can’t believe what?” West’s voice is arctic despite the spring warmth. He pushes himself into the narrow space between Sam and me, and his arm wraps around my waist, strong and steadying. “What can you not believe, Dave?”
His cousin is a few inches shorter and looks up at West with narrowed eyes. All pretense of civility wipes off his face. “Not competing today?”
“Had better things to do,” West says. “You’re not bothering my girlfriend, are you?”
“Just saying hello. Seeing as she’ll become family and all that.” Dave’s smile is a razor. “Have fun.”
“You too,” West says in a voice that makes it clear he means fuck off . Dave gives me another look and then heads off toward the parking lot, away from the ocean.
West looks at me. His eyes are narrowed, arm tight around me. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. No texts. No calls.” I tilt my head. “But I think I just learned something very interesting.”
His lips thin. “What did he tell you?”