13. Embry
13
Embry
Bryson’s great uncle lived in a giant Olive Garden. Okay, not really, but there was a definite resemblance.
The house sat on a hilltop, surrounded by endless rows of dead sticks that apparently weren’t as dead as they looked. We pulled into a circular driveway and parked with a bunch of Mercedes and other expensive cars. I already felt out of place.
About a minute after we arrived, my brother-in-law confronted us. Fallon and Bryson looked a lot alike—or they would have, if Bryson was a douchebag. I didn’t know why Fallon thought the three-piece suit, slicked back hair, and aggressively white teeth were a good idea, but I wasn’t impressed.
It seemed Grandpa Baudelaire had spread the news of our elopement after we got off the phone with him, and this jack wagon wasn’t buying it. Fallon was obviously right to be suspicious, but I hadn’t expected him to be all up in our faces from the get-go.
For some reason, he assumed that if Bryson failed to get his inheritance, it would mean more money for him. That gave Fallon a lot of motivation to prove this marriage was a sham. We’d really have to be on our toes around him.
I thwarted his first attempt at undermining us by planting a big, wet kiss on Bryson. I didn’t know what else to do. Words definitely weren’t going to convince Fallon we were a real couple, but maybe actions would.
Bryson played along in a big way. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was actually into it. He was so good at making it seem convincing that for a minute there, I forgot it was pretend and started kissing him for real. Some tongue might have even been involved.
When I finally came to my senses and took a step back, my head was spinning. Then I was immediately introduced to Bryson’s grandfather and his great uncle. I’d been hoping for two cute, little old men. Instead, Edmund and Charles Baudelaire were pretty intimidating. They were both tall, with thick, white hair and square jaws, and while they were friendly enough, I definitely got the impression they were sizing me up.
I hugged my dog and clutched Bryson’s hand as we went into the huge villa. I was fully prepared to follow Bryson everywhere, even to the bathroom, instead of being left alone with his family for even a minute.
The interior looked like what would happen if Olive Garden decided to open a hotel. It was very nice, but also oddly faux rustic Italian, with its stucco walls, beamed ceilings, and tile floors.
Uncle Chuck had obviously hired a designer to decorate for the holidays, and they’d done a beautiful—but not very festive—job. They’d made huge wreaths and thick garlands with olive branches and eucalyptus leaves, and embellished them with expensive bronze and burnt orange ribbons. The colors went with the earth-toned interior, but they didn’t exactly scream “Christmas.”
The huge tree in the living room was decorated in that same color scheme and looked like it belonged in a mall. I didn’t have a chance to take in any more of the décor though, because the room was stuffed full of people who were waiting to meet me.
Bryson introduced me to ten or twelve people, one right after the other. I instantly forgot their names, and I barely understood how they were related to him.
That last part was his fault. He basically called everyone over fifty his aunt or uncle, and everyone younger than that was called a cousin. In reality, Chuck’s daughters would have been Bryson’s dad’s cousins, which would make them, what? His second cousins? I had no idea. All I knew was that they weren’t technically his aunts, but that was what they got called anyway.
These “aunts” had an assortment of husbands, kids, and grandkids with them. The grandkids included two little boys around three and five, dressed in tiny suits and bowties. They’d obviously been told to stay seated, and they were fidgeting on the couch and looked bored out of their minds. If that was how Bryson had been treated when he was brought here as a kid, then I felt bad for him.
Two people in uniforms brought in some champagne on a fancy bar cart, which all seemed very Downton Abbey. When Grandpa Edmund raised a toast to us, the family’s response was fairly enthusiastic—except for Fallon. He sat in a corner single-handedly murdering a bottle of whiskey, one cut crystal glass at a time. Grandpa shut him down when he tried to start something during the toast, but I knew he was going to keep stirring the pot.
All in all, I felt like I’d landed on another planet. I had no idea how I was going to get through these next few days. When they tried to strike up a conversation with me, I barely knew what they were talking about, so I did the only thing I could think of. Smile and nod, Embry , I told myself. Smile and nod .
That evening, as Bryson and I got ready to join his family for cocktails, I said, “Just to give you a heads up, I plan to be very lovey dovey tonight. I think real honeymooners would be all over each other. Don’t you?”
“Yes and no. My family isn’t big on public displays of affection, so we don’t want to overdo it.”
“So, I shouldn’t blow you between rounds of martinis?” He frowned at me, and I flashed him a smile and changed the subject. “Seriously though, what are you going to wear? I borrowed some clothes from Lark and Hal, but if I go for the fanciest stuff right off the bat, I’m going to run out of options toward the end of our visit.”
“I’m just wearing a sweater. Some of my family will be overly dressed up in suits and ties, but I want to be comfortable.”
The sweater turned out to be a very nice, dark red V-neck, which he layered over a white button-down shirt and paired with black pants and loafers. The overall effect was casually elegant, which I wasn’t sure I was capable of. I gave it my best shot, though.
I straightened my hair, which was my way of showing I’d made an effort, and held it back with a black headband. Then I put on a pair of slightly cropped black pants, a slim-fitting baby blue T-shirt and matching sneakers, and one of Hal’s signature long cardigans. He was about five inches taller than I was, but after I folded back the cuffs, it was a pretty good fit.
I turned to Bryson and asked, “Is this good enough? I could go with a button-down shirt, but I only brought three and wanted to save them.”
He ran his gaze down the length of me and murmured, “You look beautiful.” That was surprising. I’d expected some general feedback, not a compliment. Then he cleared his throat and added, “We should get going.”
We took the dog for a walk, and I gave Dusty his dinner and got him settled in our room before we went to join Bryson’s family.
They were starting to gather on a huge brick terrace at the back of the house. It was well past sunset, but it was so brightly lit that it looked like daytime. The terrace was dotted with clusters of chairs and small sofas, each with its own patio heater, and there was a built-in bar, along with a bartender, which again added to the hotel feel. It was hard to imagine Uncle Charles rattling around this place all by himself when his family wasn’t visiting.
We joined Edmund Baudelaire, who was sitting alone at the far end of the terrace. When Bryson took a seat, I sat on his lap and draped my arm around his shoulders. I’d warned him I was going to lay it on thick this evening, but I wondered if this might be outside his comfort zone. Then I felt his body relax as he rested a hand on my thigh, and that made it easier for me to relax, too.
“Now that we have some time to talk, I want to hear all about the two of you,” Edmund said, “starting with how you met.” The rest of the family was clustered into two seating areas at the other end of the patio, leaving us alone with him. I wondered if he’d arranged that, to give us some time to talk.
I jumped in with our agreed-upon story. “We met at a Starbucks on Halloween. I took one look at him and knew I had to strike up a conversation. The rest is history.”
Edmund turned his sharp gaze on his grandson. “I’m curious why you didn’t mention Embry when we chatted on Thanksgiving.”
“It was overwhelming when I realized how I felt about him,” Bryson said. “I needed time to process it, instead of trying to put it into words.” That sounded so real that even I wanted to believe it.
“And why did you choose to get married in Las Vegas?”
“That was my idea,” I said. “Once we decided to get married, neither of us wanted to wait, and I suggested eloping to Vegas. I’d always wanted to see it.” That was all true.
Edmund leaned back in his chair. “A more skeptical man might question the timing,” he said. “As you and I both know, I’d given you a deadline in regard to your inheritance. You slid in right under the wire.”
“I know how it looks,” Bryson said. “In all honesty, that deadline was in the back of my mind when Embry struck up a conversation. Maybe it helped motivate me to open myself up and get to know him. Then I discovered he’s kind, and clever, and fascinating. He’s the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”
When I turned to look at him, he held my gaze steadily and told me, “I was in a dark place when I met you, Em, but you’re pure sunshine. You brought me back to life. That’s what it feels like. I don’t tell you enough how grateful I am for you, or how much better my world is now that you’re a part of it, but I want you to know that.”
That was all true. I saw it in his eyes.
Acting on pure impulse, I took his face between my hands and kissed him. It wasn’t for his grandfather’s sake. I forgot Edmund was even there. I kissed Bryson because I wanted to, plain and simple.
Just like our kiss when we first arrived at the villa, I was surprised by Bryson’s reaction. It felt like he was right there with me, fully present and responding with real emotion. Was he a great actor, or was he actually enjoying it?
Edmund reminded us we had an audience when he said, “I was right to put that pressure on you.”
We broke apart, and I blushed self-consciously as he continued, “This is exactly what I hoped would happen, Bryson—that my little push would get you out there and open you up to the possibility of finding someone. And look! It worked out just as I hoped it would.”
“So, let’s talk about you now, Granddad,” Bryson said. “When are you going to get out there and meet someone?”
Edmund waved his hand dismissively. “I already met the love of my life, and we had forty-two wonderful years together.”
“I know that, but she’s been gone almost a decade,” Bryson said gently. “Grandma wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life alone.” His grandfather scowled and looked away, and Bryson told him, “I’m worried about you.”
Edmund tried to look stern as he asked, “Why is that?”
“Because you work too much and neglect your personal life. I know you don’t want to retire, but maybe think about dialing it back. You have a perfectly competent staff, and you could delegate some of your workload to them.”
“And do what, golf all day? I’d be bored out of my mind.”
“How about meeting a nice lady and spending time with her? I know how much you adored Grandma. Everyone knows that. But it wouldn’t take anything away from her if you were to find yourself a companion.”
Edmund was starting to get defensive. “That isn’t your concern, Bryson.”
“It’s no different than the way you always worried about me and wanted me to find someone,” he said. “Now it’s your turn to get out there.”
His grandfather let the tiniest bit of vulnerability slip through when he muttered, “Who’s going to want me, at my age?”
“Are you kidding? Women would line up down the block for you,” Bryson said.
“Ridiculous.”
“No, it’s not. Look how well Uncle Charles does with the ladies, and we both know you’re the better-looking brother.”
His grandfather chuckled at that before saying, “I know you’re just trying to butter me up, but that’s true.”
“What I’m trying to do is encourage you to get out there and live your best life. I want you to be happy, Granddad. Aren’t you lonely? I know I was, before I met Embry.”
“I’m too busy to be lonely.” Edmund got up and changed the subject. “None of us have cocktails, so I’m going to remedy that. What would you boys like?”
Bryson said, “We’ll have what you’re having,” and his grandfather nodded and headed to the bar.
Once he was out of earshot, I shifted and asked Bryson, “Have you lost all the feeling in your legs? I should probably get off of you.”
“You’re fine. Stay right where you are.” When we made eye contact, he offered me a shy smile. “All that stuff I said was true, by the way. My life is much better, now that you’re a part of it.”
“Same here.”
“There’s no way that’s true.”
“Of course it is.” Both of us were whispering, since this was a conversation just for the two of us.
“But I took you away from the home you love, and your friends, and?—”
I leaned in, brushing his cheek with mine as I whispered, “I love being with you. If you don’t know that, then you haven’t been paying attention.”
Before he could respond, Uncle Charles joined us and joked, “Are you two telling secrets?”
I said, “I was whispering sweet nothings in my husband’s ear,” which made him grin.
Bryson asked, “Will Fallon be joining us?”
“I assume he’s passed out in his room, since he polished off a bottle of very expensive whiskey earlier.” Uncle Charles loosened his tie and unfastened the top button of his dress shirt. Hadn’t anyone in this family heard of leisurewear?
“I guess he’s taking the split with his wife pretty hard,” I said.
Uncle Charles shrugged. “One of my granddaughters spoke to Julia, and it sounds like she has proof he was cheating on her. Infidelity voids their prenup, so maybe what he’s upset about is having to pay through the nose.”
I couldn’t help but feel a little bad for Fallon. Sure, he was a grade-A douchebag, and if he’d been cheating then he was an even bigger jerk than I’d thought. But he was spending Christmas without his wife and kids, and that had to hurt, even if he’d brought it on himself.
Edmund returned a minute later, followed by the bartender, who was carrying a tray of drinks. I moved to my own chair and slid it over so I was right beside Bryson. He claimed I wasn’t heavy, but that had to get uncomfortable after a while.
Uncle Charles raised a toast, and I took a sip of what turned out to be a whiskey sour. The drink was much stronger than what I was used to, so I was proud of myself for managing to swallow it without coughing.
I swirled my glass, waiting for the ice to melt and dilute my cocktail as I said, “I want to know what Bryson was like as a little boy. Who has some good stories?”
Bryson groaned and covered his face with his hands as his grandfather told me, “He was adorable, with his thick glasses and cowlick.” Edmund gestured at the crown of his head as he said that.
“He was a quiet kid, always on the sidelines,” Uncle Charles added. “My grandkids would organize games and sporting events, and he never wanted to take part.”
“That’s because I was scrawny and uncoordinated,” Bryson muttered. “I didn’t hit my growth spurt until I was seventeen. Those sports and games always felt like the Serengeti, with the rest of the herd trying to cull the runt of the litter.” Now I was sorry I asked, since this obviously wasn’t a good memory.
“But then, beginning when he was thirteen or fourteen, he began spending time in my kitchen,” Uncle Charles said. “He seemed a lot happier after that.”
Bryson nodded. “You had a great cook, and he taught me a lot. I was sad when Phillip retired.” To me, he said, “I was always the kind of kid who was more comfortable with adults than with other children. My uncle’s private chef was nice enough to take me under his wing and let me help out.”
I thought that explained a lot about Bryson. He’d learned early on that the kitchen was a refuge. No wonder he’d become a chef.
Since he didn’t love being the center of attention, I shifted the conversation by asking Uncle Charles about the wine he produced. It turned out to be a subject he could talk about endlessly. I was glad when I saw Bryson lean back in his chair and relax a little.
Between cocktails and dinner, we ended up spending over four hours with the family. Introvert that he was, I could tell it drained Bryson’s social battery. By the time we made it back to our room, he was totally spent.
We both got ready for bed, and Bryson shut off the light and put his glasses on the nightstand before joining me under the covers. I curled up on my side so we were facing each other, and I said, “It’s not midnight yet, so happy birthday one more time, Bry. I hope you had a good day, even though you had to change your plans.”
“I actually forgot it was my birthday.”
He sounded sad, so I told him, “We’ll make up for it next year by spending the whole day doing whatever you want.”
“That’s the day our agreement ends.” He said that very softly. “If we make it that far, then one year from today you’ll be packing your bags and getting ready to go back to your life.”
“But we’ll still be friends. That doesn’t come with an expiration date.”
“You don’t think you’ll be sick of me by then?”
“No chance.”
After a pause, he said, “Thank you for today. I know my family is a lot to deal with, but you were amazing. You even managed to look interested during my uncle’s forty-five-minute lecture on wine production. That was truly impressive.”
“It was… well, not interesting, but informative. I learned a lot.”
“You made his day by listening and asking questions. It’s no wonder he likes you.”
“Does he?”
He was getting groggy and slurring a bit as he murmured, “Definitely. So does my grandfather. I’m not surprised. You’re wonderful, Embry. You’re sweet, and kind, and meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Bryson fell asleep soon after, leaving me to mull that over. How was I the best thing that ever happened to him? Was it because I’d agreed to be his fake husband, and we were succeeding at fooling his family? That had to be what he meant.
But this was only day one. There were still a million different ways we could blow it, so I knew not to get too cocky.
The next morning, I woke up gradually. I felt safe and warm and happy, but I didn’t know why until I realized I was wrapped up in Bryson’s arms. Somehow, we’d gravitated to each other while we slept.
I let myself enjoy it. How could something as simple as being held feel so incredible? I’d obviously really needed this.
A few minutes later, Bryson stirred. Was this going to be weird for him?
He drew me closer, holding me like a teddy bear—tucked under his chin and clutched to his chest. But then, he woke up. When he realized what he was doing, he let go of me and mumbled, “Sorry.”
I sat up and tried to joke about it. “It’s fine. If you can’t cuddle your fake husband, who can you cuddle?”
He didn’t know what to say to that. Okay, this was awkward. I climbed out of bed and told him, “I need to let Dusty out.” Then I hurried to the bathroom before pulling a hoodie over my pajamas and sticking my feet into a pair of sneakers.
My dog wagged half his body as I picked up his leash and fastened it to his collar. Bryson asked, “Want me to go with you?” His voice was rough. When I glanced at him, I saw he was sitting up in bed, looking adorably rumpled.
“You can come with me when we take a real walk later. This is just going to be a quick potty break.” I smiled at him and left the room in a hurry, with my dog leading the way.
This was getting confusing, and we were only at the start of our visit. The fact that I was attracted to Bryson didn’t help. Neither did sharing a bed, kissing, holding hands, and everything else we were doing to sell the idea that we were a real couple.
I was deep in thought as I left the house through a side door and started to lead Dusty along a paved path. That was why I didn’t see Fallon until he was maybe ten feet away. Once I finally noticed him, I stopped short and exclaimed, “Oh! Good morning.”
He was sitting on a brick half-wall, smoking a cigarette and wearing dark glasses. His short hair was sticking up, and he’d put on a suit jacket over a pair of sweats, so he obviously hadn’t been expecting company any more than I was.
He muttered, “Hi, actor. Where’s your fake husband?”
Instead of taking his bait, I asked, “How are you feeling?”
That threw him off. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
“You were drinking a lot yesterday, and you didn’t make it to dinner. I know you’re going through a hard time right now, so if you need someone to talk to, my door’s always open.”
“I’m no one to you, so why would you care about how I’m doing?”
“You’re my brother-in-law,” I reminded him. “You and I are family now.”
“If you think I’m going to spill my guts to you, you’re out of your mind. I don’t even know you.”
“Sometimes talking to a stranger is easier, though. That’s why people confide in… bartenders, I guess.” There was probably a better example, but that was all that came to mind.
He snuffed out his cigarette and crossed his arms over his chest. “As if I’d ever confide in you. The first thing you’d do is run to Bryson and tell him what a whiny little bitch I am, and the two of you would have a good laugh behind my back.”
“Your brother’s not your enemy, Fallon. I know it must feel that way, since you chose different sides in your parents’ divorce. But he’s a genuinely good person, and he’d be your ally, if you let him.”
He stared at me for a long moment, from behind those dark glasses. Finally, he said, “Okay, I get it. You’re worried I’m going to blow up your sham of a marriage and cost Bryson his inheritance, so you’re trying to buddy up to me.”
“Nope. That’s not what this is.”
“Whatever he’s paying you to pretend you’re a real couple, I’ll pay you double. All you have to do is go to my grandfather and confess that it’s all a lie.”
“Your brother means the world to me, Fallon. He fascinates me, and excites me, and every day we spend together feels like an incredible gift.” I grinned and added, “I also think he’s super sexy, and he makes me want to do all sorts of filthy things to him.”
He got up and sneered at me. “You’re a frighteningly good liar.”
Actually, all of that was true. As he started down the path, I called after him, “It’s your choice, Fallon. You can push Bryson and me away, or you can let us care about you, and support you, and be a part of your life, the way a family should. One of those options is a lot lonelier than the other one.”
Fallon didn’t look back or say anything else. After the door slammed shut behind him, I turned my attention to Dusty. He was sitting patiently by my side, and he wagged his tail when I muttered, “Well, I tried.”