13. Jason Kingsley
Chapter thirteen
Jason Kingsley
My fiancée is breathtaking. I shouldn’t think of her as mine, even if legally we’ll belong to each other soon. But I can’t help it. She’s sitting across from me, and I’ve lost every line I could think of, every coherent thought. The dim light of the restaurant has created a soft haze over her. Her gray eyes are magnetic, shimmering like freshly polished silver. And her mouth…those berry lips are sure to haunt me tonight.
“So, I guess we should discuss our plan?” she asks, pulling me out of my awestruck reverie.
I clear my throat and shift in my seat. “Yeah, that would be good. Brock said our story needs to be airtight, so maybe we should start there.”
She nods. “That sounds good. How did we fall in love?” She says the last part of her question like the words are being choked out of her.
A smile pulls at my lips. “We should probably talk about how we met first, though I guess that’s easy. We met on your first day, when you introduced yourself to the team. I still remember the sassy remark you made about how egotistical I was for thinking you knew my name already.”
She doesn’t laugh like I thought she would. Instead, something like hurt flashes across her expression. She’s quick to smooth it away, but I know I saw it. Did I get something wrong? Maybe I misremembered our first interaction and I was more of a jerk than I realized.
“Yeah, I remember that too,” she says, her voice sounding off. “It’s going to be hard to convince everyone that we were falling in love all that time instead of…”
“Me flirting with you while you got annoyed?” I fill in and she lets out a little laugh.
“You don’t always flirt with me. Sometimes you tease me.”
I raise a brow. “That’s flirting. I’ve been trying to make you smile since the day we met.”
There’s that dark expression again. I must be missing something.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
She scrunches her nose. “Of course. I mean besides the fact that I have to marry a guy I barely know.” She takes a sip of water. My brow furrows. She’s hiding something, but I don’t want to push too much. Tonight is already a lot.
“We’ll need to get to know each other better too. But before that, the story,” I remind her.
She draws in a deep breath. “Right, our love story.”
I chuckle when she cringes. “You’re going to have to be able to say the word love without looking like you ate a lemon.”
“It’s not easy. This isn’t how I thought my life would go.”
I laugh. “Do you think this was what I imagined?”
She waves me off. “You’ve had a girl hanging off your arm at every event you’ve been to. I’m not convinced you’ve thought past the next party you’re going to.”
I clench my jaw. There’s my past, following me again. I can’t escape it. It’s moments like these where I wonder why I bother trying. I could give up and embrace what everyone thinks of me. I’ll go to club openings and accept all the alcohol sponsorships that come my way. Maybe one day after I retire, they’ll make some mildly funny commercial about me still partying in my fifties. It would be easier. I think of my brother, Shepherd, and it grounds me. He needs a role model. He deserves better than a brother whose only accomplishment in life is on a field.
“I guess we do need to get to know each other better,” I say, trying to keep my tone light. Judging by the way Willow’s face falls, I failed.
“I shouldn’t judge you so harshly. It’s none of my business if you date every girl in the country.”
The knife in my chest twists. If I could go back in time and beat my younger self over the head until I stopped being an idiot, I would. But I can’t, so I guess this is the consequence for all that time wasted on booze and women.
“Actually, it kind of is your business,” I say with a forced laugh, hoping to change the subject.
Our waiter comes over before she can respond. He sets down our bread and olive oil, then refills each of our waters before leaving once more.
“I think we should keep our story simple,” I say once he’s gone. “We fell in love the more time we spent together. I liked your sass, you thought I was funny.” She rolls her eyes. I shake my head, a smile on my lips. “Soon enough I asked you out because I couldn’t take another minute of not being with you, and then we kept everything quiet because we wanted privacy.”
Willow nods. “Sounds believable enough. What do we say to the people who know us? I doubt Aaliyah will believe we were in love this whole time and I didn’t say a word.”
“They might be skeptical, but I think they’ll be happy for us, and the ring and wedding will wash away any doubts on their part.”
She tears off a piece of bread and dabs it in the oil, a contemplative look on her face.
“And our families?” Her question is laced with anxiety.
I shrug. “My parents are likely to take everything in stride. My brother might be harder to convince. He’ll probably be offended I didn’t tell him sooner, but I think it’ll be fine. I’m guessing you’re worried about yours?”
She bites her lip. I avert my gaze, heat spreading through my chest. She’s too beautiful. Like some kind of siren designed for my demise.
“I tell Granny Mae everything. I highly doubt she’ll believe our story. My parents…I hope I don’t disappoint them too much.” Her dejected tone makes me raise my eyes again. She’s abandoned the bread, as if she can’t even stomach a bite.
Without thinking, I reach across the table and take her hand in mine. Willow stiffens, but doesn’t pull away.
“I think you’re much too smart and successful for them to be disappointed in you for long, if at all. And if it helps, you can pin it all on me. Say that I asked you to keep it quiet. They can hate me, I don’t mind.”
The corner of her mouth lifts in a hesitant smile. “You’d take all the blame for me?”
“Of course,” I say, and I mean it. While this arrangement is benefiting her too, I don’t want her to suffer through it. “I want all of this to be as painless as possible.”
“I appreciate that,” Willow says, her smile widening a fraction. “Truth be told, my granny already likes you from the videos we make. And her approval will sway my parents.”
I grin. “It sounds like there’s hope then. I’ll be sure to charm my way into her good graces.”
“Granny sees right through charm, but I think she’ll appreciate the flattery of you trying.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Now, we’ve got part of our story.” I pull my hand away, sitting back in my chair. “What about our proposal?”
“What, you don’t want people to think you proposed in a conference room?” she asks with a laugh.
“It wouldn’t be believable to anyone who knows me. I’m too much of a romantic.”
She raises a skeptical brow. “Is that so? Then how would you propose?”
“I’d choose some place with meaning. A place you love more than anywhere else. I’d take you there, and I wouldn’t do anything over the top. I’d simply look in your eyes.” Our gazes lock. “Then I’d tell you how I couldn’t take one more breath without you as my wife and ask you to put me out of my agony and marry me.”
We don’t speak for a moment. I lose myself in the smoky gray of her eyes, content to float in this moment. To pretend that I did propose that way and we’re celebrating over dinner.
“There’s a willow tree at my granny’s house,” she whispers. “But she’d know that you didn’t propose there.”
I nod slowly, taking in this piece of information and tucking it away for later. “I’ll come up with a place that makes sense. How about we pick a date?”
The uncertain expression she wore before is back. “Next week is a bye week, right?”
I nod. “It is. The next one isn’t until December.”
“That’s cutting it close to the date I have to return to Canada. We should probably do it next week.”
Willow twists her engagement ring, the diamond sparkling beneath the warm glow of the candlelight. The urge to take her hand again comes, but I stifle it. I can’t push her too much.
“Next week it is. If I had to bet, Brock is going to say we need pictures. This can’t just be a courthouse wedding. It needs to look like a planned elopement.”
Right as I’m finishing my sentence, the waiter walks up with our food. We both ordered the chicken piccata, which was a nice coincidence. It’s something we have in common when it feels like our similarities have been few and far between.
“Thank you,” I tell the waiter with a smile, and Willow repeats the sentiment.
“Maybe we could elope at the botanical gardens?” she suggests.
I pick up my fork and swirl it in the pasta, hoping that my eating will encourage her to do the same. She picks up her fork too and I smile.
“That sounds perfect to me. Do you know any photographers?” I ask, and Willow nods while chewing a bite of food, her hand covering her mouth.
“I can make a few calls. I’m not sure about buying a dress on such short notice, but I guess it doesn’t have to be all that formal since we’re eloping.”
“Whatever it is, it’s on me. I’m sure you can expedite the process if you pay more.”
“Speaking of money.” She sets down her fork, then meets my gaze, anxiety emanating off her. “How are we handling that? And our living situation? It’s not like we can live separately. People are bound to find out.”
“I meant what I said in the text. What’s mine is yours. I’ll give you a credit card to use in the meantime, but once we’re married you’ll be on my accounts.”
She shakes her head. “That’s too much. I don’t need that.”
“It’s nonnegotiable,” I say firmly. “My wife isn’t going to pay for anything on her own.”
Willow drops her gaze to her plate, but acquiesces. “If you insist.”
“I do. Now, as for the living situation. I think you should move in with me. I have plenty of space. You can have whatever room in the house. You can have multiple for all I care. I just need a bed to sleep in.”
Her lips tip up in a small smile. “And if I said I wanted the room your TV was in?”
“Then I guess I’ll buy a second TV,” I reply and she laughs.
“Okay, that makes sense. Sharing my apartment would be silly when you have a mansion.”
“You keep calling it a mansion when you’ve never been there.”
She raises her head. “I guess that’s just what I’ve imagined you living in.”
“You spend time imagining me? Now, I thought you said you didn’t think of me enough for me to be an archnemesis.”
A blush stains her cheekbones. My grin widens.
“Tell me, when do you think of me? You’re thinking of me in my house, so I can only assume it’s while you’re in yours–”
Willow throws a piece of bread at me and a laugh bursts out of me.
“I can’t believe you just threw food at me. You’re going to get us kicked out.”
She huffs. “You get on my nerves so much that I can’t think.”
I’m grinning so big my face hurts. “Now you’re saying I make it hard for you to think straight? Wow, and here I was worried I’d have a wife who didn’t like me.”
She presses her lips together, holding in a smile I know is dying to break free. “We’re going to end up on one of those Investigation Discovery shows. The ones about the wives who snap on their husbands.”
I smirk. “I think they call that a crime of passion.”
She tips her head back in exasperation. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I’m beginning to think you like it.”
“In your dreams, Kingsley.”
“Oh, definitely , future Mrs. Kingsley.”
Willow’s blush intensifies, almost matching the faded wine color of her lips. Satisfaction rolls through me. If tonight is any indication, I think I’m going to enjoy being married.