24. Shelby
SHELBY
“And down this hallway are three guest bedrooms. Pick whichever one you’d like.”
Considering it was eleven at night when Beau finally convinced me to move in, and exhausted doesn’t even begin to describe what I’m feeling after the day we’ve had, I grabbed my toothbrush, my contact case, and made my way over to his house.
I held out as long as I could, arguing that we could spend one night in our separate houses.
That fantasy came to an abrupt end when Beau showed me a photo from social media and the comments were full of people wondering why we weren’t holding hands as we walked through the Nashville airport today.
I already hate this in every way possible.
“Which one is your room?”
Beau takes the opportunity to waggle his eyebrows. “Aw, Shelby. I didn’t think you wanted to share a room with me.”
“I don’t, asshat. I want to know which one is yours so I can be as far away from you as possible.”
He chuckles. “You don’t have to lie. You can admit you want to be far away from me to reduce any temptation of coming into my bedroom in the middle of the night and taking advantage of me. Which, you can. Open door policy on that.”
“I can’t with you!” I spit out, slapping his arm for good measure. “Which one is yours?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Easy, Belle. Mine is downstairs. These three are all guest rooms. So you literally have the entire upstairs to yourself.”
I give him one more look to make sure he’s telling the truth, then step into the first of my options.
“You don’t use any of these?”
“Nah,” he says, leaning against the doorframe as I check out the room. It’s spacious. The size of the primary bedroom in most houses, including an ensuite bathroom. “Originally one was going to be an office, but then I decided to also keep that downstairs.”
“Why do you have a house this big if you barely use it?”
“I use it enough,” he says. “A lot of the guys don’t like staying at hotels when they don’t have to, so a few of my friends will stay here during the yearly tournament in Nashville.”
“Is that it, though?” I ask as I make my way to the second bedroom. “I mean, I’m sure your parents stay here when they visit. But is that it? Seems like a lot of house for a few house guests a year.”
“That’s not why I wanted the big house,” he says.
“Why did you?”
“I thought…I don’t know…that someday, maybe, it would be a house for more than just me.”
I turn to look at him, shocked a little by what he’s implying. “You want a family?”
“I did,” he says, but quickly changes the subject. “Now, did I buy this house to be next to the golf course? One thousand percent.”
“I know that feeling.”
We share a smile as I take one more look around option two. It’s nice, but the bathroom doesn’t have a tub.
“At the time, this was the one they were building, and I loved it. Great location, huge basement for my gym and the simulator, great patio with a view. And I figured, as for the rooms, maybe one day they’d be filled with a family.”
I walk past him, accidentally brushing his arm as I make my way to my third option. “I hate to break this to you, but if the first person you get to marry you at thirty-eight years old is a woman who hates you and did it under the influence of alcohol, you might not be on the track to family man.”
I meant it as a joke, but the pained look on his face makes me want to take back my words. “Beau. I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“You’re right,” he says. “I always thought that one day it would just happen, but I also didn’t do anything to make it so. I’m focused on my career. The channel. I never met anyone who fit into that life, but I also didn’t want it enough to make it a priority.”
I glance away from the beautiful bay window, that is bumping this room up on the list, to look at Beau.
I never thought of him as someone who wanted a family.
He was…Beau. The cocky golfer who does celebration dances when he makes more than a fifteen-foot putt.
The guy who does body shots in videos before hitting some ridiculous shot from a honky tonk rooftop bar.
The cheater. That’s who he was in my mind.
But seeing him now. The moonlight shining in from the bay window highlighting him in the doorway of the bedroom… It’s making me think there might be more to him than I’ve let myself believe all these years.
“What about you?” he asks, clearly trying to get the spotlight off of him.
“What about me?”
“Family. Did you ever want one?”
I just shrug, hating that this conversation has turned into a tit for tat. “Not really. You can’t want something you never really had.”
I try and walk out of the room, but Beau’s hand catches my wrist, stopping me from exiting. “You had a family. Your dad was always there, even when he couldn’t be. And you know you’ve always been the third Devereaux child in my parents’ eyes.”
This would probably be the time to make a crack about now being their daughter-in-law, but it feels too soon.
“I know,” I say as I push back a threatening tear. “It’s just…I never really saw myself as a wife or a mom, you know?”
I don’t need to elaborate for Beau to nod in understanding. “Decide what room you want?”
“The first,” I say, grateful to him for changing the subject. “Can’t turn away from that bathtub.”
“I thought you might say that.”
He lets go of me and moves his hand to the small of my back, escorting me back down the hall as if I can’t find my new room on my own. “Towels are in the linen closet. Make yourself at home. Whatever we need to get from your house tomorrow that I don’t have, just let me know.”
“Thanks,” I say as a yawn overtakes me. How is this still Sunday? I swear I’ve lived five weeks just today. “Oh…shit.”
Beau gives me a concerned look. “Everything okay?”
“No…I mean…I just forgot to grab something to wear to bed and the thought of walking back to my house right now is an absolute hell no.”
“I get it,” Beau says. “Let me go get you something.”
I’m too tired to argue with him, and instead I just fall onto the bed, hoping that it’s as comfortable as it looks.
It is. Oh my God it is.
This has to be, without a doubt, the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept on. It’s like a firm cloud. How is that possible? And I haven’t even touched the sheets yet.
I don’t know how long Beau’s been gone, or how long my eyes have just been resting, but I’m gently jostled awake by the sound of Beau’s footsteps coming closer to me.
I want to open my eyes to say thank you for whatever he grabbed, but I can’t.
It’s like the exhaustion and the insanity of the day have bolted them shut.
“There we go,” Beau says as I feel him adjusting me so I’m under the covers. “Sweet dreams, Belle.”
Those are the last words I hear from Beau as I drift off, hoping that when I wake up tomorrow, this will have all just been a bad dream.
“Beau! Get in here…now!”
I’ve embodied the phrase I’m an independent woman who don’t need no man. I’ve changed light bulbs and killed spiders my entire life. Hang a picture? Done. I don’t even need a level.
But why…my god, why…can I not figure out this convoluted fucking shower?
Maybe I should’ve picked the room with the bay window…
No. I made the right choice. Last night’s sleep was the best I’ve gotten in ages.
Though that probably had a lot to do with the fact that I was beyond exhausted.
But that mattress? One hundred out of ten.
Definitely fucking recommend. When this fake marriage is done, I’m going to ask for that mattress in the divorce.
What I won’t be asking for? This fucking shower. Because how in the fucking fuck of fuckery do you turn it on?
“What?” Beau says, out of breath, as he clearly ran from wherever he was to get to me. “Is everything—”
His words cut off and he stops blinking.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask, considering I'm the one who frantically called him in here.
He turns away. "You're not wearing any clothes, and I'm trying to be respectful, per your wishes."
I look down and realize I’ve hastily covered myself in a towel—and not a very large one. In my defense, it is my bathroom. And he's the one who installed a shower that was made by futuristic aliens.
"Oh, for the love of God, turn around," I shout, making sure to wrap the towel a little tighter around myself. I cross my arms over my chest and tap my foot as he makes a whole scene about slowly turning around, playing peekabo to make sure I’m covered. "Can you just help me with your damn shower? I didn’t realize I needed an advanced degree in Engineering to operate it.”
I feel my annoyance start to flare as Beau’s smile turns devilish. “Is Shelby LeBlanc asking me for help?”
“Now I'm wishing I didn’t.” I groan and drop my head back. “Can you just show me how to get this thing on?”
“It’s easy,” he says, stepping in front of me. And if I had to bet, I’m going to guess he chose to make sure he touched me in the process. “You just have to turn this lever here, then flip up this switch. Make sure this one is turned to the right. And then pull.”
“In what world do you need to watch a YouTube tutorial to take a shower?”
“I believe you said ‘Thank you, Beau’ in a different language.”
I take in a deep breath. “Thank you, Beau. Now leave so I can shower.”
“You sure you don’t need help with that too? I can—”
“Out!” I scream, which just makes him laugh. While he’s exiting the room, I take the opportunity to check the water temperature. “Wait! Which one of the eighteen steps do you use to make it hotter?”
Beau turns back to me. “It’s up all the way.”
I snap my head back to him. “You’re kidding me.”
“Nope. See the center dial? When it’s turned to the left, that means it’s the hottest it’ll get.”
I look back to the lever, then back to Beau, check the water one more time, then nearly drop my barely-there towel out of shock.
“Divorce. Immediately.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. This is torture. What’s the phrase? Irreconcilable differences? Because, if you think this is hot water—”