16. Bobby
16
Bobby
A House of Cards
Claire's still asleep.
She's laid across the king-sized bed in typical fashion, one arm dangling limply over the edge, the white sheets tangled around her waist and a hint of a frown marring her otherwise peaceful expression.
I stand there for a moment, watching her sleep. Soon, I won’t be able to do this. Even if we return to New York, it’ll be wise to rarely stand within three feet of her in private, because I won’t be able to resist much longer.
I’ve never seen a mix of vulnerability and whirlwind in anyone like I have seen in her. She’s a mix of contradictions—fiercely independent yet craving acceptance, guarded yet capable of surprising bursts of affection. Her attempt to kiss me last night was probably her way of teasing me in her weird, unconventional method, but it meant so much more to me and I nearly lost control on the patio.
I seriously can’t ever do this type of thing again…ever. I've fallen madly in love this woman. This trip has opened up a can of worms and it’s time to close them right back up. My mission is complete. Gramps and Mimi have announced their decision and Claire seems to be connecting with her family genuinely.
Time to leave, even though I don’t want to. Better sad than her finding out my true feelings and I lose her forever.
I close the bedroom door and head to the kitchenette. I get the coffee pot gurgling to life, then rummage through the cabinets, surprised to find a well-stocked pantry. We’ve gotten so used to eating downstairs with the rest of the family that we haven’t even explored our own kitchenette.
Pancakes it is. I begin humming to the rhythmic sizzle of batter hitting the hot pan when her sleepy voice drifts from the hallway.
"Bobby?"
"Hey." I turn, and the smile tugging at the corners of my lips drops as soon as I lay eyes on her.
She pads into the kitchenette, her hair a glorious mess of sleep-tousled waves. A t-shirt hangs loosely on her frame, showing off long legs paired with pink fuzzy slippers that somehow manage to be both adorable and incredibly hot.
"Cooking breakfast?" she asks with a yawn.
The pancake!
I turn back to the stove, quickly flipping the half-burnt pancake. This is ridiculous. I can’t ever cook a decent meal again if she keeps looking at me like that.
"Thought you might be hungry." I slide a plate onto the counter.
"Smells delicious," she mumbles, accepting my plate with a grateful smile.
We eat silently, and I steal glances at her as she gobbles the pancakes down.
"You're gonna miss me, aren't you?” she asks.
My heart flutters. I clear my throat, trying my best to keep my voice even.
"Yeah,” I shrug. “I guess I will. Kinda got used to hanging out with you every day."
"I wish you could stay," she whispers wistfully, disappointment clouding her features. "But I know I can't convince you."
“I think it’s for the best.”
She nods, and then her eyes widen. "I have a goodbye gift for you. Wanted to give it to you back in New York, but I can’t wait to show you."
Arching my eyebrows, I ask, "What kind of gift?"
"You'll see," she winks. "After breakfast."
She reaches across the table and shoves a forkful of pancakes toward my mouth.
I comply, biting off the fluffy pancake. Her gaze never leaves mine as she grins. A nervous energy buzzes beneath the surface for the rest of the breakfast.
When Claire finally pushes herself back from the table, there’s a determined light in her eyes. She brushes crumbs off her t-shirt and cocks her head to the side. "I’m gonna go get dressed so I can show you your gift.”
Five minutes later, I follow her out of the suite and across the manicured lawn towards the little cottage. She pushes open the creaking door, and a wave of paint and wood varnish hits my nostrils.
She leads me down to where a large white sheet drapes a single, imposing canvas–much larger than anything I've seen here before.
“This is my first painting in eleven years.” Claire reaches out and pulls the sheet down.
It's a painting of me. My head is thrown back in laughter and a look of pure joy is etched on my face, with the lake in the background.
My jaw drops open. "Claire," I manage. "When…how did you do this?"
"Well," a shy smile plays on her lips as she rubs the back of her neck with one hand. "There was this night, remember? I was…mad at you, to put it mildly. I was just so frustrated, and I needed an outlet. So, I grabbed a brush and some paint and I just…started throwing it on the canvas."
“Why were you mad at me?”
She pauses and blinks. “One day, I’ll tell you.”
I stare at her for one long moment, then nod and glance back at the vibrant colors swirling across the bottom half of the painting. If she’s not ready to talk, pushing her is useless.
“You painted this while being mad at me?”
"I only realized I was painting you halfway through."
I arch an eyebrow. “Sooo, you started painting a tree, and then it kinda morphed into me?”
“No, silly,” she laughs, slapping me on the shoulder.
Then, a warmth spreads through me. It comforts me to know that I matter to her enough for her to create this masterpiece. It’s how Claire sees me—happy. She doesn’t need to see my unrequited feelings of turmoil and pain. Maybe things are actually better like this.
Her gaze meets mine, and for a moment, I see a vulnerability in her eyes that both captivates and terrifies me. "Bobby..." she begins.
Just as she opens her mouth to speak, the shrill ring of my phone shatters the still air. I grab my phone to see Henry’s name flashing. Claire nods at me to answer and then I swipe the answer button with a sigh.
"Hey, Henry. What’s up?"
"I’m waiting outside the Carter mansion, Bob."
My blood runs cold. “What!?”
“Dad got a call from one of the Carters. Some tip-off about you getting married to a Carter granddaughter and he sent me down here to see what’s happening and bring you home.”
I wonder if my Dad ever considered a career in espionage. His ability to track me down rivals the forces of the FBI and CIA combined. Maybe I should start checking for hidden trackers in my teeth or under my skin.
“You should’ve called me.”
“I did. Five times and you didn’t answer.”
That must be when I was having breakfast with Claire. I look at Claire, her brow furrowed in confusion, not fully understanding what’s going on.
“Just stay where you are, I’m on my way to you,” I instruct into the phone.
Before Henry can respond, I end the call. Claire reaches out and grabs my arm, her fingers digging into my skin with surprising strength.
"What is it?"
“My brother is here. Apparently one of your family members tipped him off about me being here to get married.”
“Has to be Fiona.”
I nod, my heart pounding. That’s my suspicion, too. She’s like a gnat—an infuriatingly meddlesome pest—and I can’t stand it anymore.
“What are we going to do?”
Just as I open my mouth to speak, a loud, booming voice cuts through the air.
"Claire! Bob!"
We both whip around, startled, towards the source of the sound. Mike stands outside the cottage doorway, his face a mask of confusion. "You two in there?"
Claire and I exchange a look, concern in our eyes. What is Mike doing here?
"Yeah, we're here," I call out.
"There’s chaos out there now," Mike shouts, pushing the door open wider and waving at us to come out. "You better come douse the fire."
My stomach lurches. Is it Henry? Claire and I stare at each other. We rush outside to find most of the family members standing around the porch, chattering in a loud voice. My brother Henry is at one corner of the crowd. As Claire and I make our way into the middle of the crowd, Fiona squeezes her way past a couple of people, her eyes narrowed in accusation.
"There you are," she sneers, her voice dripping with contempt. "So much for your little love. I went to check on you both at the suite, and guess what I found?" She holds up a piece of paper, brandishing it like a trophy. "Proof that you’ve been fooling all of us with your little charade."
A collective gasp ripples through the crowd. Gramps and Mimi are there, their eyes filled with sadness.
"What did you find?" Claire demands, her voice brimming with anger.
Fiona gives a smug smile. "This," she declares, waving the paper in the air for everyone to see. "The fake relationship contract you both signed, Claire. Black and white. Undeniable proof of your little scheme."
Color drains from Claire’s cheeks and I grab her hand instinctively as my heart beats frantically. Everything is about to crumble because of that stupid contract.
Gramps steps forward, his weathered hand snatching the contract from Fiona's grasp. As he reads the document, his eyes swell with disbelief. His mouth opens to speak, then closes again, his expression a mask of confusion and dawning anger.
Claire steps forward. "Gramps, hold on a second!"
"What in tarnation is this, Claire?” Gramps finally finds his voice. “A fake relationship contract?"
Claire mumbles curse words under her breath. It isn't supposed to go this way. We weren’t supposed to be exposed like this.
He holds the paper up, his gaze burning holes through my body. "Bob? Is this real?"
My throat constricts, guilt gnawing at me. I swallow hard, dropping my eyes. "Yes, sir," I admit. “I’m sorry.”
Henry materializes beside me at some point, leans in and hisses into my ear, "What the eff, Bob? What have you been up to?"
Mimi, her face pale, reaches out and takes the contract from Gramps. Her hands tremble slightly as she scans the document, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Gramps shakes his head slowly, his gaze fixed on Claire. "Claire, I'm…disappointed. I thought you were finally past your childish games."
I step forward to defend her, but Gramps raises a hand, silencing me.
"And you," he turns to me, his voice laced with betrayal. "I trusted you. I welcomed you into this family, and this is how you repay me? Lies and deceit?"
He's right. This whole charade, everything I've done, is a lie.
"I’m sorry, Sir.”
"I regret trusting you, Bob. I see your family is here for you. Now, I want you to leave. Get out of here, and don't come back." His eyes dart back to Claire. "And you, Claire, I expect you to return the contract for the estate immediately."
The weight of his words presses down on me, suffocating. The dream of Claire’s family accepting her is dissolving before my eyes.
“No Gramps!” Claire yelps, her voice surprisingly clear and strong. "There’s something you should know," she announces, her gaze sweeping across the stunned faces around us. "I love Bob. It might have started as a little game, but I truly love him."
My head spins. Love? A part of me wants to believe her, wants to cling to the hope that yearns within me. But my cynical view tells me this is just another ploy to gain the upper hand. And that breaks my heart.
She's playing a game, a desperate last-ditch attempt to get what she wants and she’s bringing me in—always sure that I’ll play along. While a part of me desperately wants to help her, my heart can't take another round of fake relationship.
"Stop it Claire," I finally manage.
Her chin lifts defiantly. "It's the truth, Bobby. I’ve been trying to tell you these last couple of days, but you won’t let me. I'm in love with you."
Silence descends once more, thick and suffocating. I stare at her, speechless, unsure how to react. A knot twists in my gut. It's time to end this charade once and for all.
"Claire," I start in a firm voice. "It's time to end this game." I square my shoulders, forcing a confident facade, even though my insides feel like they're melting at the sound of her words. "There’s no use hanging on to the lie. And frankly, you pretending to love me…that hurts."
I watch a flash of pain cross her face, but it's replaced quickly by stubborn defiance.
"I'm not pretending, Bobby," she insists, her voice steady.
"Look, Claire," I state, now exhausted. "The reason I can’t lie anymore is because I have feelings for you. Real feelings. I’ve been hiding behind this charade and I can’t do it anymore."
A flicker of surprise flashes across her features. Am I saying too much? But the truth is, I’ve kept this up for a long time and now I have a deep ache laced with anger because she prefers to keep using me instead of acknowledging my feelings.
"I came here to help you, but instead, it only opened my eyes to how I truly feel about you. And now, I need to put those feelings to bed," I finish, my voice firm. "I can't keep doing this."
The silence stretches on, overpowering. I glance around the gathered crowd, their faces carved with a mixture of confusion, disappointment, and something akin to pity. My cheeks burn under their scrutiny.
"I’m sorry for lying to you all. I’ll grab my things and head out.”
Claire opens her mouth to speak, but before she can get a word out, Henry steps forward.
"Bob, come on," he says, his voice tinged with frustration. "Let's just get outta here."
I nod. There's nothing left to say, no explanations that can mend the shattered trust. With a final glance at Claire, her expression desperate, I turn and follow Henry.