22. Kent
Chapter Twenty-Two
KENT
Liz crosses her arms, taps her foot, and gives me that fix-this glare. I take her hand and pull her into my room, closing the door behind us.
“Keeeent.” She drags my name out like I’m in big trouble. “Why are two of your cousins sleeping here when they have a perfectly good home?”
I rub my forehead wondering the same thing. “Honestly, I don’t know. But I can’t kick Dash out.”
“Why not? He’s a grown man with his own place.” Liz does not sound happy.
“Yes, but he’s also keeping our secret,” I whisper.
Her brow furrows, creating this adorably fierce line down her porcelain forehead. “What do you mean? He knows?”
“Yes, I told him.”
Liz’s eyes narrow. “What? Why?”
I take in a deep breath. I love my family, but right now they are making this so much harder. “Because we work together. I tried to get him to take your case when I found out about Jacqueline so we didn’t have to work together.”
Her glare grows more intense as she steps closer. “What if he tells your dad and this whole thing blows up?”
“He won’t.” At least he better not. “We can trust him.”
“You better hope so, Bonnaire.” Liz jabs her finger into my chest. Her touch might be hostile but I’m enjoying it all the same. “I suppose you want to sleep in here tonight?”
I clasp my hands together with an exaggerated frown and beg, “Oh please, pretty, pretty please, can I sleep in my own bed tonight?” Then, I drop the act. “Of course. It’ll look odd if I sleep in the living room, don’t you think?”
“I don’t like this, Kent. We had a deal.” She begins pacing the room, fuming.
“Why is sleeping in the same bed for one night a deal breaker?” I argue, and not just because I would love to cuddle up next to her. Among other things.
“Because I can’t trust you to keep your hands to yourself.”
“You can’t trust me, or you can’t trust yourself?” I throw the question in her face. As much as she tries to hide it, that sparkle in her eyes is alive and well. I’m starting to think these boundaries of hers are more about her self-control rather than mine.
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m perfectly capable of keeping my hands to myself.”
“Well so am I.” I hardly ever get close enough to a woman to have any kind of argument with her.
But these little bicker sessions with Liz are kind of fun.
And something tells me she doesn’t hate them either.
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll make a boundary.
That’s what you Americans love so much, right? Boundaries?”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“Then don’t patronize me by asking me to sleep on the ground.” I march over to my oversized bed, which is so big that Liz and I could easily spread out on it and still not touch one another. It’s a shame, I know.
I begin to line up some pillows down the center of the mattress. “Here. You sleep on one side, and I’ll sleep on the other. No contact. No hands,” I say, wiggling my fingers in front of her. “Is that satisfactory enough for you?”
Liz folds her arms tight to her chest and examines the plushy impediment. “We’re really toeing the line, you know that?”
“Only if your toe crosses the barrier.” I pat the pillows.
“I won’t if you won’t,” she says.
Now I know she’s going to have just as hard of a time keeping her hands to herself as me. Good. Maybe Dash’s stay is a blessing in disguise. “You mean there’s a chance you will?”
Her cheeks go red and she quickly turns away. Her long, crimson hair whips behind her. “I’m going to wash my face.”
Liz takes a while in the bathroom. An indulgent skincare routine, no doubt. Or she’s waiting for me to pass out. So I change into my shorts and crawl onto one side of the bed. Oh yeah, feels good to be back on my mattress.
She emerges from the bathroom dressed in her emerald dressing gown. The scents of citrus and florals waft from her skin. If only I could nuzzle up to her cheek and inhale every last bit of her.
I interlace my fingers behind my head and lean back on my tall leather headboard. “All cleaned up?”
“Mmhmm, and I better stay that way.” She tries to hide it, but I catch her grin as she takes off her robe.
I was hoping her sleepwear was of the lacy variety, but instead, she’s wearing a modest but classic button-down pajama set with another pair of fuzzy socks.
She quickly climbs into bed and shuts off her bedside lamp.
“Cute socks,” I say.
“I know. They’re warm too.”
“Do you have a pair for me?” I joke.
“Goodnight, Kent.”
I chuckle to myself and flick off the light. “Goodnight.”
My head slides down until it hits my pillow. I really need to do something about all of these house guests because I cannot go back to sleeping in my office.
“You’re a really good fake fiancée, you know that?” I say in the dark.
“Thanks. So are you. I almost fell for that story you told at dinner.”
“What story?” I ask.
“That thing you said about taking a leap of faith.”
“Actually, that wasn’t a total lie.”
“What do you mean?” She shifts beneath the sheets.
“Right after Mick left my apartment to chase after Beau, I thought about what he said. And I thought about you. That was the day I called you to see if you were interested in coming back to London . . . For business, of course.”
“Oh.” Liz sounds surprised. “Well, I’m glad you did.”
“Me too.” I want to reach over and touch her, but hands are just as forbidden as toes. “Can I ask you something?”
“No, Kent, we can’t remove the pillows.”
I laugh. “Not that.”
“What?” she says, and I can tell that Liz is as wide awake as I am. What is it about being in the dark that makes it easier to have an honest conversation?
“You said at lunch that you were almost married. What did you mean by that?”
“Well, I wasn’t caught up in some scheme to get someone promoted, I’ll tell you that much.”
She’s dodging the subject. So much for the dark lowering her defenses. But I don’t give up easily. It’s not my nature. “So what did happen?”
Liz lets out a sigh, and I’m almost positive she’s going to throw a biting comment my way and tell me to hush up and go to sleep.
But then she says, “I don’t know. We were together for years, and he finally asked me to marry him.
He was all set to come with me to San Francisco this spring. But, he just . . . ended it.”
Ouch. Sounds harsh. What kind of idiot would do that to Liz? “He ended it? Was he mad?”
She huffs a laugh. The protective kind. “I’d like to think so.”
Just as I’m about to judge this man for his missteps, I realize that I’m on track to do the same thing.
Maybe not the exact same thing, but close enough.
For the first time since this whole thing started, I feel a twinge of real guilt about it.
I remind myself that Liz is using me for her own gain as well.
Still, it can’t be easy for her, pretending to be engaged only to stage a breakup so soon after her real engagement ended. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“Me too.” There’s a distinct sadness in her voice that breaks my heart a little.
“Are you still in love with him?” I ask, catching myself off guard by the question. Would I have asked this with the lights on?
“No,” she admits. “I haven’t been in love with him for a really long time.”
“So why were you going to marry him?” Why would an incredible woman like Liz McKenna settle for some wanker she wasn’t even in love with?
She rolls on her side to face me and I do the same. With the light peeking through the curtains, I can make out the outline of her cheek. “I don’t know. I guess I just thought. . .”
“You thought what?”
“It’s too embarrassing to say.”
Typical Liz, always putting on the breaks and making me negotiate. “Would it help if I admit something embarrassing too?”
“Maybe.” She sounds curious and I know I’ve got her.
I let out a heavy sigh myself because I’m about to admit something I haven’t yet. To anyone. “I wasn’t actually sick the last couple of seasons during the ballet. I made it up.”
“Why?”
“The Nutcracker was my mum’s favorite. There are too many memories of her at the opera house. I just haven’t been able to bring myself to go.”
“I see. So will you be calling in sick again?” she asks.
“Honestly, I haven’t decided,” I say.
“Well, let me know because I didn’t bring my ballgown with me, so if I don’t need to get one, then you’ll save me a trip.” Liz in a beautiful gown on my arm, huh? Would it be worth going to the show for that?
“Okay, now you have to tell me what you were going to say. You thought?”
She lets out another sigh. “I thought . . . I wouldn’t find anyone else who’d want to marry me. How embarrassing is that?”
My heart sinks at her confession. Now, I really feel bad about parading her around as my fiancée when I’m not actually going to marry her.
“I don’t think that’s true.” Liz is a great girl.
Surely some bloke will snatch her up. The moment the thought crosses my mind, I hate it.
I hate it so much that my fists are clenched.
“Says the guy who’s planning to dump me the moment he gets his promotion.”
So I’m not the only one who’s picked up on the irony. “Trust me, Liz. I’m not the marrying kind. But if I were, I would be lucky to marry someone like you.”
“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” Her tone is light, playful, like she thinks I’m bullshitting her. But I’m not. With the way everyone has welcomed Liz, she would definitely be a worthy wife for me.
“Because you’re smart. Driven. You’ve got a great laugh and a fine taste in wine. And truth be told, you’re way more beautiful than Rita Hayworth.”
Liz stays quiet for a moment, then she finally says, “I think you should go to the ballet.”
“You do?” I ask, rubbing the sheet between my fingers.
“Yeah. I mean, it might bring up your grief but it could be a way to connect with your mom again in spirit.”
“In spirit?”
“I don’t know. My mother’s a new-age hippie. Some of it rubbed off on me, I guess. Never mind.” Liz rolls over again, this time facing away from me, retreating again.
“No, it’s a nice thought. I’ll sleep on it,” I say.
“Goodnight, Kent.”
“Goodnight, Liz.