Chapter 16
Henry lay with his head against the headboard, Elle in his arms, and he gently ran his hands over her stomach. He passed over puckered skin of what felt like a scar. It ran from beneath her lower rib to almost her hip bone.
It was from a long-ago injury, a painful scar, he realized. He just wasn’t sure how deep that pain went. But the closer he came to the mark, the more tense her body became.
When he looked up, he found her looking back. “Does it hurt?”
“Not in the way you think.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, surprising both of them at his sudden willingness to have an open and honest conversation. One that would likely lead to him confessing some of his own secrets, but he didn’t care. The moment seemed right; it felt right, anyway.
“About as much as you want to talk about your childhood.”
“So you got this as a kid?”
She nodded but lost eye contact, so he pulled her closer, until they were practically a pretzel. She seemed to appreciate the contact since she tightened her hold, then buried her face into the curve of his neck.
“I told you my dad passed when I was young, in a car crash. Well, I was with him.” Her voice was muffled, and he could feel her lips move against his bare skin. “I probably don’t look like it, but I used to be big into fishing. Well, with my dad I was. It was our thing. Every Saturday morning we’d head out before the sun came up and hit the nearest body of water. I think he did it to keep one thing constant in my life with all the moving around.”
“You moved around a lot?” Henry had just assumed that she’d been a born and bred New Yorker.
Something she’d said had her pausing for a moment, then she moved on as if nothing had happened. “My mom’s job took us all over the place. So my dad and I fished. But that morning I slept in, and we got a late start. We were just heading out when we went through an intersection and a man was texting and ran the light, hitting us at full speed.”
She flinched as if she were right back there, in the car with her dad. He ran his hand up and down her spine in soothing passes, and she melted into his touch.
“It took the EMTs eleven minutes to get to us. Eleven minutes and the whole time my dad was alive, holding my hand, telling me that everything was going to be okay and that he loved me. He told me how proud he was of me, and how he’d always be with me, no matter what. He knew, Hank.”
She looked up at him, her lashes lined with unshed emotion. “He knew he was dying but he spent his last few minutes loving me. Later I learned that he’d broken his neck in three places. He should have died on impact; there was no medical reason for how he’d lived so long, other than he was holding on until the paramedics got there so I wouldn’t be alone. He must have been in so much pain.”
Henry wasn’t sure when the tears had started to fall but he swept them up with his thumb. He tried to think of what that kind of fatherly love would feel like and came up blank. But he better understood why Elle had been so adamant that he give his dad a second chance.
“Some people are worth fighting for,” he said, looking directly into her eyes, which were more hazel than green today.
He hadn’t meant to give so much away, but Elle picked up on the subtext before he even understood it himself. “Hank, everyone is worth fighting for. You’re worth fighting for. Just because your father doesn’t know how to be a good one, that’s on him. It is not a reflection of you. Listen to me.” She cupped his jaw. “You are enough. You. Not your money or fame or what you bring to the table, but the man you are inside. That sweet, honorable, protective, and caring man. He’s enough and deserves to be fought for.”
Henry looked deeply into those translucent pools. “Would you fight for me?”
No hesitation, she said, “Absolutely. In fact, if I’m not careful I could fall for you.”
“I think I’ve already fallen, Elle.”
Jane woke up in a warm,yummy man cocoon, with Henry’s leg slung over her thigh and his hand cupping her right ass cheek like he owned it. Her hand lay on his pec, her face pressed into his chest. His breathing was deep and steady, that of a man—a sleeping man.
Last night couldn’t have been more perfect. Except for the fact that he’d fallen for Elle. If she’d only come clean and told him the truth sooner. But then she’d be in breach of contract.
Whatever she was feeling trumped a silly contract, right?
Right!
She would do it. Jane would tell him the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help her God. As soon as the wedding was over, and Sarah and Wayne were on their way to their honeymoon.
Just one more day.
She could hold on to her secret identity for one more day. Play the role. Fulfill her promise to Sarah. Then come clean and pray that Henry didn’t tell Sarah she’d spilled the beans.
Jane knew his racing season started in just a few weeks and she knew she had to go home, but she was willing to give long distance a shot if he was. She was willing to fight for him—for them.
Them.
Just the idea of them made her giddy. How on earth had she gone from loathing this man to loving him?
Jane froze, her heart literally stopping right in her chest. Love. Was that what this strange and terrifying feeling was? Somewhere between arguing and bickering and bantering she had fallen. Deeply, madly, and wholly.
Oh my god!
Why had she gone and done that? What was she thinking, falling in love with a man whose life was literally chronicled by the paparazzi? She hadn’t been thinking, she’d been feeling.
“I can hear you overthinking everything,” he mumbled, his rough, morning voice thick with sleep.
She pushed off his chest to meet his gaze. “How did you know?”
“I know you, love.”
“But it’s only been a week.”
“I knew the first time my dad put me in a kart that I would be a racer. When you know, you know.”
“And what do you know?”
“That there’s no way this secret is going to last.” At the word secret, a flood of guilt knotted in her stomach and tugged painfully. “One look at us today and everyone is going to know I spent the night here last night.”
“Today!” Jane sprang up and looked at the clock. “Eight thirty. We have to be down for breakfast at nine.”
Unconcerned with the time, Henry leaned back, resting his head on his folded arms behind his head, his eyes taking a leisurely stroll down her body. Jane quickly realized that in her distress, she’d forgotten she was completely naked and the sheet was puddled around her waist.
She tugged it back up to cover her breasts and he tugged it back down.
“You’re not funny.”
“Let me show you how serious I am.” He wrapped his beefy arm around her waist like a vise and pulled her on top of him, the seriousness of the situation pressing temptingly hard into her belly.
“We’re going to be late.”
“Then what’s five minutes more?”
She lifted a brow. “When has it taken you five minutes?”
“Fine, fifteen,” he said, and her other brow shot up. “Thirty.”
“Exactly.” She pushed off his rock-hard abs, but not before giving him a loud smack to the lips. This seemed to appease him—for now.
Jane grabbed her dress from the closet and raced into the bathroom. She took the fastest shower of her life—surprised and a bit disappointed that Henry didn’t try to join her—then tugged her bridesmaid dress on. With damp hair everywhere, she looked into the mirror, and actually saw Jane looking back. A version of Jane who had taken a sabbatical the day her ex had called her a fraud. But she didn’t feel like a fraud.
Last night she’d been herself, real and raw, and Henry said he was falling for her, which gave her hope that maybe even after she told him the truth about the situation, he wouldn’t walk away.
Heck, maybe even one day they’d look back on this and laugh. What a love story they’d have, meeting under false pretenses, while she was using an assumed name and identity. It worked out in her novels, why not in real life?
Which was why she needed to tell him the truth. All she had to do was get through today’s wedding and then tomorrow they’d have a frank discussion where she’d come clean about everything. Even the fact that she was in love with him.
He deserved to know. It was his right to know the entire truth. After all that he’d shared with her, she owed him that.
Taking one last look in the mirror, noting the goofy smile and the perma-glow, she scurried into the bedroom and found Henry still in bed. Strange, since she’d assumed he’d be back in his room by now getting ready himself.
He’d put on his underwear and was sitting on the edge of the mattress looking at his phone.
“You’re going to be late.”
“I don’t think that matters right now,” he said cryptically, and she couldn’t decipher his tone. Then he said the one word that decoded everything. “Jane.”
She pulled the towel she was holding to her chest as a shield of sorts, to protect herself from the coming slaughter.
“I can explain.” The words came rushing out, her mouth so dry that tumbleweeds could pass through.
“Can you? Because according to the posted article on the Globe, Henry Norris’s mystery woman’s name is Jane Pearce from Austin. She’s a co-founder of Bride Buddies, a unique company that hires out bridesmaids to wedding parties to make the bride’s day perfect and stress-free.”
He held up the phone and there, accompanying what seemed to be a lengthy article, clear as day, was a photo of them last night at the rehearsal dinner where he was cupping her cheek moments before he walked away. Someone at the party must have snuck a phone past security and sold him out, just like he’d told her he feared someone would. Only this time she’d been part of that betrayal.
“I guess when you said that you were into marketing, you meant yourself. Maybe I should have asked more questions. But then again, would you have told me the truth or steered the conversation back to me?”
“I wanted to tell you.”
“When? Before or after we fucked?” he said, throwing her words back in her face.
“I deserved that.” The look on his face said she deserved a lot more. And she was going to get it. “But I promised Sarah and signed an NDA specifically requiring me not to tell you my real identity.”
The hurt in his eyes nearly undid her. “Why?”
Oh god. She wanted to tell him why, but she couldn’t. And that was only going to make things worse.
“It’s not my story to tell. It’s Sarah’s.” She’d already betrayed her client enough as it was. So she’d leave it up to Sarah to tell Henry about the real Elle in her own time.
“Who else knows?” he growled.
“Wayne.”
“No one else?”
She shook her head.
He stood and the look he gave her was so cold she actually shivered. “So you’ve been lying to my whole family?”
“That is what your sister hired me to do. That’s the job.”
“Being a professional liar?” His assessment of her was like a slap to the face, bringing her right back to that night with her ex. She wasn’t a liar. But hearing him say it in that tone, with no room for another definition, gave her pause.
Then she reminded herself of how many people she’d helped. How many love stories she’d been a part of and decided his assessment of her, which was only partly accurate, wasn’t the entire truth. And she wasn’t going to let him diminish who she was and what she did.
“No, I play a role. I help brides out when they need someone to step in and be their support on their biggest day. I help people and I’m not going to be made to feel ashamed about what I do when I am proud of my company.”
“Proud?” He laughed, but there was no humor behind it. He stalked toward her. “You have lied to everyone I love, people who trust you, people who have been taken advantage of their entire lives, and you’re not even ashamed?” He shook his head. “I should have known. You might not be interested in my money or my fame, but you’re just like all the rest. You have an angle, and you don’t care who you have to walk over to accomplish it.”
She took a step back as if he’d physically shoved her. “Last night you said you’d fallen for me. This isn’t how you talk to someone you love.”
“Love? Whoever I fell for doesn’t exist, Elle.” He stopped. “Dammit, I mean Jane. You pretended to be whoever you thought I needed you to be in order to do your job.”
“So you think last night was for the job?”
For the briefest of moments, she saw his conviction falter, but then his walls went back up. “I don’t know.”
Jane closed the distance between them and took his hand, bringing it to her chest. “You do know. You know me. So I lied about my name. Everything I told you about my life, my dad, my family… that was real. Last night, the winery, the day at the race track. That was all real. I’m still that woman, Hank.”
His expression was full of sadness and distrust, and she’d put that there. It broke her heart.
“Do you do this a lot? I mean, were you ever going to tell me? Or just go back to Austin and ghost me?”
She looked into his eyes so he could see the honesty there. “I have never done this. Never. And I was going to tell you tomorrow after the wedding. I was going to see if you wanted to try to give this thing a go.” She could tell he wanted to believe her. Wanted to give in. “We all play roles sometimes. Even you. You’re one way for the press and for fans, and another with your family. I’m no different.”
And just like that his face shut down and went into protective mode. Not for her—he was protecting his family from her. “Oh, we’re different. You can believe that. So here’s how this is going to play out. You are going to pack up and get the hell out.”
The harshness and finality in his tone obliterated any hope she had for the two of them. She wrapped her hands around her stomach as if that were going to stop the pain from spreading. But it didn’t. The ache grew larger and more acute until her skin felt too tight to hold it all in.
“But the wedding!”
“You seriously think half the guests haven’t already seen this article? Who do you think sent this to me?”
Right.
“After you’re packed, you’re going to leave and never, ever contact my family again. Do you understand?”
“I’d at least like to explain to Sarah?—”
“I will explain to Sarah.” Just like he’d had to explain to the family after his dad had left and that they were on their own. God, what had she done? “Now, get the fuck out of here.”
Jane watched in silence, as Henry pulled on his shirt and pants, stuffing his feet in his shoes. He walked to the door and for a brief moment, he stood in the door frame. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t turn to face her. He didn’t need to. He was giving her his goodbye the only way he knew how.
The tears that she’d been holding back began to fall and she choked out, “I’m sorry, Henry. I’m so sorry.”
“Me too, love. Me too.”