13. Orson
13
Orson
All things considered, the last couple of weeks have gone pretty well. It was hard for both of us at first. I’ve never shared any living space with anyone, ever. Not even in college. My father bought me an apartment outright to make sure I kept my mind on my studying.
The last time Lily shared her space with anyone was when her sisters still lived at home, and that was nearly ten years ago. So, yes. It’s been quite an adjustment. The good thing is, this apartment is pretty spacious. I suppose I grew up in a huge house, and thus, I naturally veer towards living in something larger than a shoebox.
To keep up appearances, I’ve been staying here most nights. From what I hear, we are the talk of Willow Creek, which is exactly what I wanted. Word will get back to my grandfather soon enough, and I have no doubt that he’ll send for me like he always does.
I’m sitting at my desk working on my laptop when I hear the front door slam shut.
“Hey,” I call out.
Usually, Lily calls back, but I don’t hear anything, which is a bit unusual. But then, she walks into the open plan lounge area, and I know right away that something’s not right.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she says coarsely.
Uh-huh.
She doesn’t linger, as she ordinarily would, and moves through the apartment. The next thing I hear is her bedroom door slamming closed.
Okay. So, something has definitely happened, I just have no idea what. I’m also mindful of our written contract. Clause 21a, to be exact.
The participants will respect each other’s personal and private space.
And now, I’m not sure what to do. I’ve heard many of the men at work talking about how complicated women can be. But I can’t speak to that. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve dated. I am a hot-blooded male, after all, but I’ve never been involved that deeply. Commitment has always been a distraction to me.
I decide to remain where I am, though my concentration is now shot. I try to get my head back into the spreadsheet I was working on, but like that day on the beach, I find myself reading the same lines over and over again.
Maybe I need to come at this from a different angle. I push myself up from my chair and wander down the hallway. Once I reach her door, I give it a light knock.
“I’m going to order Chinese. You want some?”
“No, thanks.” Her voice sounds faint through the door.
“You sure?”
“Yep,” she says shortly.
“Okay.”
I move back to the living room but don’t bother sitting at my desk. There’s no point. I’m not going to get any more work done until I know what the heck is going on.
When I’m troubled, I pace. It helps me think. And so, that is what I do, back and forth over the rug I bought especially for this apartment. I don’t like this tension. I’ve never liked it. No doubt, if Jake was here, he’d attach it to the childhood trauma he was talking about the last time we met. Maybe he’s right.
But as I continue to move back and forth, the contract comes back to my mind. Clause 33b, to be exact.
The participants will resolve any issues in a swift manner, ensuring the living space is free from tension.
That will do me just fine.
I move back down the hallway and knock on her door again. “Lily, we need to talk.”
“I don’t want to talk.”
“Tell me. Is this about me?”
She hesitates, which tells me it is, so I continue. “You remember the contract we drew up, right? Resolving issues as quickly as possible, etc.?”
There’s no answer for a long moment, and then I can hear movement in her room. The sound of sliding metal on the lock reverberates against the door, and then finally, the door opens a tiny crack.
“I don’t want to do this now,” she says.
“I know,” I say gently, wanting to show some understanding, “but we can’t let whatever this is fester.”
She heaves a sigh and pulls the door open fully, inviting me inside. I shake my head. “I think this is best dealt with on neutral ground.”
When we both return to the living room, Lily just sits there for a long time and doesn’t speak. I’ll admit it; I’m getting a little frustrated.
“You want to tell me what’s going on?” I ask eventually.
“I know this is a fake marriage, but would you ever be unfaithful to me?” she asks.
Her question blows my mind, and I can only gawk at her. “What?” I blurt.
She eyes me suspiciously. “Is that too hard to answer?”
As much as I’m reeling, I’m the one who wanted us to talk, and so, though the question is ridiculous, I answer it. “No, Lily. It’s not too hard to answer. I would never be unfaithful to you. Yes, this is a fake marriage, but to me, it’s still a sacred agreement of sorts. That’s why we drew up the contract.”
She’s still eyeing me, but her expression has changed a little. Less suspicion, more confusion.
“What is this about?” I press, now dying to know how on Earth she has jumped to such a strange subject. One that I now realize didn’t go into the contract. I make a mental note to rectify that.
“A guy came into the bakery today. He seems to know you very well. After he bought his pastry, he told me that I was your latest conquest.”
My eyebrows crawl past my hairline in response to that remark.
“He told me to keep an eye on you. That you’re known for having a few girls in tow.”
And now, I’m incensed.
“Who was he?” I growl. “Did you get a name?”
“He called himself Marcus. I didn’t get a last name.”
She didn’t need to get a last name. I know exactly who he is.
“Dirty blonde hair, tall, looks a bit like a rat?” I snarl.
Lily nods, now looking a bit wary of my obvious anger.
I push myself from the chair as my anger grows. Pacing back and forth again, I need to get rid of this pent-up, unhealthy energy. “Marcus Riley is a snake,” I spit. “We’ve been business rivals for years. He’s tried every trick in the book to undermine me in an attempt to win contracts and steal my clients. The truth is, he’s held a grudge against me for years.”
“But why?” Lily asks, her brow furrowed.
“I’ve always been better than him,” I reply.
She’s a little taken aback by what sounds like a self-righteous brag, but I shake my hand at her. “I don’t mean me personally, though that’s part of it. I mean my business practices. Marcus takes shortcuts; he doesn’t put the work in, and he thinks of himself first and the client second. I work the opposite way.”
“Oh, right,” Lily says, clearly understanding my meaning a little better. “So, he’s trying to hurt you in your personal life because he can’t touch you in your professional life.”
It was a pretty astute inference, and to be honest, I couldn’t have put it any better myself.
“Exactly.” I nod. He went to Lily’s place of work, which fuels my rage, and my pacing gets a little faster.
“Orson. You need to calm down,” Lily says, standing from her chair and approaching me. I have no choice but to stop when she takes hold of my arm. If I don’t, I’m likely to hurt her, and I wouldn’t dream of doing that.
“He had no right to come to the bakery,” I bark. “He had no right to say those things to you. To upset you like he did.”
“I know, but it’s all right now. And I’m sorry,” she says, her voice as calm as a soft breeze. “I should have talked this through with you, instead of letting my feelings rule me.”
“I can’t blame you. It’s not your fault. It’s his.”
“Still,” she says gently. “That’s exactly the reason we have that clause in the contract. Open communication is key if we’re not going to kill each other over the next four months.” She smirks and lifts her eyes to mine.
I can’t help but let out a light chuckle.
It takes a minute, but I finally calm down a little at a time.
“I’m all right now. Honestly.”
Lily nods and moves back to the chair she was sitting on. It’s only then that her earlier words hit me.
“I should have talked this through with you, instead of letting my feelings rule me.”
What feelings? Did she mean what I thought she meant? Had she been jealous when she came home earlier? I can’t know without asking, and I can’t ask without crossing a line.
I make another mental note to deal with Marcus Riley, and then I turn and look over at Lily.
“What about that Chinese?”