Chapter 16
Cal
Wilby’s pacing when he opens the door to his room at the B&B. He’s got a phone in one hand and a coffee in the other, and he looks agitated. Relief washes over his face when he sees me. He motions for me to come in.
“Okay, I have an appointment, sir. Yes, I’ll keep you updated,” he says as he rolls his eyes.
He hangs up and sets his phone down on the table where his laptop is open. “That was Silvie’s father. And no, I won’t be keeping him updated. He’s scary as hell, so I have to lie to him. But my allegiance will always be to Silverlyn.”
This comforts me for some reason. I can see it written all over Wilby’s face. He’ll run through fire for her. I’m beginning to realize she has that effect on people.
“As it should.” I snort and shove my hands in my pockets, noticing his suitcase is packed up. “Are you leaving?”
He shakes his head. “Not the island. But the B&B is all booked up. I have to find another place to stay.”
“Tourist season.” I nod. “This place gets pretty booked up.”
“This brings me to something we need to discuss,” he says. “Hear me out.”
“Okay,” I say hesitantly. I’m not sure where he’s going with this.
“I need a place to stay. And Birdie has her guest room,” he says, stacking a few things on the table he’s working at.
I wait for him to continue.
“I need to stay at Birdie’s. Which means Silvie needs to move in with you,” he says, waiting for me to react.
A flutter of panic takes flight in my stomach. Suddenly, this whole thing is all-too real. And fast. I agreed to it, and have every intention of helping her, but it’s now creeping into my personal life. Literally. But I’ll be marrying her and this is an inevitable step.
“I don’t have a guest room,” I tell him, with wide eyes.
My brain quickly catalogues what it would look like to have the gorgeous woman in my home. Sitting on my sofa, bare feet near me. Half-dressed in my kitchen making coffee. Dripping and dressed only in a towel as she exits the bathroom.
This is going to be difficult.
How do I refrain from pinning her to every surface, kissing her until she’s whimpering my name?
“It doesn’t matter,” Wilby says quickly, stealing me from my wicked thoughts, as he motions for me to sit at the table with him.
“Paparazzi could show up at any time. And if the attorneys handling the trust believe this is not a legitimate marriage, Silvie will not get her company. It will all be for nothing. You have to make it look legit, my friend.”
Before I can respond, there’s a knock at the door. He opens it, and a woman steps into the room. She has a measuring tape and a clipboard. Wilby’s already moving onto the next task. This guy is efficient as hell.
“Cal,” Wilby says, “this is Denise. She’s here to measure you.”
Denise smiles warmly. “You ready?”
“I think so,” I say, though that feels optimistic.
This is happening at warped speed. All I can do is strap in and go along for the wild ride.
Silvie’s worth it.
That settles my brain a bit because it’s the truth.
Denise circles me, tape ready. “I was going to have linen pants and a button-down shirt. Maybe a light jacket. But,” she adds, glancing at Wilby for approval, “I’ll need his full measurements for future events we’ll need to dress him for.”
Future events? I freeze and glance at Wilby, but he’s already crossing things off what looks like a massive to-do list on his computer.
“Future events?” I repeat, voice hoarse.
Wilby nods like this is obvious. “Galas. Dinners. Board things. Charity stuff.”
It’s all temporary, remember? Wilby implores me with that silent message. I nod, understanding the unspoken words.
Denise keeps measuring, unfazed. “We like to have everything on file.”
My chest tightens. I didn’t realize we’d be doing events. And where?
“Yes, you will look powerful in a suit,” she says. “Sleeve length.”
She measures my arm while my brain spirals.
This is more than paperwork. This is showing up. Standing beside her. Being seen as her husband. Silverlyn Montclair’s husband.
I take a slow, calming breath so I don’t hyperventilate. I wish Silvie were here with us. She has a calming effect on my soul.
Wilby winces at something on his list and comes back to our conversation. “Eventually, Cal, you’re going to have go to New York.”
My stomach drops. I can’t go to New York. Panic claws its way up my esophagus. This woman flitting around me like an annoying fly is only adding to the anxiety.
“To meet her parents,” Wilby adds and winces. “I’m so sorry about that by the way. Her mom is actually a terrible person.”
This jolts me from my mini panic attack as the urge to protect Silvie grounds me.
“That bad?” I ask, frowning.
“She’s the type of person who takes pleasure in being mean to Silvie,” he says. “Her dad, though, isn’t a bad guy.”
Mean to Silvie? What? I don’t like that. At all. If her mom is making trouble, that’s not going to go over well with me.
“He’s just,” Wilby continues, searching for the word, “hella intimidating.”
Denise finishes measuring and steps back. “All set.”
I nod, barely hearing her.
New York. Her parents. Events. Galas. A life that isn’t mine. Away from Coconut Beach, my safe space. The place I came back to and thought I’d never leave. I didn’t think this through.
I thought I was agreeing to be her husband on paper.
I didn’t realize I was agreeing to step into her world.
Wilby claps me on the shoulder. “You’ll be great.”
I force a smile.
Because backing out was never really an option.
Somehow, terrifying as it is, the idea of standing beside her through all of it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels necessary. For her sake. To protect her.
Wilby glances at his list on his computer. “We need to get temporary rings. We can’t have anyone seeing either of you buying them.”
“I already have the rings covered,” I tell him.
Wilby’s eyebrow hikes up in surprise. “Really?”
I nod. “They’re coming today. Nothing to get excited about. Just temporary fake ones I ordered.”
“Okay,” he says, letting loose a long breath of air. “Did not have that on my bingo card. You are on it, Cal.”
I shrug. “I just figured that was my job.”
As husband. I’m going to be her husband. My mind is beginning to latch onto everything that entails. It’s a lot. I suppose that’s one of the downsides of marrying a billionaire.
“Another thing,” Wilby says, cutting his eyes my way. “I saw in our report that your father is from New York and was here in Coconut Beach on business when he met your mom.”
My stomach twists uncomfortably. “Yeah, so?”
“Do you know who he is?” he asks.
“I don’t think that’s relevant. It’s not a big deal,” I say firmly.
He stares at me for a second, then nods. “Okay, sorry.”
I stare for a moment. “Do you know?”
He shakes his head. “I could probably find out, though.”
I shake my head. “That’s okay. I’m good.”
He’s watching me now, curious instead of investigative. “Okay.”
The room goes quiet. Too quiet.
There’s a knock at the door, and Wilby opens it to Silvie standing there in a yellow sundress, looking like pure sunshine. The relief I feel at seeing her nearly has me sagging. I inhale her sweet scent, the smell of her a soothing balm to my soul.
“Hi,” she says, taking in both of us and our serious tones.
Wilby glances at me, smirks, and blurts out, “Did you know that Cal has money?”
I scoff and give Wilby a dirty look. This dude is a menace. He’s changing the subject and giving me shit.
She smiles then, slow and warm. “There’s a lot I don’t know about you, hot fiancé.”
I groan. “Don’t call me that.”
“I’m going to find out anyway,” she says to me in a teasing voice, eyes twinkling. “You can tell me all of your dark secrets.”
I shoot Wilby a nervous look, and he shakes his head slightly as if to tell me he didn’t tell her what we were talking about earlier.
She reaches for my hand like it’s natural. Like this marriage is already ours.
“Let’s go on a date tonight,” she says. “A pretend date. You can tell me all of your secrets.”
My chest tightens at the thought of taking her out. “Okay.”
Wilby darts his gaze between us and then blurts, “I have to go to a meeting. I’ll be back.”
This has my heart skipping a few beats, eager to be alone with her. Maybe all the chaos overtaking my brain will leave with Wilby.
“Bye,” Silvie calls out to him.
He grabs his bag and heads for the door, muttering something about needing air and therapy.
She bites her lip and admits. “I’m nervous for the wedding.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Do we kiss?” she asks quietly. “I’ve never kissed you. What if it’s weird?”
The question lands between us, fragile and honest, and something in my chest gives way.
Nothing about “kissing” and “Silvie” could ever be weird. That much I know for a fact. She’s sweet and a damn knockout. It’d be my honor to prove just how “not weird” kissing her can be.
I step closer before I can talk myself out of it.
Close enough that I can feel her warmth, see the way her breath stutters just a little.
I don’t rush. I lift one hand to her waist, steady and sure, like I’ve done it a hundred times in another life.
With my other hand, I tilt her chin up so she’s looking at me.
Her eyes search mine. Trusting. Nervous. Wanting.
Then I dip my lips to hers and kiss her.
It starts slow. A brush of lips, barely there, like I’m asking permission with my mouth. She inhales softly, and when she leans into me, that’s all I need. The kiss deepens, unhurried but certain, heat building in a way that makes my pulse kick hard.
She tastes like coffee and sugar and something that’s entirely her. Her hand slides to my shirt, fingers curling around the material like she’s anchoring herself. I tighten my grip at her waist without even thinking about it.