Chapter 18
LIBBY
On the one hand, this bed is huge.
On the other hand, there is only one.
Jordan and I stand in Ellie’s guest suite, staring at it. Ellie reiterated on the way home that the guest bedroom is on the other side of the house from the master and the girls’ bedrooms, so whatever “newy-wed” things we got up to would be completely private.
Uuuuuugh. Once again, heat spreads through my cheeks thinking about that whole conversation. Why didn’t I put my foot down and say I wanted to stay in the hotel? I’m twenty-seven. I don’t have to do what my sister says.
Except here I am, in my sister’s guest bedroom.
Our bags were brought up here, just like if we were staying in a hotel, while we ate dinner with Ellie and her family, which, considering what went down at the airport, went fine.
Ellie asked about how we met and seemed to accept all our answers—except she had the same shrewd expression the whole time we talked, like when she asked me why I didn’t want to stay with her.
Worry creeps in that in the three days we stay here, she’s going to figure out somehow that Jordan and I have not been dating for six months and our marriage is all for show.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Jordan says, interrupting my fearful thoughts.
“No!” I say immediately. “My sister would probably find out.” I wave my hands wildly around the room and say in a loud whisper, “She’s probably got cameras or something.”
Jordan’s eyes widen, and he glances around. “Really?”
I let out a sigh. “No. She wouldn’t invade our privacy like that. But she would figure it out. Somehow.”
Jordan swallows. Then he clears his throat. “So we’re both going to sleep in that bed?”
I nod solemnly. “We’re going to have to.”
Jordan scrubs a hand through his hair and paces a few steps around the room.
His reaction is a little surprising. He’s been the perfect gentleman since day one: never trying to kiss me unless we’ve discussed it previously, always finding a way to make sure I was okay with hand-holding or his arm around my back or a peck on the cheek.
I know he can be a gentleman for a few nights and sleep on his side of this massive bed.
And I guess I kind of thought, with all the flirting he does, that he might have feelings for me. But the way he’s clearly agitated by the situation means I’ve misread him. His charming demeanor is just that—part of his personality.
Jordan paces back toward me and stops. “If we told Ellie the truth, would she tell your parents?”
“I can’t tell Ellie.” I shake my head. “She’d book the private jet first thing to take her to New York to give Mr. Stevens a piece of her mind and threaten to sue him or something for making me jump through ridiculous hoops.”
Jordan presses his lips together. “Maybe we should’ve thought to sue. Sexism.”
“I never would have won. Ellie wouldn’t win.
She’d just want to yell. They never came out and said the words, and they weren’t wrong that I am young and that I don’t have any hockey experience.
” I sit down on the bed, facing away from him.
“Ever since…” I hate talking about Grayson, and I can’t bring myself to say his name out loud.
I’m so grateful that Jordan has never brought him up or made me talk about that experience.
What happened with Grayson defined me for so long since it was all over social media and talked about on our show.
I’ve worked hard to get my image past that.
“Ever since the show ended,” I finish instead.
He can infer what I mean. Jordan’s a smart guy.
“My family has been overprotective of me—for good reason,” I rush to add.
I don’t blame them. What happened with Grayson terrified our whole family in one way or another.
“When Mr. Stevens suggested I couldn’t do this on my own, I knew my dad or Ellie or my mom could make it happen, but I wanted it to be me who did this.
Me who managed this franchise and made it a success. ”
“I know,” Jordan says softly. “And I understand.” His voice is closer than he was a moment ago, and I want him to take me in his arms. He won’t, and that’s my own fault.
“I hired you because you’re really smart, Jordan,” I go on. “That was a good decision.” Why couldn’t the governing board understand that I know what I’m doing, that I would surround myself with the right people? That’s what I did at my firm; that’s how I made it a success.
“I think so,” he says with a chuckle.
“To me, marrying you feels like an extension of that decision. But to Ellie and the rest of my family?” It will be running off to Mexico all over again.
I can’t say that. Years of therapy have taught me that Grayson had an unfair power dynamic with me, that he groomed me, and my decision to believe him and agree to run off wasn’t my fault.
Not really. I have to believe that, especially when I preach it to young victims all the time.
My family has never blamed me, but they also will never forget the terror of not being able to find me, and that will color their views of me for the rest of my life.
My throat thickens. “I have to do this,” I whisper. “I have to make them see that I would never do that again.”
A large, warm hand comes down gently on my shoulder. “We can do this,” he says softly. And then, after a long pause, “It’s just a bed.”
I laugh, but it comes out as a snort thanks to my near tears. “It’s a really big bed,” I say. He drops his hand, and I stand up and turn back to face him. “We can stay on our own sides.”
“Can I apply for a slightly bigger side?” he asks. He gestures to his tall, muscled body and gives me a pleading face. His lips twitch upward, and I see that he’s teasing to lighten the mood.
So I don’t ogle the large biceps defined by his long-sleeve Outlaws T-shirt and his broad chest. Instead, I fold my arms and give him an imperious look. “I need my space too.”
Jordan arches a brow, likely at the fact that I’m only 5’4”, at least a foot shorter than him.
“I like to sprawl,” I insist.
He folds his arms too. “Same,” he says dryly. But we can’t stay serious. Pretty soon we’re both grinning. “You want to change first?” he asks, gesturing to the door to the ensuite bathroom.
I am eager to get out of the clothes I’ve been traveling in all day and switch them for a pair of cozy sweats. It’s colder in Colorado than in Houston, especially at night.
“Yeah, thanks.” I want to go to Jordan so I can hug him and thank him for his thoughtfulness.
Not just for letting me use the bathroom first, but for how understanding he’s been of my situation from the moment I told him.
But I’m the one who created the “no touching in private” rule, and it’s unfair of me to break it any time I want to because I like the feel of his arms around me, cradling me to him like I’m a doll.
I can’t like that. It will only lead to trouble, even if Jordan is a good guy.
I’ll never be able to trust him fully, and he deserves so much more than that.
I dig around in my suitcase for my sweats and hoodie, trying not to imagine what it would be like to ask Jordan for one of his sweatshirts. How great it would smell. Then I close myself up in the bathroom for several minutes. I lean against the door and take a deep breath.
Acting like a couple all day, every day, is going to be a test of my resistance to this amazing man. Already part of my brain is insisting that he is good and I can trust him with my full heart.
“I’m an adult,” I whisper to myself. “I can sleep in a bed with my platonic husband and be just fine.” I stand up and put my hands on my hips for good measure, nodding to myself in the mirror.
You’ve got this, Libby Bennet. Like you always do.