Chapter 28
Paige
“Marry me.” Zach has my hand firmly in his grasp and the other slides into his pant pocket, producing a beautiful diamond ring.
Suddenly my throat is dry and my heart slams against my rib cage, beating too fast. This can’t be happening. Zach isn’t proposing to me. There’s simply no explanation for it. Nan moves into my line of sight, her eyes glittering with delight, flicking from me to Zach and back. I’m reeling.
Warm. Sweating. Dizzy.
Then Morgan rushes in and we’re hugging. Zach smiles like an arrogant bastard, and Nan is glowing. I’m nauseous, choking on the excitement and joy coming at me from every direction. And all over a faux engagement.
It can’t be real. Why did he propose? We hadn’t talked about this.
I would have never agreed to a fake marriage.
That had to be why he did it like this. Sprung it on me with an audience.
I’d have no choice but to go along with him, unless I wanted a scene.
There’s no way Morgan or Nan would have accepted anything but a ‘yes’.
My insides are heavy, tight, and I’m crushed.
I just stand there, nodding foolishly. Unable to push ‘no’ out of my mouth. Why? Because a silly, na?ve part of me wishes this were real and true. Wishes he wants to marry me for me.
I can’t deal with this right now. One thing that is real is the gala.
And it isn’t going to just magically be ready for tomorrow.
It’s the only thing that will help me get my head on straight.
Work. There isn’t much time left and lots of work still to do in preparation for tomorrow.
Much like our fake relationship, the engagement will have to come to an end, but for now, I’ll go with his charade and bury my confusion and anger until we’re alone.
“Let’s go.” I push past their expectant gazes toward the door, stopping to pick up the design plan.
“Wait a sec.” Morgan yanks at my elbow. “We’re going to be related. This is so amazing.”
“Yes.” I swallow past the lump swelling in my throat.
Zach’s eyes bore into me and I shoot him a tight-lipped smile, not able to look him in the eye. My insides are a bloody battlefield of emotions, bleeding and wounded from the end of whatever this is. Work is the only thing that will see me through today. Why did he have to do this?
The timing sucks. Thanks, Zach.
Tomorrow is the biggest day of my life. I put my heart and soul into the gala and it has to go off without a hitch. I can’t be distracted by some silly proposal.
The ring sits, snug and foreign, on my finger and I resist the urge to take it off. “Please, let’s get to work.”
No one protests and before long, I’m immersed in the numerous tasks needing completion before today is done.
The committee members are in working groups, finishing the brochures on our charity and finalizing the giveaways.
Things are going smoothly. Or as smoothly as they can with a surprise proposal dumped in my lap.
But then it all goes to hell.
Nan makes a comment and since she’s across the room, I can’t make out the words, but I don’t need to. She leans into Bettina and says something about the ring or proposal—the one thing I had hoped would go unsaid.
Like a heat-seeking missile, Bettina locks gazes with me and while I’m sure it’s only a beat, or two at the most, our staring contest feels like forever. And then she breaks the connection, moving in for the kill.
Marching over to me, ladies follow, crowding behind her, and the sight is intimidating. My first instinct is to run or hide. Who am I kidding? The sensation of being on the edge, ready to spring into action, isn’t new. I’ve wanted to run and hide since Zach put the ring on my finger.
Bettina grabs my hand, squeezing my fingers in her larger palm. “It’s beautiful. I’m so happy for you. Zach is a lucky man.”
The women swarm around me, pawing my hand, gushing over the two-carat halo diamond ring. Nan stands silent and proud, overseeing the entire affair—one which she orchestrated.
“Thank you.” The response sounds strange and inappropriate but it’s all I’ve got.
“What’s going on over here?” says a woman, cutting through the mob. Blonde hair grabs my attention and my heart sinks into my stomach. Reagan Hussey. When did she get here?
She had been coy about whether she’d be able to be here today and while I certainly need the help, I was also grateful there was a chance she might not show. No matter how helpful she claims to be, whenever she’s around, things are difficult.
Even though I’m the center of attention, Reagan pays me no mind, sparing not even a glance at my face. Instead, she tilts her gaze down to my hand, now in Mrs. Gallagher’s grip. Finally she lifts her head, giving me a clown-like smile, too tight and maniacal to be real.
“That’s my ring,” she says accusingly, and heads snap in my direction. Some even grill me with a guilty look, as though I belong behind bars without even knowing what crime I’ve committed.
“Pardon?” My lips are dry and my head swims.
“Zach proposed to me with that ring.” She juts out her chin, a small pout forming on her lips.
All the air is sucked out of the room. Mrs. Gallagher drops my hand as if my implied treachery is contagious and I can barely breathe. Reagan squares her shoulders, placing her French-manicured hands on her hips and scowls, waiting expectantly for me to explain.
My mouth opens and closes like a fish, but no sound comes out. Even if I wanted to refute her claim, I can’t find my voice let alone get air into my lungs. The blood drains from my face, I’m certain of it, and as nauseous as I am pale, I step back.
“He loved me and we were going to get married. How’d you get that ring?”
“I...” I stumble back.
“Take it off and get out of here.” Reagan points at me, her cheeks reddening by the second. “You’re a thief and it’s an utter disgrace to have you running things, let alone associated with the foundation.”
“This is preposterous. Stop,” Nan says, now at my side. ”Zachary never proposed to you.”
“How would you know, Nan?” Reagan narrows her serpent-like green eyes. “If she isn’t removed from the foundation, I’m pulling my family’s funding and we won’t back Project Miranda.”
Collectively, we hold our breaths and I can barely wrap my head around what Reagan threatened. She can’t do this. Project Miranda, named after Zach’s mother, is to be the pinnacle achievement of this year’s gala.
When I presented to the board the idea of investing in a large desalination project in Africa to turn saline water into freshwater, Reagan was quick to offer the initial start-up funding.
The vote was unanimous. Project Miranda will change the course of the foundation and its more-than-money approach by creating jobs, a sustainable freshwater resource in the region, and so much more.
And now she’s willing to ruin the plans set in motion and the good the project could do all because of some ring? And she was with Zach. He loved her? Why didn’t he say something to me? All those times I complained about Reagan and not once did he tell me about their history.
I want to scream and tell them all I don’t want to marry Zach, even if it isn’t the truth. I can’t believe Reagan is so petty and vindictive. I’m hurt and angry to have their past explode in my face but that doesn’t mean I’d put the gala and foundation work in jeopardy like she’s doing.
“Zach and I have dated on and off for years. Everyone knew we’d eventually get married.” Reagan sniffles, wiping at an invisible tear, and some of the younger women standing around us nod in agreement.
Nan lets out a refined snort, not buying Reagan’s assertions, and bile burns in the back of my throat. Is she telling the truth? Why would she lie?
“Paige isn’t going anywhere.” Nan steps in, blocking me from Reagan’s mounting wrath.
My gaze darts around the room looking for the man in question, and then I remember I’d asked him to pick up the silent auction cards from the printer.
He left a while ago. But as if choreographed, at that moment Zach pushes through the front doors and he stills, locking in on me.
He must pick up on my anxiousness because he doesn’t hesitate to stride purposefully toward me.
It isn’t surprising he’s attuned to my state of mind.
There’s no way I’m calm or focused enough to hide my distress.
Not wanting him to join this crowd of quick-to-judge women, and needing to get away, I slink off, hopefully unnoticed with all eyes on Reagan, and meet him halfway.
“What’s wrong?” He clasps my elbow, sending a spark through my nerve endings.
“We need to talk.”
I push him into a small room with the office supplies and close the door behind us. Reagan is still locking horns with Nan Rothwell.
“Were you going to marry Reagan Hussey?” I pull away from his grip, grateful for the privacy and to be away from prying eyes.
Ramrod straight, he averts his gaze for a split second before meeting my scrutinizing stare. It’s barely a blink of an eye but enough to know Reagan wasn’t lying. It’s as if I’ve been punched in the gut and my stomach muscles throb with betrayal.
“Talk to me.” My jaw tightens.
“I’m not talking about this here,” he whisper-growls.
“Were you in love with her? Who broke it off?”
His answers don’t matter if what she says is true. I mean, who gives another woman the ring he gave someone else? But something is off. If they loved each other, Nan would know about them. Wouldn’t she?
And even if she didn’t, why didn’t he tell me?
Let’s say he kept it a secret because he knew his grandmother would be all over him.
Fine. But why didn’t he say something when we first talked about our deal?
I had a right to know. Or when I talked about Reagan, why didn’t he say something then?
Or more importantly, why didn’t he tell me before he proposed?
“You were going to marry her for your trust fund.” It’s meant to be a question, but I say it without doubt.