3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Caroline
The bedroom door had barely closed when Caroline reached for the fastening at the back of her dress. Her fingers found smooth fabric, then nothing. She twisted to reach higher. The deep blue sleeves pulled tight across her shoulders, and one of the pins in her hair scraped her scalp.
“Hold still,” Hayden said.
“I can do it.”
She couldn’t. The high neck felt tighter than it had before dinner. She tried again, caught the small tab of the zipper, and lost it. A hot, stupid rush of frustration rose into her throat.
Behind her, Hayden set his watch on the dresser. He’d already removed his jacket, and his tie hung loose around his neck.
“Caroline.”
“Who hides a zipper this well?”
“Turn around.”
“I’m trying to get out of it.”
“I can see that.”
“Then stop watching.”
The sharp words surprised them both.
Caroline faced the mirror. Her hair remained pinned into the low knot the stylist had made, though pale strands had come loose around her face. Her eyes looked too bright. She reached behind herself once more, and the first tear slipped down her cheek.
Oh, no. She lowered her head. If she didn’t move, perhaps it would stop there.
Hayden stepped closer. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re crying.”
“I’m aware.”
His hands settled lightly on her shoulders. “Did Dasha say something to you when I was with my father?”
Caroline laughed once, and the sound came out wrong. “Why does it have to be one thing?”
He met her eyes in the mirror. “I don’t understand.”
“I know.”
Another tear came, then another. She wiped them away, angry that she couldn’t hold herself together until she was alone.
She had survived the entire meal. She had thanked Larissa for correcting her.
She had smiled at Adam. She had answered Dasha without throwing a glass of wine at her perfect green dress.
Now a zipper had defeated her.
Hayden turned her gently. “Tell me.”
“It was dinner.”
“What about it?”
“All of it.” She pulled at the high collar. “Your mother called me a wildflower because, apparently, saying I look wild is sweet if she smiles. Then she said my hair was almost tamed. She corrected my fork in front of everyone and called it a little trap.”
“She corrects Paulie too.”
“Paulie knows which fork to use,” she scoffed. “He picked up the wrong one to make me feel less stupid.”
“You aren’t stupid.”
“Your father told everyone that making cocktails is the one thing I’ll always be good for. Dasha said I have no self-consciousness while looking at me as if I should’ve stayed behind the bar.”
“She said your lack of self-consciousness was refreshing.”
“Yes, Hayden. I was there.”
He frowned. “I thought they were teasing.”
That hurt more than it should have. More than the wildflower. More than the fork.
Caroline stepped away from him. “Of course you did.”
“What does that mean?”
“Everyone else always understands the joke except me.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is. They say something about my hair, or my clothes, or the fact that I was a bartender, and all of you laugh. Then I get to decide whether I’m too ignorant to understand that it was affectionate.”
“I wasn’t laughing at you.”
“It feels the same from where I stand.”
Hayden rubbed a hand over his face. He looked as tired as he had in the library, only now, the softness was gone from his eyes.
“My family is difficult. I’ve never denied that.”
“Difficult.”
“Mother shouldn’t have invited Dasha. I told you I didn’t know, and I dealt with her.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I made it clear that I’m not interested in her.”
Caroline had spent the drive home watching dark hedges pass the window and wondering where Hayden had gone after Adam called him away. She’d wondered where Dasha had gone too. Hearing that he’d rejected her should’ve helped. It did help, a little. It simply didn’t touch the rest.
“Your mother adores her,” Caroline said.
“My mother doesn’t decide who I love.”
“She decides who comes to dinner. She decides that I need a stylist to fix me. She decides what I’m supposed to know before I sit at her table.”
Hayden’s expression tightened. Caroline had gone too close to the truth.
She could tell him about the hours she’d spent standing still while the stylist explained everything wrong with her.
She could tell him about the etiquette lessons in their formal dining room, where every mistake earned the same thin smile.
She could tell him how the chef spoke to her when Hayden wasn’t home, or how the maids made her feel like a dirty glass somebody had left in the wrong room.
She held the words behind her teeth. She swallowed them.
Hayden had hired people to help her because Larissa had complained. They were skilled, expensive, and perfect when he was in the room. He already thought his family had only been teasing. What proof did Caroline have beyond the way they made her feel?
“You don’t need their approval,” he said. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Ignore them.”
“How?”
“By remembering this is our marriage. Not theirs.”
“They live a few minutes away. Your mother arranges our dinners. Your father calls you into his study. Dasha walks in as if she belongs there. How am I supposed to ignore people who are always in our lives?”
“I’m not asking you to enjoy it. I’m asking you not to let them ruin what we have.”
The answer sounded so reasonable. Caroline wanted to climb inside it and rest. She also wanted to shake him until he understood that she wasn’t the one who had invited them into every corner.
“Paulie said your father is still asking for a postnup.”
Hayden’s jaw went hard. “Paulie should learn when to keep his mouth shut.”
“Is it true?”
“Yes, he keeps asking. I keep saying no.”
She pressed her hands together over the front of her dress. Her wedding band and engagement ring touched, gold and diamonds against her skin.
“I’ll sign one,” she said.
“No.”
“If that’s what they need–”
“It isn’t happening.”
“Why not? If it makes them stop thinking I married you for money, I’ll do it.”
Hayden crossed the space between them.
“I’m tired of this discussion. I gave my parents an answer. They don’t get to keep asking until they hear the one they want, and neither of us is giving it to them.”
“But I don’t mind.”
“I do.” He took her hands and separated them, holding one in each of his. “You don’t need a contract to prove that I trust you.”
Her breath caught.
“I chose you, Caroline. I knew exactly what I was doing.”
“We’d known each other for one weekend.” Her voice had turned small.
“And you tried to leave me before it was over.”
The memory came back with painful color.
She’d been alone in his Vegas hotel suite when she’d searched his name.
Hayden was taking a call on the balcony, speaking in the clipped voice he used for business.
Caroline had been sitting cross-legged in the middle of the enormous bed, wearing the yellow dress he’d bought her, with the shoes still in their box because she was afraid to scuff the soles.
She’d meant to prove that he was a swindler.
Instead, the search results had shown photographs of Hayden in dark suits outside towers and hotels.
Chief executive officer of Lynch Properties.
Son of Adam and Larissa Lynch. Articles listed projects in several cities and guesses about his wealth that made her stomach turn.
Society photographs showed his parents in rooms full of people who looked as polished as they did.
The man on the balcony had the same face as the man on her screen, but he’d suddenly felt much farther away.
When his call ended and he stepped back inside, he noticed her expression.
“What is it?” he’d asked.
She’d held up the phone. “You’re actually rich.”
His mouth had moved as if he were trying not to smile. “I told you I wasn’t a swindler.”
“I thought you meant you had a good job and irresponsible taste in hotel rooms.”
“I do have a good job.”
“Hayden.”
The smile had disappeared. He crossed to the bed, but she slid off the other side and stood. The suite seemed even more absurd now. The wide windows, the deep bathtub, the room-service cart by the wall, the sitting area they hadn’t used. He lived this way. It wasn’t a holiday version of him.
“We aren’t meant to be together,” she’d said.
“That’s a dramatic conclusion for a search page.”
“It’s a sensible conclusion for once. Look at your family. Look at mine.”
“I’m looking at you.”
“I’m a bartender with an interior-design degree nobody wants to hire.
I share an apartment with a college friend.
I send my mother money when I can, and she still lives with my aunt because none of us can afford anything better.
” Caroline had pointed toward the windows, where Las Vegas stretched below them.
“You probably own the ground this hotel stands on.”
“I don’t.”
“That isn’t enough of a correction.”
He’d come around the bed. “What are you afraid I’m going to do?”
“Wake up.”
“I’ve barely slept since I met you.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.” His voice had softened. “You think I’ll decide this was fun and go back to my real life.”
“Won’t you?”
“You are my real life.”
The certainty in his face had frightened her more than doubt would have.
“You can’t know that.”
“I love you.”
She’d stopped breathing.
Hayden took the phone from her hand and set it on the bed. “I love your terrible opinions about my face. I love that you make fun of things everyone else pretends to admire. I love watching you work. I love that you haven’t asked me for anything except honesty.”
“The yellow dress.”
“You argued about the yellow dress for twenty minutes.”
“It was expensive.”
“It was a dress. Caroline, I’m in love with you.”
She had loved him too. The feeling had arrived too fast and grown too large, but naming it made it no less true.
“I love you,” she’d whispered.
His whole face had changed. The smile that followed wasn’t the polite one from photographs, or the sharp one he’d worn during business calls. It was the open, delighted smile she had already begun thinking of as hers.
Then he’d said, “Marry me.”