“Uh-huh.”
“It hurts sometimes because Mommy uses the clips I don’t like.”
“Sounds terrible,” I say, not registering what she’s saying.
I’m too absorbed with thinking of Maren and what she must be feeling. My thoughts go in circles, trying to wrap my mind around it all. Is she upset? Is she regretting it? Is she going to go through with it, or will I look like an idiot standing there with no bride?
My obligation to the resort is fulfilled. We successfully had our soft opening. The staff have been exceptional, and the issues we’ve found have been easily rectified. The fully booked rooms allowed us to push the project to the finish line. Also, Maren’s aunt is a travel blogger and told Maren she couldn’t wait to post about her stay.
All of this is good. I should be happy, but instead, I’m a wreck.
And I can’t stop thinking about Maren.
A hand waves in front of my face. “Hello? Are you in there?”
“Yeah, sorry, I . . .”
“You’re freaking out. Are you going to bolt? I have a code word I’m supposed to use if so,” Kinsley says, grabbing her phone.
“No, I’m not ready to bolt.”
She shakes her head, watching me closely before typing on the phone.
“What’s the code?” I ask.
“Chicken.”
“No doubt it’s what your mother picked?” I ask, and Kinsley smiles.
I hate my siblings some days.
I look down at her phone, and sure enough, the word is there. “Let me go talk to her for a second,” she says while getting eye-to-eye with her younger cousin. “Come on, Melia. We need reinforcements. We’ll be right back.”
“I’m fine, Kins.”
She shrugs. “I’d rather not be in trouble with the boss. She can get really scary.”
“And who is the chicken now?”
“You.”
“Just go so your mother doesn’t freak out,” I tell her with a chuckle.
She and Melia leave, and the room phone rings a few minutes later. I answer it with a very deep groan. “Hello, Stella. I’m not going to run. I’m just freaking fine—pissed off because our stupid older brother took my whiskey—but I’m not channeling my inner track star.”
“That’s great. Well, not about the whiskey though,” a soft voice replies.
Maren.
“I thought . . .”
“That I was Stella?” she finishes.
“Yeah.”
“I was having my own little freak out session before. Devney had to calm me down—again.”
I sit on the bed, leaning on my knees. “Glad I’m not the only one.”
“Look, I called because I wanted to tell you that it’s okay if you don’t want to do this. You’ve given me and my father a weekend that is something I’ll cherish forever. While I know it won’t be easy to back out, I would never hold it against you. If you could just let him walk me down, we can object or have someone else object. I know it’s not giving him everything, but it’s something. I bet I could convince Devney to cause a scene and tell everyone she’s still in love with you. Sean wouldn’t mind . . . much.”
I huff. “No one would believe that.”
She already had her chance to marry me and didn’t take it.
“Maybe not,” she agrees. “Whether or not you want to end it, I will always appreciate you for agreeing to any of it. There would be no hard feelings, and I never should’ve asked you to do this in the first place.”
The words I wanted to hear just a few minutes ago somehow feel wrong now. I know how her father feels and there is no way Maren wouldn’t resent me if I took this away from them.
“Are you in your dress?” I ask, not sure why this matters more than anything.
“I am.”
“Hair done?”
“Yes?” Maren says it as a question.
“Well, I’m in my tux, and everyone is already heading to the venue. It would be a shame to waste a perfectly good reception.”
“Oliver,” she says softly, “Even though the vows we’ll speak aren’t real, and even though we’re just pretending, I imagine this is still hard.”
I’m doing this to help a friend and to give a man who is dying something to hold on to. I’m not like my father. I’m not using anyone around me to gain something. The only risk is to myself, and well, I’m fucking used to that pain.
“I’m vowing to be there for you, Maren. Yes, I have strong feelings on marriage and divorce, but . . . it won’t be legal, and it’ll make your father happy.”
It’ll make you happy.
That is really the driving force on why I’m doing this.
“I just want to say that you, Oliver Parkerson, are one of the most incredible men I’ve ever known, and it’s an honor to be your fake bride. I’ll see you soon?”
“I’ll see you soon.”
She laughs softly. “I’ll be the one in white.”
I hang up and stare at the phone, wondering what the hell is wrong with me. She just gave me an out, and I couldn’t take it.
“Quarter for your thoughts.” Stella’s voice is right beside me.
“It’s supposed to be a penny.”
She smiles. “Your thoughts are worth more.”
Only she could make me laugh. “How did you get in here?”
She lifts the key card. “I’m an owner, and that means I have a master card. The girls said you were having a meltdown.”
I shake my head. “More just . . . self-loathing.”
“Yeah, I imagine you would feel that way. I know Grayson already talked to you, so I won’t say the same shit he did. But I think what you’re scared of is that you actually like Maren. You maybe have some sort of vision that she could be that girl for you, the one who would walk down the aisle toward you for real.”
The denial is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t want to lie to my sister. “But it is all fake.”
“It is, but when a man offers to do outlandish things to help a woman, sometimes he catches feelings along the way.”
“Whatever.”
“Just don’t beat yourself up too much, Ollie,” Stella says while reaching out her hand to help me up. “You’re doing something kind, and kindness is always worth it. Plus, you guys are heading to a private beach house for five days so . . . who knows what’ll happen then.”
My eyes snap up because we’re only supposed to be there for one day. “Did you say five?”
She nods. “I convinced her that you both deserved this vacation. You’ve had a hell of a few weeks and some rest and relaxation are what I think you both need.”
Fuck my life and save me from my meddling sister.
Fourteen
MAREN
Deep breaths.
I can do this.
It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything will go just fine, and then, after the honeymoon, we’ll come back and figure out how we announce our separation.
Yeah. All of this is great.
Perfect really.
Not a single thing . . .