I swipe the key through the reader, open the door, and let Maren in first. I follow her, slowly taking in the room.
There are floor-to-ceiling windows, which offer the most stunning views of the lake and mountains, the floors are a light-colored oak that makes the entire space feel larger and brighter, and my and Maren’s bags are already tucked off to the side for us.
“Holy shit,” Maren says behind me, her eyes moving around. “This room is . . .”
“Amazing,” I finish.
“More than that.”
It really is.
Maren’s aunt got to come up here late last night to take photos for her blog, and I really hope that article does this space justice. Otherwise, this is a very expensive room that no one will ever see.
“So, it’s our wedding night,” Maren says, turning and walking backward.
She’s absolutely stunning. A few errant pieces of her blonde hair have fallen free of her updo. The bottom of her dress is looped around her wrist, and the one shoulder strap is falling down just slightly. Her smile is relaxed, and her eyes are bright.
I want so badly to pull her into my arms and kiss her again. Being able to do just that and not have to think twice about it has been the biggest benefit of today. Sure, we had to pretend to love each other, but half the time, it was just natural to be with her. To reach my hand out and touch her soft skin was a reflex instead of a calculated action.
I don’t know when this became more real than pretend, but it has, and in a week, it will be over. She’ll go back to her life, and I’ll be here, alone again.
“It appears that way.”
She laughs while shaking her head. “I don’t have words for how today made me feel.”
“Oh?”
I follow behind her as she makes her way deeper into the room. “It’s like . . . a mix of weirdness and comfort. Does that make sense?”
“Not at all.”
She giggles. “I didn’t think it would. All night, I was just so conflicted. We are married, well, depends if Mark can figure that part out, but we never planned to be. But either way, there is no one else in the world I would rather be fake married to.”
I raise my brow, moving even closer. “Why is that?”
A part of me doesn’t want to know because I wasn’t her first choice, but I can’t resist asking.
She watches me, long lashes framing those gorgeous green eyes. “Because . . .”
I step again, watching her breath hitch because we are just a few inches apart. “Because?”
“Because you make me feel safe. I don’t remember ever feeling that way before. I trusted you, and you didn’t let me down. You stood beside me, even in all my craziness.” She looks down, a faint blush painting her cheeks. “I liked it. I needed it.”
I needed it too. I needed to be near her and to make her feel that way. All night, I sought her out, wanted to be sure she was all right. Even now, I want to protect her, keep her safe, hold her close.
I tilt her chin so she’s looking at me. “I don’t know what is happening between us. I can’t figure out if this is real or just a product of what we created, but I know that I like being with you. I like kissing you, touching you, and talking to you. I’m not looking for anything. I gave up on love and relationships because they all end the same way, but I am glad I made you feel safe. It’s what you deserve to feel.”
She smiles softly and then lifts onto her toes. “I like kissing you too.”
My arm moves around her back, and I pull her so her chest is to mine. “Then why don’t I do it again?”
And then I do. Our lips press together, and she opens to me without hesitation. I slide my tongue into her mouth, loving the dance we create. She’s playful, sensual, and sexy as hell. Her hands move up, tangling in my hair as she moans.
I could do this. I could strip her down and take her, make her feel so much more than just safe. I want to, but that would get emotionally messy, and I don’t do messy.
When I pull back, her lips are swollen and her eyes are glazed over. “Why did you stop?”
Because I’m a fucking idiot.
“I just . . . in the spirit of this whole thing, I’m not looking for anything. I gave up on love and relationships because they all end the same way. I have this resort to worry about, and I don’t know if either of us is thinking straight.”
She takes a step back, swallowing but keeping a smile on her face. “Right. I didn’t think that’s what we were doing. I know this was all fake for you—I mean us. And, well, you’re probably right about not thinking straight. We both drank a lot and are probably just caught up in the whole thing, right?”
I nod. “Yeah. I . . .”
“I am so sorry I kissed you.”
“Well, I kissed you first.”
“Kind of. I mean, I leaned up onto my toes, which was when the kiss started.”
I shake my head. “But I said I was going to kiss you.”
“Which you did.”
“Which I did.”
Maren pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, and the urge to kiss her again rises.
Shit.
“It’s fine,” she says quickly.
It really is not fine, but I’m not going to argue.
“I’m glad.”
“How about we get changed and watch a movie?” she suggests.
I don’t really want to watch a movie, but it’s really the only option we have.
“Sounds good.”
We both head over to our bags, and she stops. “Wait!”
“What?”
“I almost forgot.”
Maren heads to the other side of the room and starts going through the stack of envelopes. She pulls one out. “This. It’s the one from my father, and he said to open it when we were alone.”
“We’re alone.”
She nods. “I’m nervous.”
“Why?”
“Because I know my dad, and he’ll have gone overboard.”
“Whatever it is, he wanted you to have it.”
She sits on the couch, and I settle in next to her, taking her hand. “Us. He wanted me and my husband to have whatever it is.”
“Open it,” I encourage.
She pulls her hand away, carefully lifts the flap, and pulls out what looks like a document. I give her a second to read it, waiting for her to tell me what it is. But then her hand starts to tremble before a sob breaks free. I pull her to my chest. “Why are you crying?”
She hands me the paper, which turns out to be the deed to a lot of property in Virginia. Holy shit. He gave her land and a house.
“This . . . this w-was my m-mother’s. It’s her family’s land that I thought went to my uncle.”
I wipe her tears away. “Looks like it didn’t, and now it’s yours.”
“He kept it. All this time. He kept it, and I don’t know what to think.”
I’m not sure I understand why she’s so upset, but it’s clear this means a lot to her. “Tell me,” I encourage.
So, we sit in our wedding attire, and I listen to her tell me about her family’s farm in Virginia. It was where her mother grew up and where she dreamed of raising her kids. When she died, she didn’t have a will and the property went into probate, where her uncle argued it should be his. She thought he ended up with it because her father mentioned it and they stopped taking weekend trips out there.