Page 18

Eden

I waited by the door until the sound of the car engine faded, then turned and took a slow walk down the hallway. There was an archway at the end leading into a large kitchen. The countertops were black, the cabinets beneath and on the wall burnished chrome. Everything looked brand new and untouched, which couldn’t be right. Maybe he hired someone to come in and clean for him. I didn’t want to touch anything for fear of leaving smears and fingerprints, so I backed out and found my way to the door he’d said was the living room.

The interior surprised me. I’d expected something as crisp and cool as the kitchen, but what I found was a room designed for comfort. I toed out of my sneakers before stepping inside. The couch was curved and covered with large cushions. Two throws were folded across the back. The dark-gray carpet was thick beneath my feet as I walked across the floor. In front of the couch was a rug, a deep red stain against the darkness of the carpet, and on top of it was a glass-topped coffee table. A large screen television was on one wall, framed by bookcases stacked high with well-worn paperbacks. A trio of framed photographs adorned the wall to the left of the door. I moved closer to look at them.

In the first were three boys standing in front of two adults—a woman and a man. The boys were in shorts and kneeling on the sand. The woman was leaning against the man and laughing up at him. His arm was wrapped around her shoulders while he shielded his eyes and looked toward the camera. The boys appeared to be in the middle of building sandcastles, holding spades and buckets. I couldn’t say for sure, but I guessed one of them must be Bishop.

The second photograph was of three men, dressed in suits and dark glasses. Bishop was immediately recognizable in the center of the trio, and the two either side of him were obviously related. They had the same hair color, the same build, and the same jawline. I couldn’t see their eyes behind the dark glasses. Two of the three were unsmiling, while the third grinned, revealing a small dimple in one cheek.

The last one wasn’t of a person, but a dog—I thought it was a German Shepherd. It was sitting, head cocked, eyes bright and tongue lolling out. There was a tiny plaque beneath the frame with one word etched into it—Hope.

I touched the image gently with one finger. Was that the dog’s name? Where was it now? Was it a childhood pet? Bishop didn’t strike me as the type to be attached to any kind of pet, let alone have a photograph of one on the wall. What did it mean?

Moving away from the photographs, I explored the rest of the room, looking through the books on the bookcase. Most of them were thrillers, but squashed at the end of one of the lower shelves I found a copy of ‘Good Omens’ by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. I pulled it out and flicked through it. It was just as worn as the other books on the shelves.

What happened to his claim of having no spare time to just relax? When was the last time he’d read a book? I placed it back in its spot, straightened and turned back to the door.

I needed to go and pick something to wear for dinner. He’d said the place was formal, so staying in the jeans and t-shirt I’d worn to travel in was not going to work. I needed to wear one of the things he’d bought in Vegas. But what? A dress? A skirt? Pants? And how much did I need to take with me when we went to his friends for the weekend?

I retraced my steps back to the bedroom and pushed open the door to the bathroom. Chrome and marble greeted me. The bathtub sitting in the center of the room was designed in the style of an old iron bathtub from years gone by. Beyond that was a shower surrounded by glass panels. My eyes moved between them.

Shower or bath?

A shower would be faster, but unless there was a way for me to dry my hair, it’d turn into a frizzy mess of curls.

Returning to the bedroom, I threw open the door to the closet and looked inside. It was completely empty with enough space for me to step right inside and close the door if I wanted to. But there was no hairdryer. Not in the closet, or in any of the drawers of the dresser.

A bath it was, then.

***

I was putting the finishing touches to my makeup when there was a soft tap at the door. Screwing the top back onto the mascara, I placed it beside the rest of the makeup kit and stood, smoothing my hands down over my thighs.

“Come in.”

The door swung open at my words to reveal Bishop. His hair was slightly damp, and he’d changed out of the clothes he’d traveled in and was wearing a dark gray suit, with a white shirt. He propped one shoulder against the doorframe.

“Ready to go?”

“Almost.” I crossed to where I’d left the low-heeled shoes I’d paired with the dress and slipped them on. “Am I formal enough?”

One corner of his mouth tipped up while his eyes slid down over my form, from head to toe and back up again. Nothing about the look suggested he was admiring me. It was purely assessing.

“Perfect. My brother, Rook, and his girlfriend are meeting us there.” He straightened and held up one hand when I drew breath to protest. “I thought it would give you an easy start. They’re going to be at Crosby’s party. Meeting Rook now gives us a chance to set our story in motion.”

“He knows about me?”

His hand dropped until it was flat in the air, and he waggled it from side to side. “Kinda, sorta.”

“What does that mean?”

“I told him I’d met someone, and the attraction had hit me hard. So much so I didn’t want to lose you, so I brought you home with me.”

“The attraction …”

The hint of a smile teasing his lips solidified. “Yes, the attraction. He met his girlfriend through a pretend date, so there’s reason for him to believe something similar might happen to me. So, they’re both coming to dinner, and you’ll get to meet them and have some faces you’ll recognize when we get to Crosby’s place.”

“Does he know why we’re married?”

“No. If I’d told him the truth, he would have told Magdalena. He won’t keep secrets from her. The less people who know the truth, the better. He just thinks I used my natural charm to convince you to take a risk and jump into marriage with me.”

“This sounds crazier every time you talk about it. There’s no way your brother will believe we’re together.”

“We’ll make him believe it. The weekend depends on us being able to sell the lie.” He turned away. “If you’re ready, we should go.”

Ready for what? Dinner? The pretense to really begin? To meet his brother?

The answer to all of those was no . I wasn’t ready. But what choice did I have? I’d already signed the contract and agreed to the terms.