Page 4

four

. . .

jed

I come down the stairs and then hesitate by the door leading into the agency. I run my hand through my hair and eye the door as if it were a portal to another world. In some ways I wish it were.

I think of yesterday and wince. I was an absolute fucking arsehole to Artie. He’d been so sweet and kind about it, but the fact remains that I left him alone on our wedding day.

Wedding day .

My first wedding was a sun-filled day full of laughter and love fizzing in my veins. I never imagined I’d have another wedding, let alone one so different. I look reluctantly down at the shiny new ring on my finger. I want to take it off and throw it away and pretend none of this is happening.

But I can’t. I’m here because of my own decisions. I conceived the ridiculous plan to marry Artie, and I still don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I’m a level-headed man who spent a large portion of his working life upholding the law. And now look at me. Racing around getting fake married so my assistant can cheat his dead stepmother and get his house back.

An image of Artie’s face crosses my mind—the stunned expression he wore when I’d outlined my plot. It had made me smile then, and it makes me smile now. Because I’d felt shocked to hear the words leave my mouth, too. The idea to marry him had erupted forcefully, similar to my desire to make things right in his world.

He’d been so sad and yet valiant when he’d explained the situation to me. I’d wanted to scream at his stepmother, because how could she have had such a wonderful young man in her care and then treated him so badly? How can she not have loved Artie? He’s sweet and so kind and always the first to help anyone.

Yesterday had been his wedding day. It might have been fake, but he deserved better than my behaviour.

Resolved to apologise profusely and make it up to him, I put my hand out to open the door and then freeze as another thought occurs.

The whole agency knows we’re married, and they think we’re in love. I’d expected them to find out, even if I hoped they wouldn’t. They’re a gossipy, clever bunch whose business is weddings, and banns are public information. So, I’d made plans to accommodate them if they turned up, knowing how much they love Artie. But the fact that I’d then have to pretend to be in love had somehow escaped me.

My brain seems to have oozed out of my skull. I don’t recognise myself, with my wild decisions and lack of forward thinking.

I take a deep breath. I can do this.

Of course, in a few weeks we’ll have to tell everyone we know that we’re separated. Another thing I completely overlooked.

I wonder idly whether this is some sort of midlife crisis. Then I fling open the door. A little too forcefully because it rebounds off the wall and swings back on me, and I just avoid breaking my nose.

“Gordon fucking Bennett ,” Ingrid screeches, half rising from her chair at the reception desk.

I stare at her. “Where on earth did that old saying come from?”

“My grandad says it to stop himself swearing.”

“So, you added fuck to the middle of it?”

She shrugs. “Sometimes you just need to add that word to a sentence.”

“Or a lot of the time if you’re you.”

She grins at me. “Congratulations again. Did you get everything sorted?”

I freeze. “Sorry?” I say in what I hope is a non-incriminating tone.

She flaps her hand at the door I just emerged through in such a spectacular fashion. “Artie said you had some stuff to do in the flat this morning.”

“Oh. Oh yes.” Bless him. He thinks of everything, because I’m damn sure they expected to see us coming in together this morning. Another thing to chalk up on my misdemeanours chart. I left him to come in alone. I’m a stupid, selfish wanker.

Her eyes narrow and I hasten to add, “Yes, just a few things. I need coffee,” I say quickly to forestall her usual questions.

“I bet you do,” she says, dropping me a wink that screams fnarr fnarr .

I stare at her in horror and then give up. “No,” I say.

Ignoring her snort of laughter, I stride through the office. It’s thankfully quiet, as the planners must be out at their morning meetings.

My steps falter as Artie’s desk comes into view. It’s empty, and I’m aware of my breath catching. The thing I’ve tried hardest not to think about comes roaring into my head. The kiss. It had been meant as a simple touch of lips to appease everyone around us, but I’d got more than I bargained for.

Heat had soared through me at the feel of those full, bee-stung lips under mine. I mark it as something else to apologise for. He’s stepped out of the box I put him in and now I can’t seem to make him go back.

I pause as he comes out of my office. He’s holding a sheaf of papers and wearing grey suit trousers, a white shirt, and a navy-blue tie. They’re simple clothes, but the trousers cling to the swell of his arse, and his shirt is pushed up his forearms, displaying the gold of his skin. I wonder if he’s that colour all over and blanch. Fuck me .

“Hey,” he says, the flush on his sharp cheekbones making his eyes appear paler than usual. He licks those full lips nervously.

When my cock jerks, I race into speech. “ Hey ,” I reply. “What a nice morning. The sun is shining.” My eyes widen in horror at that inanity.

I can think of something to say in even the direst of social situations, a skill drilled into me as a police officer and that’s been reinforced a thousand times as a wedding planner. But it’s deserted me when I most need it.

His lip twitches as he meets my gaze. I watch breathlessly as he comes towards me, and then gasp as he leans up and kisses my cheek. “Ingrid is watching,” he whispers into my ear, and I shudder at the feel of his breath on my ear.

“ Oh .” I pull him into my arms and hug him.

The papers scatter to the floor and they appear to have taken my brain with them. I drop a kiss on his lips. He exhales a startled breath, and his mouth opens. I slide my tongue over that full curve, and he makes a small sound that’s almost a moan. My head swims, everything going black as he kisses me back.

Clapping sounds from behind me. I let go of Artie so quickly he stumbles, and I grab his arm to stabilise him.

“I feel like I should be shouting encore,” Ingrid calls.

“I feel I should be shouting go back to work,” I snap.

She breaks into raucous laughter and vanishes back into reception.

I force myself to look at Artie, expecting recriminations. But he drags me into my office and shuts the door behind us.

“Artie—”

“Oh, well done ,” he exclaims. “That was perfect.”

“What was?”

“Your act?” His eyes narrow.

“Oh. Oh yes, of course . You didn’t mind?”

He looks surprised. “No, of course not. We knew we’d have to do some acting.”

“Yes. Yes, we did ,” I say a little too vehemently.

He stares at me for a moment and then his whole face softens, his sweet expression falling into place. “Are you okay, Jed?”

I swallow hard. “I’m fine. I’m so sorry about yesterday.”

“Oh, you don’t need to apologise.”

“I really do, so let me. It was unconscionable of me to come up with this plot and then abandon you on our bloody wedding day.”

His gaze darts down to his clasped hands before returning to me. He quickly smiles. “You didn’t abandon me. Yesterday was a pretence, and a pretence that was done entirely for my benefit.”

“I want you to have everything,” I say. “Everything you want and need.”

His mouth turns down for a moment, but then his smile returns as he pats my arm. “That’s impossible, but thank you anyway. You’re hopefully giving me my home back. I won’t ask for anything else.”

What else would he ask for? He leans on the edge of the desk, but he’s close enough I can smell his sweet, warm scent, partly his cologne and partly just him. It makes my head swim.

“Can I?” he asks hesitantly.

I realise he’s been talking while I’ve been wool gathering. “Can you what?”

“Can I ask what in particular upset you?”

Before I can respond, he rushes to explain. “I only want to know so I don’t do it again. I can’t bear for you to be so upset because you’re doing me this huge favour.”

“You didn’t do anything,” I say. “Artie, look at me.”

He obeys me, his eyes big and pale. Before I get lost in them, I say, “It was nothing to do with you. It’s just…”

I rarely share my emotions. Even with Mick, I kept them back. At first, it was because I was in awe of the worldly older man who somehow wanted me, and I didn’t want him to see my weaknesses. Later, those positions became entrenched in our marriage.

Artie watches me and I find myself saying, “It was the ring.”

We both look down at his hand. The gold band is unfamiliar on his finger, yet somehow it looks as though it’s always been there.

“The ring?”

“It just occurred to me that I’ve been a widower longer than I was married. It doesn’t make sense, but…”

“But it upset you,” he says quietly, and the absence of any judgement in his voice is something I don’t deserve. I’d insulted him by leaving him alone at that restaurant yesterday.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Okay,” he says simply.

The tightness in my chest eases, and the understanding in his blue eyes warms me. He’s always made me feel this way.

“But we do have a problem.” He glances at the closed door.

“Only the one? It is a good day.”

“Yes, well my dad used to quote Shakespeare. The ‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive’ line. It’s completely appropriate for our situation, as we’re now stuck with everyone thinking we’re in love. We were going to separate in a few weeks and annul the marriage. What do we do now?”

I shake my head. “Shit.”

For some reason he finds that funny and breaks into peals of laughter that are so contagious that my own mouth twitches.

When he’s calmed down, he asks again, “So, what do we do?”

It’s hard to concentrate on the problem with him sitting so close to me. “We’ll have to wing it,” I finally say. “And maybe pretend. Do you mind?”

“Do I ? What about you?”

I shrug. “It shouldn’t be too hard. Neither of us are demonstrative in public. We’ll just say that we’re trying to keep it professional.” I hesitate. “And I hate to say this, but I think you’re going to have to move in with me.”

“You’re joking !”

I offer him a wry smile. “I don’t know whether to be relieved or mortified that we’re such crap fakers. You should stay with me for a few weeks, because the lawyers might check up on things.”

His brow furrows. He’s probably thinking of my flat. I control a wince and hope he doesn’t notice. I can’t have him living in what was once the place I shared with Mick. “In a hotel,” I blurt out.

“Pardon?”

“I’m going to have work done to the flat, so we’ll get a suite at a hotel. The suite will have two bedrooms, but we’ll just say we’re using one as an office.”

“I didn’t know you were doing work upstairs.”

Neither did I, but apparently, I am now.

“Oh yes,” I say vaguely. “A complete refit.” I want to groan because now I’m committed to doing up the flat in the near future.

He studies me, and I resist the urge to squirm. Finally, he nods. “Well, you must allow me to reimburse you for the hotel.” I open my mouth to argue but he talks over me. “This is my fault and there is no way that you’re paying for that.”

I’m momentarily nonplussed by his air of command. Then I smile. “I’d have to move out of my flat, anyway.” I hold up my hand. “How about halves?”

“Okay,” he says slowly.

“Shake on it.”

He studies my hand and then slides his own into it. It’s strangely smooth and easy, like a key sliding into a well-worn lock. I tighten my grip involuntarily and then pull away. “Perfect. I’ll let you find the hotel and book it.”

Instantly back in his groove, he grabs his notepad from my desk. “Any requests?”

“Near the office, and it must have a gym and a pool.”

“Okay.” He bites the tip of his pen, and I have to conceal a shudder as my body reacts to the sight of those full lips pursing. His mouth is so pink?—

“And when we split up?”

I blink. “Sorry?”

“When we split up, what do we say?”

My stomach pangs, but I say calmly, “We’ll just say it was a mistake and we’re going to stay friends and work colleagues. It’ll be a storm in a teacup, but over with before we know it. Nobody is that interested in us, surely?”

He looks doubtful, but before he can reply, there’s a huge bang on the door that makes us jump. It slams open and Raff walks into the room with his hand over his eyes.

“I’m sure I’m not interrupting any workplace frolicking,” he shouts, seemingly unable to grasp that my office isn’t the size of the Albert Hall.

“And yet you still came in. What joy,” I say.

Artie nudges me, his eyes dancing.

Raff fumbles with something in his other hand. There’s a bang and multicoloured confetti shoots out behind him back into the planners’ office where it cascades over Artie’s desk and a large portion of the floor.

“Shit. Wrong way,” Raff mutters. “Wait, wait, I have another one. Now where did I put it? Joe? Joe? Where’s my backup confetti bomb?”

“And so, the circus begins,” I say sourly.

Artie starts to laugh. “What were you saying?”

Three Days Later

I’m fastening my cufflinks as I stride into the suite’s living area. “Artie?” I call. “Are you ready?”

The door to his bedroom opens and he appears, tugging on the jacket of his navy suit. I eye him appreciatively. I like him in that one. It complements his beautiful eyes.

“Okay?” I ask. “Are you nervous?”

He bites his lip and looks down at where he’s fiddling with his tie. “It’ll be fine,” he says. This has pretty much become his mantra lately.

I step closer and tap his hands away. “Let me do it. You’re mangling it.” He gives an aggrieved sigh that makes me want to smile. Instead, I work on untangling the mess he’s made of the knot and then retying it. I try to ignore how close he is, a state of being I’ve avoided since we got the hotel suite.

We’ve spent three days here. I thought it would be jarring to be in such close quarters with another man after all these years, but what boggles my mind is how easy it’s been. We’ve eaten breakfast together on the balcony every morning and then dinner in the hotel at night, and it’s almost like we’ve been together for years. We discuss work and politics and a variety of other topics. He’s clever, with a quick mind and a kind nature, and his company is addictive.

I’ve tried to steer our conversations towards the impersonal. I don’t want to know things about him that no one else does. That way lies disaster. And each night I’ve said goodnight firmly and retired to my bedroom.

He doesn’t need to know that I’ve then lain awake listening for his movements, unable to stop imagining what he looks like tangled in sheets warm from his body and scented like him.

I finish his tie, aware of his sweet breath on my face, and then step back. “There. Perfect.”

His eyes twinkle. “Thank you.”

“It’s going to be fine. You do know that, don’t you?” He shrugs and I take his arm gently. “We’ve covered everything. The will reading will be fairly quick and quite impersonal.”

“You’ve done it before, then?”

I hesitate before responding.

He blanches. “I’m so sorry. Of course, you’ve done it before.”

I shake my head. “Don’t be silly. Yes, I was obviously at Mick’s will reading, but that was simple, despite the sums of money involved. And I was also at my dad’s.”

“When did he die?”

“I was ten. A very long time ago. Right, are we ready?” I say briskly, unwilling to walk down memory lane. We’ll go back to being boss and employee very soon.

He grabs his jacket and I take it from him and hold it up so he can slide into it, the intimacy of the gesture catching me unaware with a pang. I ignore it and smile at him. “You’ll be free of me very soon. We only need to do this until the house clears and then it’s back to normal.”

He gives me his usual smile and nods, and we leave the suite together.

The solicitor’s office is in an attractive Georgian building opposite a small park. The waiting room smells of old paper, and the sound of the cars on the road outside is loud.

We’re the only occupants apart from a lady who, according to Artie’s whisper, was his stepmother’s cleaner. He’d greeted her kindly, only to be glared at. He’s too peaceful to reciprocate in kind, so I’d done it for him. She’d blanched and then I’d guided him to the other side of the room as far from her as possible. Now we’re sitting in silence.

A hand lands on mine and I startle. Artie smiles at me. “You’re tapping,” he says, and I realise I’ve been tapping my foot—an old habit. He doesn’t let go of my hand, and when my gaze drops, I see our wedding rings nestling close together. I swallow hard and he pulls his hand away.

“It’ll be fine,” he says, and I offer him a smile.

An old man in a tweed suit enters the room.

“Mr Davies,” Artie exclaims.

The old man gives him a warm smile. He has a kind face. “Artie, my boy, how are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Are you ready?”

Artie nods.

Mr Davies edges a little closer. “Did you take my advice about consulting another solicitor?” His expression is worried.

“No need,” Artie says calmly. “Let me introduce you to?—”

There’s a noise at the door and Laura’s cleaner gives a horrified gasp as Daisy sails into the room. Artie’s mouth drops open, and I try hard to cover my laugh as a cough. She’s in a long red dress, her hair is dyed purple, and she’s wearing a red veil.

“Oh, my goodness ,” Mr Davies breathes.

I snort again, and Daisy beams at me.

“I am here for the reading of the will,” she says grandly. “I do hope I’m suitably attired.”

The cleaner mutters something about Sodom, and Daisy waves at her.

“This dress seems appropriate for my monster… I’m sorry, I meant my mother.” Mr Davies’s mouth twitches, and Daisy turns to Artie. “What do you think? Is it too subtle?”

“Terribly so,” he says dryly, accepting her hug. I bend to let her hug me next. Her perfume is sweet. “How is he?” she whispers. “Not overcome by guilt and willing to blow this gig out of the water?”

“You’ve been watching too many films. He’s fine.”

“Well, come in.” Mr Davies guides us into a room lined by bookshelves and lit by pale stripes of weak sunshine. We seat ourselves and then turn as one to look at him.

He coughs and takes some papers from his desk. “Well, are we ready?”

“Where’s my great-aunt’s solicitor?” Artie asks. “I thought he’d be here.”

“He isn’t attending the reading, but I will be seeing him afterwards when he will go over the details.” His mouth tightens. “Extensively,” he adds sourly and then pastes a small smile on his face. “We are here for the last will and testament of Laura Campbell.”

“I am ready,” Daisy says very seriously. “I am sure she had many poisonous barbs to impart before she carked it.”

His eyes twinkle, but he proceeds to go through the dry details. The cleaner has been left a nice sum, and her pleased hum reinforces this fact. Daisy receives the money from her father’s estate, which she already knew would happen. Then Mr Davies turns to Artie.

“The next clause pertains to the house in Wimbledon which was left to Laura during her lifetime and was to come to you on her death, Artie. There was also a sum of money that your father imagined would come to you, but as with so many of these bequests, I am afraid to say that a lot of this money has been eaten up with the costs to keep Laura.”

“At least they don’t need heating in hell,” Daisy mutters. “The devil will be very relieved because she’d bankrupt him in twenty-four hours.”

I try not to laugh.

Artie nudges her and the solicitor continues to speak. “As such, it will only provide a small stipend.” He gives a dry cough. “I also regret to say that Mrs Campbell had let her stewardship of the house lapse, no doubt due to her ill health.”

“More to do with her spite eating her alive,” Daisy mutters.

Artie leans forward. “What do you mean by that, Mr Davies?”

He grimaces. “The house has fallen into disrepair. It was being used as a squat by a group of people for a few years. They were only moved out a few weeks ago.”

There’s a stunned silence that I break by turning to Artie. “Did you know that?”

He shakes his head, looking stunned. “No. I haven’t been near the house for years. It hurt too much,” he whispers, and I squeeze his hand.

The solicitor hums. “I regret to say that the damage is extensive, Arthur.”

“It’s fine,” Artie says, swallowing hard. “I just want what’s mine.”

Mr Davies coughs. “Yes. Well, now we’re coming to the rather strange condition that your stepmother put on you inheriting the house.”

“What’s that?” Artie asks, his eyes widening. He’s a terrible actor, and I bite my lip to hold in a smile.

“There’s no easy way to put this. Mrs Campbell has stipulated that you must be married to inherit the property.”

“Quelle horror ,” Daisy says rather loudly.

The old man looks at Artie, his affection is clear. “Arthur, I would highly recommend that you seek counsel over this clause. I can say no more than that, but it is my strongest recommendation.”

“No need,” Artie says serenely.

Mr Davies looks flabbergasted. “I beg your pardon?”

“We’ll go along with my stepmother’s clause. I wouldn’t dream of going against her last will and testament when she spent so many years and effort getting her own way in everything else.”

This time, I don’t conceal my laugh.

The cleaner gives a disgusted sniff, but the solicitor looks troubled. “Are you sure, my boy?”

Artie nods. “Quite sure.” He takes my hand and the solicitor’s eyes sharpen. “Mr Davies, this is my husband, Jed.”

“ Really ?” The old man gives a wide smile as Artie nods. “Well, my boy, that is fantastic news. Let me shake your hand.” Artie stands up and the two men exchange handshakes. I stand up and take the hand the solicitor offers me. “You have a very nice young man, Jed. May I call you Jed?”

“You may, and I know. He’s wonderful.”

The answer sounds honest, because it is. Artie is the best man I know.

The solicitor is all smiles now. “Well, that’s excellent news. So, you should have no worry in complying with the rest of Mrs Campbell’s request, then.”

I go still, and Artie immediately looks wary. “The rest? Haven’t we already heard it all?”

The solicitor waves a hand. “Oh no. That was only part of the clause, Arthur. Mrs Campbell stipulated that you not only have to be married but also that you are to live in the house as a married couple for six months.”

The words drop into the room like a bomb. My heart thunders, and Artie gasps.

Daisy puts a hand to her mouth. “I must have missed that part,” she mutters. “Shit,” she says in a louder voice.

“I couldn’t have put it better myself.” I slump in my chair. What the fuck have we done?