Page 11

11

LACEY

“My life doesn’t suck.”

I say it out loud to myself, after I’m back at the condo and Théo has left for his office.

This may not be something I ever expected, but I’m lying here on a beautiful patio where I’ve been sunbathing in my bikini, looking out at the Pacific Ocean with the sun on my bare skin. I can pretend I have no problems—no bookies chasing me, no brother who’s in debt trying to pimp me out, no negative bank balance, and no unemployment.

It’s been so long since I had this feeling ... just being able to relax and not worry about bills and debts and other people.

I could get a job here. I will do that. I at least can make some money so Théo doesn’t have to buy my clothes.

I don’t have a car, and this city is the kind of place you need a car, I think. But I’ll figure that out. I’ll figure it all out and then ... and then ... I’ll be fine.

The ocean shifts and sparkles in the distance. Sailboats bob across the water. Thin white clouds streak the bright sky, and the voices of some guys playing volleyball down the beach carry to me on the fresh breeze.

My life doesn’t suck.

The water mesmerizes me. It’s so huge and endless, the waves constant. I feel like I could sit and stare at it forever and maybe the solutions to all my problems would come to me.

Ha.

I can live in this moment, though. I’ve been doing that for so long, because worrying about my mom and Chris and what was going to happen and how we’d get out of debt was too much to bear, so I’m pretty good at it.

My thoughts turn to Théo. I’ve slept with him the last two nights, but “sleeping with him” is not a euphemism for sex. Dammit.

I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to have sex with a man I just met the way I do with Théo. I haven’t had a lot of men in my life. I had a boyfriend in high school, and I went out with a few guys after graduation, but my mom got sick when I was about twenty-one and my life was consumed by working three jobs at times to pay her medical bills, looking after her, and keeping Chris out of trouble.

There’s something about Théo ... he’s a man . That probably sounds weird; he’s twenty-eight, only four years older than me, not exactly ancient, but he has such a mature air about him, something solid and honest and real. He not only has a job, it’s an important job. He has his life figured out and knows what he wants and where he’s going, whereas I have no clue.

Maybe it’s time for me to do that. To figure out what I want from life and go after it.

Théo said he’d be home around six, so I decide I’ll have dinner ready for him, like a good wife. I’m afraid I’m probably going to be a terrible wife, but it seems like the least I can do for him after all he’s done for me. And yeah, he’s getting something out of this too, but right now it feels a little lopsided.

I’m in the kitchen snooping through cupboards when I hear the front door open. I turn with a big smile, expecting Théo early. “Hiiiii!”

A woman stands inside the door.

I freeze.

We stare at each other.

Uh ... “Hi?” I offer. I’m acutely aware that I am wearing only a tiny red bikini.

She tilts her head and the way she does it reminds me of Théo. She’s lovely ... glossy, layered dark hair brushes her shoulders. She reminds me of Tina Fey. Except when she speaks she has a French accent. “Hello. I’m sorry. I didn’t know Théo had someone staying with him.”

She says Théo’s name differently—Tay-oh. Not Thee-oh, like everyone else has been saying. Even he himself pronounced it Thee-oh.

“You’re Aline, aren’t you.”

Her eyes widen. “Yes. Aline Gagnon.”

Her French pronunciation of her name delights me and I smile.

“And you are ...?”

“Oh! I’m Lacey. Lacey Olson.” I pause, thinking about whether I should call myself Lacey Wynn. But we haven’t had time to think about that, even if our marriage was real, and besides ... Théo’s mom’s name isn’t Wynn. Curious. “I’m, uh ...”

Aline presses her fingers to her mouth and takes a step forward. “Are you Théo’s girlfriend?”

“Weeeell.” This isn’t how I imagined meeting his mom, but might as well do this. “I’m his wife.”

Aline gasps.

“I’m sorry.” Now I move toward her, my hands out, wishing I had on more clothes. “I know this is a shock. This isn’t how we wanted to tell you.”

She blinks rapidly, her lips parted. “His wife. You’re ... married?” She takes in a shaky breath. “He didn’t tell us ...”

“I know. I’m sorry. But it happened really fast, sort of a last-minute decision because he was leaving Las Vegas and?—”

“Oh.” She covers her mouth and nose with both hands now, her eyes shiny. “Mon dieu, mon fils est marié!”

I have no idea what she just said, but she’s about to cry and I don’t know if she’s happy or distraught. “We were going to tell you, uh, this weekend when we see you. I’m really sorry! Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay! My son got married to a woman I don’t even know, without even telling us.” She pauses. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re a lovely person. You are beautiful.” She studies me, her expression still pained. “I’m just shocked. And ... and hurt. And disappointed.” Her eyes tear up again. “I missed my son’s wedding.”

I nibble my bottom lip. “You didn’t miss much. It was very quick. But it was all we needed,” I add hastily.

She swipes fingertips beneath her eyes and takes a breath. “I apologize for becoming so emotional.”

“No, it’s fine! I totally understand.” Jesus. This isn’t good. Théo’s mom hates me. As if they don’t have enough tension in their family, now I’ve added to it. I clasp and twist my hands together. I’ve caused Théo more problems than I’m helping him with. He’s going to hate me too.

Oh shit, now I’m tearing up. My bottom lip quivers.

“Oh, don’t you cry too! I’m sorry!” Aline flies toward me, arms outstretched. “Please.”

She wraps me up in an unexpected hug. Momentarily I stiffen, then cautiously hug her back. “You are my belle-fille . ” She draws back and smiles. “That is daughter-in-law. Translated literally, it is beautiful girl, or beautiful daughter. And that is what you are.”

I suck in a shaky breath. Okay, maybe she doesn’t hate me.

“I’m so happy for Théo that he has found someone. Someone to love. He can be difficult to love.”

“I don’t think so,” I reply honestly. I mean, I’m not in love with him, but he’s not that bad.

She beams.

“He can be a little rigid and picky, but?—”

Aline laughs. “You do know him.” She releases me and steps back. “I brought some food for dinner. I didn’t know you were here, obviously.” She goes back to the door and picks up a couple of shopping bags. “It’s just a few things.”

I take one of the bags and move to set it on the counter. “You’ve done so much to help Théo get settled in. He really appreciates it.”

She waves a hand. “I’m so happy he’s living close now.” She purses her lips. “I fear Théo doesn’t feel the same about his family.”

“He will.” I nod firmly. “I know there are bad feelings, but family is family.”

Aline tilts her head, again reminding me of Théo. “Just so,” she murmurs. “What about your family? Were they at the wedding?”

“I don’t have much family. My mom passed away a few years ago.”

“Oh! C’est terrible. Pauvre enfant.” Her eyes soften.

“Uh ...”

“I apologize again. I don’t speak French very often, but when I get emotional, I slip back into it. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks. It was a difficult time. I never knew my father, and my twin brother, Chris, is ... well, I’m not sure where he is.”

She frowns. “You have quarreled?”

“Sort of.”

“As have Théo and his brother.” She grimaces.

“So I understand.”

“Well. We won’t get into that. Tell Théo I was here.”

“I will. I’m sure he’ll be sorry he missed you. And sorry about not telling you sooner that we got married.”

Her mouth firms. “I now am angry.” She notices my face, and her mouth softens. “Un petit peu. Not at you. We’ll see you Saturday evening. Tell Théo seven o’clock.”

“I will. Thank you again for all you’ve done.”

I see her to the door where she gives me another quick hug and leaves.

I sag against the wall and close my eyes. Fuuuuuck.

Which is worse ... Théo’s mom hating me? Or Théo’s mom happy for us ... because what will happen when our “marriage” ends?

* * *

I have dinner ready when Théo arrives home, which was easy because of the roasted chicken Aline brought over. There were also side dishes of mashed potatoes, gravy, and vegetables, along with some fresh rolls that would be good for chicken sandwiches tomorrow with the leftovers.

“Wow, smells good in here,” Théo says as he enters the kitchen.

“Dinner’s ready!”

“Awesome. I’m going to go change. Be right back.”

He went to work dressed in casual pants and a button-down shirt, but he returned wearing the black athletic shorts he’d had on this morning and a T-shirt. I’ve changed into a new pair of shorts and a T-shirt.

“Where’d you get this chicken?” he asks as we sit down to eat.

“Well. Funny story.” I cut a piece of white meat. “Your mom stopped by with it.”

He freezes, fork halfway to his mouth. “Say what now?”

My smile is big and tight. “Yeah. She brought over food, not knowing I was here. Let’s just say it was a bit of a shock for her.”

“No shit.” He drops his fork onto his plate and stares at me. “You ... told her?”

“Yep. She got a little ... upset.” I eye him warily. “I think she wanted to be at your wedding. Of course, doesn’t every mom? So I totally understand.”

“Shit.”

“But it’s okay,” I continue quickly. “I think she was coming around to the idea.”

“Shit.”

“I know.” I sigh. “She seems really nice.”

“Yeah.”

“I apologized.” I fill him in on the conversation in detail.

“I’ll call her tomorrow.”

“And she said to come at seven o’clock on Saturday.”

“Perfect.” His tone is dry. “I wonder if she’s telling everyone else or waiting to surprise them too.”

I set my fork down and drop my head. “You regret this, don’t you?”

He doesn’t reply right away, and I peek up at him.

He moves his head side to side. “No.”

Our eyes meet and that smoldering heat is back, burning over my skin, settling low inside me. My short breaths lift my breasts and Théo’s gaze slowly drops there, lingers, then glides back up and lands on my mouth. My lungs burn and my lips part.

“I don’t regret it,” he says gruffly, breaking eye contact and staring at his plate. “But it’s probably a bad idea for us to actually get involved.”

I blink. Then I frown. “What?”

“I know there’s this”—he waves a hand back and forth—“attraction between us, but I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. I’ve got a family that’s nuttier than squirrel shit. I’ve got a new job where people are already talking about how I only got the job because I’m the owner’s grandson. I’ve got a million things to learn and just about as many decisions to make. I have to do this.” His hands curl into fists and his voice is fierce. “I can’t get distracted from what I need to do.”

The heat scorching my body intensifies to mortification. I told him I wanted to sleep with him. Jesus. Why did I say that? But then, he’d asked if it would be okay to act on the lust we were both clearly feeling. “You’ve changed your mind,” I say coolly. “When we were driving here yesterday, you seemed pretty into it.”

If we both wanted it ... would it be okay to act on that?

Well, I already said I’m not opposed to sleeping with you .

Oh my Gaga. I close my eyes. Why did I say that?

“That was a mistake.” He rubs the back of his neck and looks away. “You make me do crazy things.”

My eyes fly open wide. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

His head snaps back around, eyebrows pulling down over his nose. “What?”

“You can’t do that.” I slide off my stool and stand, planting my hands on my hips and glaring at him. “Shifting blame like that. Be a man, for God’s sake. Take responsibility for your own actions. I haven’t made you do anything .”

His eyebrows fly up into his hairline. “No! That’s not what I meant.”

“So this is a business deal after all.” Bitterness edges my voice.

“No. I told you. We’re friends helping each other out.”

“Friends.” My throat squeezes up. I shake my head. He wants to be friends. How can he ignore this growing, sizzling lust? Or maybe it is just me.

FML.

“Okay,” I finally manage to say, sounding sane and calm even though my chest hurts and my stomach cramps. I think I sound sane. “Friends. Got it. You’re right. That’s what we should do.” I take a calmative breath and perch on the stool again. I stare at what’s left of my dinner. Ugh.

I poke at my mashed potatoes while the air around us becomes thick and oppressive, the silence weighing heavy. All I want to do is run into my room and hide my head under the pillow and possibly never come out. “Did you ever make a volcano with your mashed potatoes?”

I sense his surprise and relief at my change of topic to something benign.

“Of course. Hasn’t every kid?”

“Probably.”

“One time I put some chocolate chips into leftover mashed potatoes, scooped it into an ice cream cone, put sprinkles on it, and gave it to JP.”

A startled laugh obstructs my throat briefly. “Did he eat it?”

“Oh yeah.” Théo grins. “He was pissed. It was hilarious.”

“I once cut up a sponge into squares and spread Nutella all over it so it looked like brownies.” I grin. “Chris grabbed one and started to chow down, and then he spit it out all over the kitchen.”

“Ha! Good one.”

Our eyes meet in shared amusement.

We both look quickly away.

I poke at my potatoes again. I try to eat, and when I think I’ve consumed enough that it doesn’t look like I’m running away, I set down my cutlery and stand. “Well, I’m full. That was good. So nice of your mom.” I carry my plate over to scrape the leftovers into the garbage and then slide the plate into the dishwasher. “I’m tired. Must have been our trip yesterday. I’m going to go wash up and read for a while before bed.”

“It’s seven o’clock.”

“Wow, really? Feels like ten!” I start putting away the leftover food.

“Leave it,” he says gruffly. “You’re tired. I’ll clean up.”

I shouldn’t leave it for him, but I do, because I’m desperate to escape the heavy atmosphere.

I close my door and throw myself facedown onto the bed. Jesus be a fence.

I lie like that for a while, letting thoughts spin through my brain. Eventually I calm down and roll onto my back.

Okay. He’s right. If we had sex, I might feel like I was prostituting myself. I’m living in his house, letting him buy me clothes and necessities, like a kept woman.

Argh!

And yeah, yeah, I know I have to put on the act for his family. I can do that.

A slow smile tugs at my lips. I can so do that.

But fine, we’ll be friends. I’ll just ignore that tingly, flippy feeling I get when I look at him. Or think about him. Or touch him, or smell him ... I can take care of my own needs, thank you very much.

Which I proceed to do, wriggling out of my shorts to lay there in my panties, sliding my hand down inside them to find my slick entrance, and getting myself off with a shuddering orgasm. I wasn’t imagining Théo’s fingers touching me. Nope, not at all.