Hitched (Imperfect Love Book 1) (13 page)

Noah

As far as the media’s concerned, a couple of our status should have a wedding with glitz and swagger, but Olivia decided she felt most comfortable having our ceremony at her father’s beach house on Nantucket. It’s a purely legal wedding. No fanfare, just a handful of family and close friends. Even the beach house itself is a quaint place, with just two bedrooms, an open-plan kitchen and living space, and a wide porch looking out onto the beach.

That stretch of beach is where we’ll tie the proverbial knot in about an hour. Drinking beer in the kitchen with Sterling, I watch seagulls land on the folding chairs we set up earlier, scaring a few tiny crabs back into their holes.

This whole affair is the polar opposite of what Camryn told me about Olivia’s scrapbook wedding. And I don’t know how to feel about that. Did Olivia just want to keep things convenient and cheap? She is the practical type, and she’s been tearing her hair out over Tate & Cane’s expenses recently.

Or is she trying to preserve her romantic dream by keeping her reality as far away from it as possible? I’m not sure I like that idea, considering I’m part of her reality . . .

“Another beer?” Sterling asks.

“I better not.” I glance at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall. “Fifty-eight minutes till I say I do.”

My best man smirks. “You think she’s actually going to go through with it?”

“You don’t?”

He shrugs. “She locked herself in her room two hours ago and hasn’t been out since. I offered her breakfast this morning, and she said she was too uneasy to eat. I don’t know, mate. It’s entirely possible that she’ll back out.”

“The contract’s all drawn up. We’ll sign it on Monday when we’re back at the office. Why back out now? Olivia’s a woman of her word. She’s dependable like that.”

He lets out a grunt of disapproval.

“What’s the big deal? You took a fake date to prom,” I remind him.

I chuckle to myself, remembering the year Sterling took his cousin to the dance. He thought it was genius at the time—no corsage to buy, no need to impress her with a fancy restaurant or limo ride. Until the end of the night, when all the rest of us were enjoying some skin-to-skin contact with our dates, and he realized what a horrible decision he’d made. The only skin-to-skin action he got was with his hand.

“A fake wife is a hell of a lot different. It’s a big fucking deal.” Sterling glares at me over the rim of his beer.

Looking out over the ocean from our spot on the porch of the beach cottage, I loosen my tie, which has grown too tight around my neck, and level him with a dark stare.

“Actually, it’s legally binding, so she’ll be my real wife. Until we got divorced, or got the marriage annulled or whatever.”

I clear my throat, my unease growing. “Oh, one more thing.”

After Olivia’s father presented the contract to us this morning over breakfast, I took a copy with me out to the porch while Olivia retreated to the bedroom. I didn’t view it as a bad sign, just that we were both taking this seriously and needed a moment to absorb it.

With a cup of coffee, I read the contract in full detail. Page fourteen, section twenty-eight, part B stated that the fulfillment of our contractual obligations as new owners of the multi-billion-dollar conglomerate was also contingent on Olivia getting pregnant. Within ninety days.

I stormed inside to talk to Fred immediately.

“An heir clause? Is this your sick way of ensuring the family name carries on? You actually expect me to knock her up?”

“It’s part of your father’s will, Noah. Bill and I both wanted a grandchild before we died. Surely you can understand that.”

“And what has Olivia said about that?” I asked him.

He made a noncommittal noise in his throat. “We haven’t discussed it yet.”

That was this morning. And I’m pretty sure that’s the reason Olivia locked herself inside her bedroom and hasn’t been seen since.

Taking a deep sigh, I watch my best man carefully as I drop my news. “I need to knock her up.”

Sterling spits out his drink.

“There’s an heir clause in the contract,” I say dryly.

Wiping beer from his lips, he narrows his eyes on mine. “You’re telling me you need to impregnate her?”

“Uh-huh.”

The fucker actually laughs at me, then takes another sip of his beer. “If I know the first thing about Olivia, it’s that she’s not going to want your bun in her oven.”

“O, ye of little faith.” I smirk at him.

“Has she even touched your cock yet?”

Aside from grabbing it through my slacks once at the restaurant, no. But that doesn’t mean anything. We’re building on something good here. It’s only a matter of time.

“Don’t be an ass.”

I stand up and cross the porch to the railing, leaning on it as I look out on the endless pool of blue lapping at the shoreline. I may be putting on a cool and unaffected front about all of this, but in fact, I’ve been losing my shit ever since I learned about the clause in the contract this morning. I can only imagine how Olivia feels. I don’t even know if she wants to be a mother. Probably not, seeing as she eats, sleeps, and breathes her career.

“You’re good, buddy, I’ll give you that, but even
you
won’t be able to pull this one off.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Watching the water is hypnotic. It makes me feel slightly calmer. But only slightly. I’d probably need horse tranquilizers to get anywhere close to a normal heart rate.

“And what about you? The reigning party animal is seriously going to have a baby?”

I turn back to face Sterling. He’s kicked back in a weather-beaten rocker on the porch, one leg hooked over the arm of it. With no good answer for him, I just give him a cocky wink.

“I’ll figure it out.”
I hope.

His mouth drops open for a second. Then he throws up his hands in a dramatic shrug. “It’s your life, mate.”

“I’ll take my chances. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to check on my bride.”

I knock on the closed door of the bedroom Olivia set up in and hear the two feminine voices inside hush.

“Yes?” Camryn opens the door just a crack.

“Can I have a minute with Olivia?” I ask.

Camryn’s brow furrows. “It’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony.”

“It’s okay,” Olivia says from inside.

“Fine. You can talk with her for five minutes.” Camryn glancing at her watch and then skirts around me into the hall.

When I push open the door, I find Olivia seated at a vanity, and our reflections meet in the mirror. Her eyes are rimmed in red, and I wonder if she’s been crying.

Guilt stabs at my chest and I suddenly feel short of breath. “Are you okay?”

I can’t believe how much my relationship with Olivia has grown, how real my feelings have become. The thought of her so upset feels like a physical shove.

She nods. “I think so. Today’s been strangely emotional. All these things I haven’t thought about in a while, like my mom not being here, my dad’s health . . . it all hit me this morning.”

“Come here.”

I pull her to her feet and into my arms. As I bring her close to my chest, her hands settle on my back. I hold her for several minutes, neither of us speaking. When I let her go, Olivia looks more composed. I wonder how she feels about the heir clause—wonder if she’s on board, indifferent, or terrified. I’m guessing the latter.

“I’m okay. I promise.” She gives me a small smile.

“You look beautiful,” I tell her, meaning every word.

She looks down at her simple cream-colored sundress with lace trimming the bust, and smooths it over her hips. “Thank you.” Her honey-colored hair flows in loose waves over her shoulders, and her makeup is light and natural. She looks like the perfect casual beach bride, fit to grace the cover of one of those bridal magazines.

“Are you sure you aren’t going to regret this?” I ask, the moment taking a turn for the serious. I probably won’t love her answer, but I still want to know her honest feelings.

She shakes her head. “All I’ve ever wanted is to run this company. My dad’s been grooming me for this moment for fifteen years.”

I nod, understanding perfectly. We’re in the same position.

“And if I have to do it with you by my side, so be it.”

Olivia thrusts her chin up in the air, and I’m again struck by guilt. She’s putting on a brave front, but I need to know she’s okay. Otherwise, I’m not sure I can go through with this.

“I need to know if you’re really okay doing things this way. Doesn’t every girl dream about a white dress and a big party under a tent?” I know for a fact that Olivia does. But I don’t mention that; she may not have wanted Camryn to tell me something so personal.

She gives me a sympathetic look. “We’ll make it work.”

“It might not be the wedding you envisioned, but I want you to know that it is to me. I really would take care of you if anything bad happened. I know what we have isn’t love, and that you deserve to be loved and cherished by your husband, but I need you to know I’ll always step up and be there for you. So in that sense, my vows will all be true.”

She swallows, and I wonder if there’s a lump stuck in her throat like there is in mine. That thought eases some of my guilt the smallest bit.

“Thank you for that. I know you’ll be there for me when it matters,” she says, her tone soft.

“Damn straight, I will.”

“Thanks, Noah.” She smiles at me.

I pull the creased contract from the inside pocket of my jacket. “I went ahead and signed this. So, whenever you’re ready.” I hand her the contract, and she sets it down on her vanity table.

“Thank you.”

I lift her hand to my mouth and kiss it. “See you out there.”

She nods. “I’ll just be a few more minutes.”

“Okay. I’ll send Camryn back in.”

As I head out into the hall, I’m struck by the feeling that maybe, just maybe, Sterling is wrong, and all of this will unfold naturally between me and Olivia.

Call me crazy, but hell, it may just work.

Olivia

I’m at my family’s summer cottage on Nantucket Island, motionless while Camryn puts the finishing touches on my eye makeup. This bedroom is still decorated according to my tastes in my high school days—which apparently involved a lot of tie-dye, mandala posters, and framed rain forest photos. Heh . . . I’d forgotten I had a hippie phase. At its small whitewashed desk, where I sit now, I did my summer homework and wrote in my diary.

Thank God for Camryn. She drove over early to lend a hand before the ceremony. As far as primping goes, I didn’t really need her help. I’m not doing anything special with my hair or makeup. My only concession to the special occasion is a cream-colored dress, and even that is pretty plain: just a knee-length wrap with a little lace at the bust. I look more like the mother of a bride than the bride herself. What I did need—desperately—was my best friend’s moral support. Her calm, matter-of-fact presence soothes my frazzled nerves.

I don’t even know why I’m wound so tight. Our “wedding” is just Noah and me meeting with a justice of the peace to sign the paperwork, while Dad and a few other family members and close friends stand by. No tuxedo and gown, no vows, no reception party. As short and simple as humanly possible. This marriage isn’t even real . . . and yet I have a textbook case of cold feet.

“And boom,” Camryn announces proudly. “Eyes are all done. Take a look.”

I open my eyes and blink at myself in the mirror. Wow, I look . . . hot. My usual makeup style is pretty minimalistic, since I rarely go anywhere besides the office, but Camryn has given me a subtle smokiness that’s sensual while still being demure enough for a daytime event.

“This looks great. Thank you.”

“Am I good or what?” Camryn grins. “Do you want anything to eat? Now’s your last chance before I do your lips.”

The kitchen counters and breakfast bar are piled with casseroles and salads and finger sandwiches from the catering company Dad hired. I told him I didn’t want a reception with a fancy meal afterward. But he insisted that our guests, as few as they are, still need to eat before heading back home. So this was our compromise, self-serve casual fare on paper plates.

I shake my head. “No, thanks. My stomach is flip-flopping like crazy.”

“That bad?” Camryn asks, her tone rising in sympathy.

I let out a deep sigh. “Honestly? I’m not sure how I feel.”

I really do believe that Noah and I can work as a couple. But I’m still on the verge of panic. Marriage is such a huge commitment. Thinking about taking that step—oh God, and in less than an hour too—makes me break out in a cold sweat.

If Camryn hadn’t been here to steady my nerves, I might have seriously considered bolting. Especially when Dad handed over a copy of the contract at breakfast—all looming and official with its sixteen numbered pages. I still haven’t been able to bring myself to look at it. But I already know what it says, anyway. What’s the point of stressing myself out even more? I’ll just sign it when the time comes, quick and easy, like ripping off a bandage.

“Poor thing.” Camryn sighs. “Let me get you a drink. You need a little something to take the edge off.”

She bustles out of the bedroom to visit the kitchen and comes back with two glasses of merlot. My best friend knows me well enough to forgo the bottle of chilled champagne nestled in its ice bucket on the kitchen counter. Champagne is much too celebratory for the mood I’m in.

I accept the pleasantly chilled glass and take a deep swig. The small dose of alcohol subtly warms and loosens my muscles, and I let out a quiet sigh. She was right; I did need this.

“I really think this will be okay,” Camryn says. “From what I’ve seen, it seems like Noah’s been pretty sweet and attentive toward you.”

“Yeah, I do think he’s really trying.” I take another sip of my wine. “Even if his ultimate goal is just to get into my pants.”

“And that would be the worst thing in the world, why?” She raises her eyebrows at me with a devilish grin. She’s continuously griping about the state of my nonexistent love life.

I snort, smiling back despite myself. “I have about as much interest in riding his knob as I do in jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge.”

Except when the jerk does something sexy and all the blood in my brain suddenly flies south for the winter. Which seems to be happening more and more often lately.

“Ladies . . .” Sterling pokes his head around the door frame, smirking like he heard every word. “Knob riding will commence after dinner.” Then he tips his chin toward us and leaves.

Fuck
. The last thing I need is Noah thinking that tonight will feature any wedding-night hanky-panky. Frustrated, I growl and slam my eyes closed.

“We need something stronger than wine.” Camryn charges back into the kitchen before I can stop her. I can hear clattering as she searches through cabinets. Soon she returns, holding out a bottle of vodka. “Here we go.”

“No, that’s okay.” I wave her off. “I don’t really want to get too tipsy right now.”

She sets down the vodka on the desk. “Good point. We should wait until after the ceremony.”

“Actually . . .” I sigh. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ll be in the mood to socialize tonight. I need some time alone to figure stuff out.” Or bury my head in work like an ostrich and avoid my situation entirely. “Thank you for coming all the way out here.”

She nods. “Of course I came, Olivia. I can head back to the city early, no problem. It’s a long trip back anyway.” Her gaze wanders over toward the deck where Noah and Sterling sit with their backs to us, looking out over the beach. “Then again, Sterling’s pretty fucking hot. I could probably busy myself with him tonight.” She grins wickedly.

“Knock yourself out,” I say with a shrug. Someone around here should have fun, after all. “In fact, go ahead and get him now. I can do my lipstick by myself.”

We share one last reassuring hug before she leaves me alone in my childhood bedroom, taking her drink with her.

I push up the window and inhale the saltiness of the humid ocean breeze. The afternoon is warm, and mist rises from the blue harbor. For a minute, I watch a handful of distant sailboats, dim white dots bobbing on the horizon. I try not to obsess about the ceremony that will be starting in just half an hour. Letting the peaceful view fill my mind, I feel my tension start to melt away.

But the blessed silence shatters when my phone rings. Grumbling, wondering who the hell would call me right now, I dig it out of my purse.

I frown at the screen. Since I don’t know this number off the top of my head, I answer with a brisk, “Hello?”

“Good afternoon, Olivia.”

My stomach contracts into a tight, painful ball.
That voice . . .
For a moment I can’t speak.

“You really should check your e-mail more often,” Brad says.