Maybe if he’d let the deception go on after I received that text from Miranda, I might not have, but the second I needed to go to my sister, he was popping that small piece back into place, fixing the bike as quickly as he was able to break it. He wasn’t going to torture me by thinking I couldn’t get to my sister when she needed me. I just wiped the last evidence of his arousal for me on his leather jacket, accepted the helmet he handed me, and we were on our way.
I wish I could have stayed, but Miranda needed me, and as soon as Sebastien dropped me off at my parents house, it only stung a little that he rode off. I knew he had to. This was between my sister and me, and as soon as she saw me, she threw her arms around me in a tight hug before grabbing my hand, dragging me to her room.
Why was she freaking out? Simple. Because my ex had spent over an hour today, driving up and down our street in his fancy silver BMW. Just in case Miranda didn’t notice him while she sat at her desk, doing her homework, he actually parked along the curb, staring up at her for half of it.
Eric was stalking my sister. Not because she was his next target, but because he knew it would get back to me. Because he knew that I had blocked him, and he had pivoted to getting my attention the only way he could without creating a scene at my apartment.
I’ll give him credit. He knew exactly how to get a reaction out of me. Target Miranda and Annaliese will fall in line.
In a way, it worked. Though Sebastien made sure I took my helmet—myhelmet because he actually bought me one so I could ride with him… at least, hetoldme that he bought it for me specifically—with me before telling me to call him when I was done so that he could bring me back to my apartment on his bike, I spent the night in my childhood bedroom.
Miranda drove me home the next morning after we checked to make sure that Eric hadn’t decided to come back. Much calmer now that she could make sure that I was okay, my sister promised she’d keep an eye out. If Eric came back, I would have to interfere, though she told me that she was more concerned that Iwouldconfront him than that I wouldn’t.
But I have to. I’m the big sister, and Eric Ward is my problem.
I thought he gave up. I thought he realized that I blocked him and he got the hint. I’ve already been married for almost a month. Odds are he has to have heard the gossip that Sebastien Reynolds took a wife. If he hears that her name is Annaliese, he’d instantly jump to the conclusion that ‘her’ wasme. That’s how he works. The world revolves around Eric Ward, so if he wanted to own me, he’d assume that another Owed would as well.
Of course, if hedidknow, I don’t think he would just terrorize my sister. I’d expect him at my door. Well, good. If he shows up, I’ll just flash him the wedding band on my finger. So long as I have his name to hide behind, Eric can’t threaten me anymore.
If I’m lucky, my ex will move on to another victim by the time my year as Mrs. Sebastien Reynolds is done. And, true, I do have to admit that, as far back as I can remember, he’d been there, lurking, watching me from the distance, keeping an eye on me from the tie I was eighteen until I was twenty-two. By twenty-three, we were officially together, and we stayed that way for two years until I accidentally discovered that his wife wasn’t anywhere near as dead as he pretended, but, instead, living a separate life with her own lover.
That’s when he admitted that he would never leave Cicely. There would be no marriage for Eric and me because there would be no divorce for Eric and his wife. It wasn’t that he was insistent that I become a Used so that I could continue to be his mistress. Oh, no. By fucking me without offering me marriage, Iwasa Used—and he knew it.
I loved Eric, but he lied to me…betrayedme in the cruelest way possible… and now I’ve found myself in a fake marriage, trying my damndest not to fall even harder for the husband I can’t have.
And in case I forgot that because Sebastein took me for a ride on his bike, I get slapped in the face with a dose of reality in the days that follow…
Once I left myself into my apartment the next morning, I close my eyes, and, for a split second, I’m back on that narrow path next to the waterfall. His bike is there, his body braced under mine, the hungry sound he made echoing in my ear as I remember how easily he came apart in my hands.
I can smell him. His cologne mingled with something that I now recognize as exhaust from his bike…
His bike. I think back to how proud he was that he built her—he built Betsy—all by himself. Of how he could break the bike, then fix it, as though he can speak to the machinery. I think of how it’s obvious to me that he would be the best mechanic in Harmony Heights if his last name wasn’t Reynolds.
And I think of the black Amex in my purse, and how he told me to pick a salary for planning Alexandre Reynolds’ birthday before doubling it…
It’s a thought. A seedling. A mere what-if. For now, I have to focus all of my attention on Alexandre’s birthday. It’s coming up quickly, and I’m determined to make it the best bash that Harmony Heights has ever seen. The venue… the guest list… the menu… I have to finalize all of it. And then, if my germ of a plan starts coming to fruition… maybe I can run with a secret gift for my husband that he would, never expect.
I owe him. For the name he gave me for the next year, and for the ring on my finger that awards me some level of protection. Iowean Owed, and I keep that to myself while I throw myself into getting Alexandre’s party ready.
It’s easy, too, since I haven’t heard from Sebastien since the night he left me outside of my parents house.
That was three days ago. And, to be fair, I haven’t reached out to him, either. How can I? When part of me is convinced that he’ll demand answers to questions that I just can’t face, and the other part thinks that, now that he spent some time with me alone… when he actually let me touch him again… he decidedthat, yes, keeping this strictly professional during the course of our marriage of convenience is the way to go?
He doesn’t call. Doesn’t text. Doesn’t stop by my apartment, which is really fucking weird because, despite me opening a window during the day to air it out, his scent lingers.
Or maybe that’s because I can’t stop thinking about him…
It’s okay. I should’ve known better than to think that a handjob would be enough to convince him to take our marriage of convenience and turn it into something real. He’s doing me a favor already by just giving me his name. The picnic was sweet, and hearing him talk about his dream of owning a garage made me feel like he was letting down his cocky guard around me, but that simply means that we’re getting to know each other better. We’re not strangers anymore, like I told him. We’re… well, I’m not surewhatwe are, but I can’t expect him to treat me like his real wife all the time because I stupidly got used to it.
And then, right when I’d taken the hint that Sebastien wants to put some distance between us, I get a text in the middle of the day.
HUBBY
I hope you’re free tonight. I’m taking you out.
We’re going to the Court.
My phone nearly slips out of my hand.
