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I reach my office, and as per my custom, I fish my keys out and pop into the bridal boutique. I can tell that my manager is already there from the open drapes. I inhale the scent of new fabric as I cross the store to the office at the back. The door is open, and Maggie is stooped over the computer, probably making orders from our suppliers.
Whenever I worry that I might be a workaholic, I think of Maggie, and that worry disappears. She loves her job and is the first to come to work. The fact that she’s an empty nester and a widow makes it easier, I suppose.
For me being single means that I can come to work as early as I want and leave as late as I want. I wonder how marriage, even a fake one, will change my life. The thought makes me frown. I love my life just the way it is.
“Morning you,” I tell her. “If it weren’t for your clothes, I’d think you spent the night here.”
She throws her head back and laughs. “I wish. I love this place.”
She talks about work and the new collections from various designers. We specialize in wedding attire and accessories, and as much as I love the boutique, my heart is upstairs. Planning weddings and other social functions.
I love the silence upstairs before anyone comes in. I make myself a coffee and carry it to my office. I attack the emails that have gathered overnight first. There’s a venue to confirm a booking, a final walkthrough date to confirm for a wedding this coming Saturday, and emails from brides and grooms and families.
The morning flies by, which is a good thing as I don’t get time to fret about Declan. At one, I leave the office for the day and head to Santa Monica. I let down the sunroof and enjoy the warmth of the sun on the drive down.
As I get nearer, the air becomes salty, and I smell the ocean. My heart thuds madly as I drive into Santa Monica and follow directions to the parking space. I feel as if I’m going on a first date, which is silly for various reasons. One, I have no feelings for Declan, and two, ours is a marriage of convenience. There’s no space for emotions. Allowing myself to have feelings for Declan is the quickest way to have my heart broken. The only thing that he’s interested in is access to his trust fund.
Not that I blame him. I’m in it for my selfish reasons too. To get a baby.
You can’t replace her, a voice in my head says, and I quickly shut it down.
The vibe in Santa Monica is vastly different from LA. There’s an idyllic mood, which reminds me of a vacation spot. What a nice place to live in, I muse as I stroll toward Main Street. I consult my phone once for directions and see that I’m on the right track.
I see Did you say Pizza? from a few stores down. The colors are vibrant, and there’s more activity than in other stores as people go in and out. I subconsciously quicken my step.
The interior is wonderfully cool, and I pause for a few seconds to admire the décor. I stand in a line, and when my turn comes, I settle for a small-sized house-style pizza.
Chapter 10
Declan
“I’ll get that,” I say and hand Luke, the cashier, a twenty-dollar bill.
Marian whirls around, and for a moment, I’m drowned by her large expressive eyes. I rouse myself and plant a kiss on her lips.
“Declan,” Luke says, jolting me back to the present.
I pocket the change, take Marian’s hand, and lead her to a table away from the noise. Usually, I love the sounds of children shrieking in the play area and the hum of conversation, but today, I want to concentrate on Marian. I hoped that she would come, and now that she’s here, I have to remind myself that she’s the same woman who left me in her house all alone. Okay, I sound like a wimp, but she did.
“It’s good to see you,” I tell her.
Her gaze bounces around the restaurant. “This is a lot bigger than I imagined.”
The fact that she’s impressed pleases me. “Thank you,” I say.
She swings her glance back to me. She looks so beautiful with her hair parted at the center and held back in a ponytail. Stunning. That’s the only word that aptly describes Marian.
“Were you planning on getting in touch any time soon,” she says coolly. “Or you already got what you wanted from this marriage?”
My anger flares up. “You’re one to talk. You left me a note like I was an escort.”
Her cheeks color, confirming that it had been a deliberate move. Maybe to put me in my place. The fake husband place.
