7
Theo
A black Lincoln town car pulls up in front of the house, and my heart bangs against my ribcage.
I knew I’d have to fake my happy marriage, but I hadn’t expected it to be this soon after Imogen proposed the idea of a sham to cover up our …
I still couldn’t say, or even think, that word. I’d spent the two days since she asked me to help secure her legacy in utter despair. This was happening, and I was complicit in it. I’d even asked her to leave me … what kind of fucking masochist was I?
Even as I cursed in my head, I admonished myself. Imogen was always reminding me of my unrefined mouth … it was the WASP in her. And then I’d tease her about her liking my unrefined mouth in our bedroom.
The thought of my mouth on her had my cock hardening, and Christ, even in my depression she could get me going. Being attracted to my wife was akin to breathing … there wasn’t a moment I didn’t want her.
The sharp pain pierced my heart like a nail shooting out of a gun that I would never again be able to touch her bare body.
Staring at the car through the window, I take a deep breath. I’d been alone in our home for a little over a week. The home that I’d renovated for us and Imogen had decorated. It was a nod to classic American architecture with a touch of craftsman, all beautiful angles and open concept, with cozy features like big bay windows and beamed ceilings. The colors were a mix of warm beige with navy and red accents. It was a Cape Cod house if I’d ever seen one … but everything was cozy.
Imogen had told me, after she’d revealed all the decor, that it was an ode to my cottage in Nantucket.
I’d have to move. I could never live in the house we’d once shared.
The car horn beeps and I roll my eyes. “Guess she’s really in a hurry to get tonight over with,” I grumble.
After I lock the front door and thank the driver for escorting me into the car, I slide in.
And nearly have to pick my jaw up off the floor. It may be because I haven’t seen her every day, like I normally would, because Imogen is always beautiful … but, fuck.
She is glowing.
In a deep green velvet dress with a tasteful neckline and a shimmering belt at the waist, she looks plucked from a magazine. Her hair is tied low in a loose style of curls at the nape of her neck, which leaves the slim column completely unobscured from view. How many times have I laid my lips just there?
Those black-coal-rimmed eyes, sexy and mesmerizing as a mysterious feline, blink at me. We’re caught in each other’s gazes for a few moments, and I swear the beat of our hearts can be heard in the back seat.
“There is Flapjack in the window. How’s she doing?” Imogen peers out, breaking the tenseness, trying to see our cat resting on the back of the couch.
We adopted the gray fur ball when she was only a kitten, from a woman at a nearby farmer’s market we’d stumbled upon the spring after we’d gotten married. Since Imogen always said I looked like a lumberjack, and she has a thing for chocolate chip pancakes, we gave her the name and it stuck.
I look at the window too as if the cat will be waving from the front porch. As if she will be able to glue my broken heart back together. “She’s good, same old Flapjacks. She’s been sleeping on your pillow.”
Imogen turns to me with sadness in her eyes. Good, she should be sad. She walked out on me, and our pet.
“Maybe I could take her for a few nights?” There is a tone of hope in her voice.
“I doubt The Dartmore allows animals.” A six-hundred-dollar-a-night hotel wouldn’t want a cat roaming the halls.
“You’re right.” Imogen’s voice is stony as she looks down into her lap.
I knew she was staying at the swanky hotel in the heart of Chatham when the statement came through on our online banking. Not that Imogen checked the accounts. She’d never had to scrounge, had to count her pennies. It was always me balancing the books and estimating bills.
“Thank you for coming tonight.” She clears her throat, looking sincere.
“I told you I would.” I shrug, the expensive three-piece suit she’d insisted on buying me a couple years ago making my skin feel too tight. “What is this one for?”
“A benefit for the New England Ocean Life Foundation.”
“Well, at least it supports a cause I actually feel passionate about.” Some of these events could be real snorefests, and the money went to things like The American Revolution Society. What even was that, and why was it more important than donating money to sick children or homeless veterans?
“Remember the first event I ever took you to?” Imogen smirks.
The first event we’d gone to as a couple had been … interesting to say the least.
This place was fancier than any place I’d ever been to in my life.
It’s all I could think tonight, as Imogen’s arm linked through mine and she showed me around the benefit, introducing me to various guests.
We’d come out for a night of dinner and dancing to support the Children’s Hospital of Boston. The benefit was opulent and for a great cause … if you had ten thousand dollars a head to spare. That was more than I made in an entire month.
“Imogen Weston, what a delight that you could be here.” A woman in a too-tight fitting maroon dress gave Imogen two air kisses.
My girlfriend of three months effortlessly greets this woman. She looks like a princess in her element, and I often forget just how majestic she really is. With me, Imogen is just Imogen. She’s a happy, at times goofy, all around wonderful woman. But in this setting? She is Imogen Weston, heiress to one of the biggest American dynasties in history. Her family is American royalty, and from the atmosphere in the room, everyone knows it.
“Beverly, this is my boyfriend, Theo.” She motions to me, and I extend a hand, ready to shake Beverly’s.
She stares me up and down, her eyes shrewdly cutting me down without words even coming out of her mouth.
The gaze flashes disapprovingly at my rented tuxedo. “Nice to meet you.”
And that’s all I get. She starts talking to Imogen as if I’m not even there.
I just smile, not annoyed in the slightest. These people could never offend me, simply because I don’t want to be one of them. I’ve never wanted status or money or an impressive title. I’m happy just standing next to my beautiful girlfriend.
Although, I hadn’t missed the surprise in Imogen’s eyes when I’d picked her up in my beat-up truck, in a rented tuxedo. She hadn’t said anything, but I knew it was far from the norm she was used to. If I was embarrassed about one thing, it was that I hadn’t spent the money to get a nice suit. I didn’t want my lack of class to make Imogen uncomfortable.
When she’d ask me to come tonight, I’d been unsure. This really wasn’t my scene, and I felt more out of place here than Imogen would feel waist deep in cow manure. That’s how mismatched we were, but I was in love with her. I knew, even if she didn’t, that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. And events like this one were going to be mandatory if we were going to be married.
So I bit the bullet. And here I was, listening to this woman talk about how unhappy she was with the diamond necklace her husband had bought her as a present.
“It was just a touch too showy, and so I asked him to trade it for the pearls from Asia. They almost look like your earrings, but not as big.”
She says the word big as if admonishing Imogen, and I bristle. But ever the classy lady, she lays a hand on my arm and her tinkling laugh is as fake as I’ve ever heard. “Oh, these? They were a gift from the Japanese ambassador my father had stay with us last month. How could I say no?”
I wanted to laugh out loud … she’d just put piggish Beverly in her place and asserted her family’s power all in one sentence. Not that I cared about pearls or ambassadors or power, but I loved the quiet confidence about Imogen. It was one of her sexiest qualities.
Not long after that, we’re stuck in a conversation with two men Imogen’s father has done business with, and their talk of commodities and assets is going right over my head.
“And Theo, what do you for work?” One of them finally turns to address me.
I grin. “I’m in construction.”
“Oh? Who do you work for? Floyd, Enterprise, Aligned? I’ve had many dealing with the big three, which department are you in?”
This guy thinks I’m some paper pusher for those asshole bigwigs who slap cookie-cutter homes on properties that they haven’t properly zoned.
“None actually. I’m in construction, as in, I work construction. Nails, hammers, drywall … the whole bit.”
The silence between the four of us is awkward, and I know I’ve caused an utter breakdown in communication.
The wrinkly gentleman speaks, “And um, where do you do that?”
“On Nantucket.” I grin, fully loving their uncomfortableness.
“I have a house there. Who do you work for?” the other man asks.
“Campell Construction and Home,” I tell them, not elaborating.
The wrinkly one turns to Imogen. “Campell is the company who designed your father’s house on the island. June, two years ago, am I right?”
Now it’s my turn to be surprised. “I worked on a project on Baxter Road around that time. Did a big kitchen renovation, I remember the Calcutta marble that was shipped in from Italy.”
Immy turns to me, her eyes wide. “That … that was my parents’ house.”
I had been in her house, two years ago. How odd was fate?
“So you worked on her house …” The non-wrinkly of the pair looks at me like he’s just drunk spoiled milk.
“And now I’m her impoverished boyfriend living it up at your swanky gala.”
A high-pitched giggle escapes from Imogen’s mouth before she can slap a hand over it. “Can you excuse us?”
She drags me by the hand toward the sprawling dance floor where a twelve-piece band is playing “In the Mood.”
Imogen chuckles as soon as we’re on the dance floor. “You couldn’t behave, could you?”
“Come on, babe, I play the pauper part well.” I twirl her, trying to make up fancy moves that I don’t have.
She sways in my arms. “How … strange is it that you were in my summer house?”
I bend so that we’re cheek to cheek, and my heart does that same double beat it always does when I’m close to her.
“I think the universe has been trying to bring us together for a long time.”