Julian
ASHLEY BOUNDS DOWN the steps, jogs toward me, and launches herself into my arms. “I missed you, baby.”
Her voice rings out, purposefully loud and calibrated to travel.
“What’s going on?” I murmur against her ear.
Not that I’m complaining about holding her in my arms—she’s warm and curvy and smells like apples—but she texted me less than ten minutes ago to tell me to stand down.
She burrows into me and tilts her head back. Staring at me intently and wearing a yes-I’m-happy-to-see-you smile, she slides her hands up my back, places them around my neck, and pulls me in for a kiss.
My grin vanishes, replaced by lips parted in confusion. But I’m alert enough to settle my hands on her waist and assume the role she obviously wants me to play. And I approach it like I’m auditioning for a career-defining part. Why should Carter have all the acting fun?
Our lips connect, and the need to taste every part of her consumes me within seconds. She’s pliant in my arms, sending me to a space that settles my nerves but causes my muscles to tense. It’s both soothing and electric to be with her this way, comforting in that I already know we have chemistry, daunting in that I know there’s nowhere for this to go. I’m feeling so much, I don’t know which way is up. But damn. The texture of her mouth, the way her soft skin brushes against my jaw, the low groan that erupts from the base of her throat, it’s all so fucking promising, and I want more. She opens her mouth wider, taking me in deeper, and I’m lost. I trail my hands up the sides of her body, seeking an anchor, and reach under the curtain of her hair to pull her closer.
“Julian,” she whispers.
Her voice is breathy and needy, and I want her to repeat my name a thousand times.
“Julian, what the hell, man?” someone barks out.
That’s not the kind of repetition I was hoping for.
Carter.
Fuck. I’m mauling his sister in front of him, so I understand exactly where he’s coming from. I turn in his direction but avoid his gaze. Tori, understanding the ruse is in play, elbows Carter in the side and flicks a glance to Lydia. He rolls his eyes in response.
“You two are dating?” Lydia asks, an incredulous tone intensifying her high-pitched voice.
“Not just dating,” Ashley replies with a lift of her chin. “We’re living together, too.”
Lydia shakes her head. “Wow. I mean, wow. Yeah, just wow.”
I think it’s safe to conclude she’s surprised by the news. Now that she’s pursing her lips, it’s also safe to conclude she’s annoyed.
“Interesting choice,” she tells me in a flat tone.
I squeeze Ashley’s shoulder, staring lovingly into her eyes. “Any other choice would have been idiotic.”
Ashley buries her face against my neck. “Awww, you’re so sweet, Care Bear.”
Care Bear. What the fuck? That’s grounds for immediate termination of this farce. I won’t just play this game, I’ll win it. “Not as sweet as you, Love Biscuit.”
She narrows her eyes at me, but any retaliation is forgotten when she spots the guitar case by my feet. “Is that Melanie?”
Lugging around a guitar case through the airport wasn’t easy, but the excitement in her voice fills me with a quiet contentment I haven’t experienced in a while. “There’s your baby, all right.” I step closer and whisper. “I figured you might want her around this weekend. For comfort.”
She wraps her arms around me and squeezes me tight, speaking softly against my ear. “Thank you.”
After I throw my travel bag on my shoulder, Ashley clasps my hand and leads me toward the house, Melanie at her side.
Ashley’s mother, Susan, rushes out, her gaze zipping around the scene like a gnat. “Carol. Richard. Glad you got here safely.” Her gaze falls on Lydia. “I thought you were traveling?”
Lydia appears thoughtful for a moment, her front teeth worrying her bottom lip. “The meeting was postponed unexpectedly. Someone on the team fell ill, so we’ll be rescheduling it for next month. I can stay all weekend, and since everything’s happening here, I’d love to stay over too, if that’s okay.”
“Of course,” Susan says without hesitation.
Lydia’s mother instructs her husband on the finer points of carrying luggage as she walks beside him to the front door. “I assume we’re staying in the main house?” she asks Susan.
Ashley’s mother nods. “Yes.”
Carol barrels up the stairs, and a round of introductions ensue.
Lydia hangs back.
Ashley’s mother pats her on the hand. “You can stay in the cottage with the other whippersnappers.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ashley jerk. Her mother shrugs, a pained expression suggesting she understands the arrangement isn’t ideal but can’t think of a reason to alter it.
“There are four bedrooms. Julian, would the pull-out couch work for you?”
“Why would he need to do that?” Lydia asks, her eyes narrowing on Ashley and me. “They’re already living together, so it shouldn’t be a big deal for them to stay together here, right?”
Beside me, Ashley whimpers.
Ashley’s mother doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re right, of course. It’s totally up to them.” Then she grins. “In fact, I think that makes the most sense under the circumstances.” Leaning into Ashley, she says, “Just don’t broadcast it to your father.”
Lydia looks at us expectantly.
“Yeah, of course it’s not a problem to share the room with Ash,” I say.
Carter grunts. Tori laughs.
A woman I’ve never seen before cackles. “I’m sensing tension. Where’s the popcorn? This is can’t-miss-stuff right here.”
I can tell by the delight in her eyes at our obvious discomfort that she’s trouble. And considering I’ve just signed up to spend three nights sharing a bed with Ashley, I’m confident there’s more trouble to come.
ASHLEY AND I listen for the sound of Lydia’s footsteps to fade before we softly close the door. The bedroom we’re sharing contains four pieces of furniture: a dresser made of light wood, a rocking chair in the corner, a small nightstand, and a king-sized bed that serves as a wink and a nod to the thoughts I’m trying to suppress.
I can practically hear Missy Elliott’s “Get Your Freak On” in the background.
“It’ll be fine,” she says. “It’s a big bed.” She’s going for a reassuring tone—I think—but now she’s biting her bottom lip as she spins around and scans the room. “Cozy, right?”
One person’s cozy is another person’s worst nightmare, obviously.
“If it’ll help, I can sleep on the floor,” I offer.
Her eyebrows snap together. “No, that would be ridiculous and uncomfortable. We’re adults. We can handle sleeping in the same bed. I’ll stay on my side, and you’ll stay on yours.”
As proof of the maturity she undeservedly ascribes to me, I plop onto the bed and rest on my elbows. The mattress is firm, just the way I like it. “So what happened? One minute you were telling me to stand down, and the next minute you were swallowing my face.”
She plops down next to me and falls back with a sigh. “My mother told me Lydia wouldn’t be here, so I figured there was no need to pretend that we’re dating. But then she showed up, and I didn’t know how else to tell you to disregard my text.” She sits up on her elbows and pins me with a disapproving glare. “And I did not swallow your face. If I’m not mistaken, your hands were seconds away from palming my ass.”
Guilty as motherfucking charged, but I’m not snitching on myself. “I was just trying to get my bearings. You caught me off guard. Speaking of which, when you told Lydia we’re living together, it occurred to me that we never agreed on how long we’ve been dating.”
She wriggles her nose and shrugs. “A year?”
“Damn. That’s serious.”
“Yeah,” she says on a laugh. “That’s like a decade in Ashley years.”
“Don’t do that,” I tell her.
“Do what?”
“Talk about yourself in the third person. It freaks me out.”
She laughs more heartily than warranted by the circumstances. “You sound like Carter. He hates it, too. You two are more alike than you’d ever admit.”
“He’s had quite an influence on me.”
She tilts her head to the side. “And that’s a good thing, right?”
“Yeah, of course it is.” But how do I explain the small voice in my head warning me that he’s influenced me too much? “It’s just . . . sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I hadn’t chosen this path.”
“Agenting?”
I smooth the comforter. “Yeah.”
“It’s not too late to find out.”
She says this like it’s a simple proposition. Like I can just drop everything and switch gears at a moment’s notice. Like I haven’t spent my working life building a reputation as an agent on the rise. That’s Ashley for you, though. She follows her whims wherever they take her. In truth, some days I wish I could be that way, too.
A knock on the door causes me to spring up from the bed. When I open it, Tori slips inside, a clipboard in her hand.
“Hi, I’m your friendly family reunion coordinator here to tell you what’s on tap for the next few days.” She winks at us. “Join me in the living room?”
She’s all smiles, and I fully believe she’s having the time of her life, but I also suspect she’d shank us if we messed with her plans. This woman is no joke. So I’ll do whatever she wants to do, and I’ll wear the brightest smile she’s ever seen while doing it. “We’ll be there in a minute.”
Ashley sits up. “I’m going to freshen up. Out in a sec.”
Tori gives us a curt nod. “Excellent. I’ll be waiting.” Then she pivots and does an about-face like she’s an active-duty commanding officer who’s just dismissed her troops.
A few minutes later, Ash and I shuffle out of the room to find everyone gathered around for their instructions.
Carter, who’s always eating, noshes on an apple as he waits for his fiancée to begin. The woman I now know is Tori’s best friend, Eva, flips through a home-decorating magazine. Lydia, meanwhile, riffles through an accordion business folder—to highlight how important she is, I guess—and generally pretends to be put out by the need to even be here.
“Can we get on with this?” she says without looking up from her ministrations. “I’d like to rest before dinner.”
Tori and Eva exchange a look, and Eva mouths something to her. Whatever it was, it makes Tori stifle a laugh as she shakes her head.
After consulting her clipboard, Tori clears her throat. “Okay, people. Here’s what we have planned. Tonight, we’re just relaxing. Bianca and my mother will be treating you to a few dishes from our upcoming cookbook, Puerto Rico Over Easy, which will be out in the fall and is available now for preorder.”
“You have no shame,” Eva says.
Tori nods enthusiastically. “You speak the truth, chica. And where was I?”—she consults her clipboard—“Aha. Tomorrow morning is free time, but whatever you do, you’ll have to be back around eleven because we have a zip-lining outing scheduled for noon.”
My heart palpitates, and my mouth goes dry. “Zip-lining?”
Ashley whips her head in my direction, probably in response to the strangled tenor of my voice. “You okay, Julian?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say. “I think the day is catching up with me, that’s all.”
Inside, however, I’m trying to stem the panic that’s threatening to make me light-headed. I’m not a fan of heights, and the idea of swinging through the air on a steel cable is about as appealing as cleaning a bathroom toilet with my bare hands.
Lydia twists her face into a grimace. “I’ll pass on zip-lining. I’m not the most athletic person in the world, and I just got my nails done.”
After hearing Lydia’s announcement, Tori smiles. “Next, we’ll have the opportunity to enjoy a peaceful afternoon at a local spa. Get our nails done and such. Lydia, you’ll probably want to pass on that, too . . . since you just did them.”
“Oh, no, the spa would be great,” Lydia counters. “I’m long overdue for a pedicure.”
Ashley cocks her head. “Wait. There’s a spa in Harmon? Since when?”
Tori shakes her head. “No, that would have been too easy, but I found one fifteen minutes away, near Derby.”
That’s good, I guess. After I lose a few years of my life catapulting myself through the air, I’ll need a deep-tissue massage to relax me.
“On Saturday, Carter’s niece, Izzy, has a soccer game in the morning. Carter and I need to . . . um . . . do something in preparation for Sunday’s brunch, but the rest of the family is welcome to support Izzy in her last soccer game of the intramural season. In the afternoon, we’ll have the family cookout and flag football. I was thinking it would be nice to hang out Saturday night. Head to a local bar for drinks or something.”
“Uh, probably not a great idea,” Carter says. “We might attract too much attention.”
Tori pouts. “As you can see, I have not quite mastered the ins and outs of dating a celebrity. Okay, what if the women hang out here for an adult slumber party, and you and Julian can hang out with my dad at the house? He’s been itching to try out the new pool table in the study.”
Ah. She doesn’t want to spend the night before the wedding with Carter, but she can’t say so outright because Lydia’s here. How cute.
I nod. “That works for me.”
Her smile grows brighter. “Then we’ll finish the weekend with Sunday brunch.”
“Sounds perfect,” Eva says.
The rest of us murmur our agreement.
Carter stands and takes the clipboard out of Tori’s hands. Before she can object, he folds her in a tight embrace and whispers something in her ear. She nuzzles his neck, then pulls him toward their bedroom. With her free hand, she waves at us. “Carry on, friends.”
Eva yells after them. “Get your eggplant, mama.”
“We’re going to change for dinner,” Tori yells back.
Eva snorts. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Then she rises and stretches her arms over her head. “I think I’ll change, too. For real. See you soon.”
Which leaves Ashley and me with Lydia.
She taps the top of the folder as she studies us. “So how long have you two been dating?” she asks.
Ashley and I jump on each other’s words, saying about, almost, and a year within seconds of each other.
“And you’re already living together, huh?” she asks rhetorically. “Tell me the truth, Ashley. Did you have a crush on him when you were younger?”
Ashley narrows her eyes at Lydia. “You know I did.”
Lydia stares wistfully at a spot behind Ashley. “Oh, that’s right. I remember you cried the first time he came to visit while he was in college. You were upset because he didn’t notice that you were all grown up.” She shakes her head and smirks. “I’m happy for you. This must be a dream come true.”
Lydia reminds me of the typical mean girl in a movie in which the high school underdog gets her revenge. Except this isn’t a film, it damn sure isn’t high school, and judging by the sadness in Ashley’s eyes, the wounds Lydia’s inflicting on her are real.
I can’t take any more of this woman’s ridiculousness, so I pull Ashley into my arms and draw her close, ignoring her wide-eyed expression. “I don’t know if it’s a dream come true for her, but it’s certainly a dream come true for me.” Then I lift her chin and place a soft kiss on her parted lips. “Imagine discovering that your perfect match has been within arm’s reach for years.”
I don’t falter as I say these words, and for a moment I’m struck by the possibility that they came easily to me because they’re true.
Ashley settles her head in the crook of my neck and grasps the back of my head, as though she’s drawing strength from my performance.
Except it might not be as much of a performance as she thinks—for me, at least—and that’s an unwelcome development.