My Accidental Forever (Love You Forever Book 5) Page 10

  Our eyes lock and I slowly move in to kiss her. Her right hand comes up to thread into my hair. She pulls me closer and deepens the kiss. Every nerve ending comes alive and tingles. My heart starts racing and my lungs are suddenly burning. With the heat of this kiss, I forget to breathe. With my lips on hers, I pull her back into the limo and lay her across the seat, moving my body on top of hers. She pulls me closer and I can’t help but jump into the fantasy I have of growing old with her even though I know it isn’t a possibility.

  I’m glad the limo privacy barrier is up as my hands work to push her dress up her thighs, and hers are quick to free me from my pants. In minutes, we’ve become one and it feels right—perfect—like it was meant to be. I guess one way to get out of marrying Bianca would be to marry someone else first. I could marry Harley. I can practically see our lives playing out before my very eyes.

  I wake in the morning and the room is brightly lit. I squint against the bright sun that’s streaming in through the open curtains. Apparently, in our haste to get into bed last night, we forgot to shut them. I hold my hand up in front of my face to block some of the light as I work to sit up. My stomach rolls and my head throbs. How much did we have to drink last night? At this point in my life, I thought I was a professional—someone who no longer gets hangovers—but fuck. That’s definitely not the case.

  I turn to look over at Harley to see if she’s in as bad a shape as I am, but my eyes stop on her left hand, which is resting on her bare stomach. There’s a cheap gold band around her finger. Was that there before? Is it her mother’s wedding band that she always wears, which I’ve never noticed before? I shake my head, which only makes it throb even harder.

  I push the thoughts from my head as I stand and head for the shower. That’ll do the trick. I just need to sweat the alcohol out of my system and have some breakfast. Then I’ll be fine. I turn on the shower and step inside. I put my face directly beneath the flow of water, then hang my head so the water runs over my hair. After a few minutes of enjoying the warmth, I bring my hands up to my face to wipe the water from my eyes, and that’s when I notice it: the same cheap gold band on my left hand. What the fuck happened last night? Did we? No, we couldn’t have. But what if . . .

  I quickly shut off the water and race out of the shower. I grab a towel off the sink and wrap it around my waist. I pull the door open to rush out, but stop dead in my tracks when I see Harley standing on the other side of the door with the same panicked expression on her face. Her green eyes are wide with fear and her mouth is hanging open in shock. She holds up her left hand and I see the ring again.

  “What. The. Fuck. Foster?”

  We both stand, staring at each other’s rings, shell-shocked. How the fuck could we have gotten married? I step past her and walk over to the bed. I sit at the foot of it, then throw myself back. The quick action has my stomach rolling again, but I ignore it, trying to focus on last night and what the hell happened.

  Dinner. Drinks. Limo. Bad magic show and casino . . . back in the limo, more drinks, the lights, the sex in the limo . . . I remember coming back here where we had sex again.

  “So, there’s no way to get you out of it?” she asks, lying naked across the seat of the limo with me still buried inside her.

  I laugh. “I guess I could beat them to the punch.” I lift my head off of her shoulder and look into her sparkling green eyes.

  “You mean, get married now so you can’t get married later?”

  I shrug. “Just a thought.” I begin to pull away from her, but her arms tighten around me, holding me in place.

  “Let’s do it. Let’s get married.”

  I freeze. “You want to marry me?”

  This time she shrugs. “I mean, it won’t be a real marriage, obviously. But we could get married and you could tell your parents. We’ll go on living like we do now, and then when enough time has passed, we’ll get divorced. Hopefully by then, everyone will have given up on this dream of the two of you getting married, and your life will be yours again.”

  Fuck. We’re really married.

  I open my eyes and meet hers. It looks like she’s remembered everything too.

  “We’re really married,” we both say in unison.

  “What are we going to do?” she asks, sitting on the bed beside me.

  My eyes close as I shake my head. I take my left arm and drape it over my head, covering my eyes as I think. Last night, the plan we’d formed made sense. To a drunk person, it probably would. But now that I’m not drunk anymore, I can see all the holes in that plan. It’ll never work. Even if I claim it was a drunken mistake, my family will just insist I end the marriage and keep the whole thing under wraps. If I tell them I married for love, the only thing that will happen is what I’ve always been worried about: I won’t get my place in the company. I’ll be kicked out of the family. Last night, the thought of being free overrode everything else. But I don’t want to be free that way. I want to be at the top of my family’s company. I want what I’ve worked so hard for. This was a mistake.

  “What were we thinking?” I ask, mostly to myself more than her. I open my eyes in time to see her shaking her head.

  “I’m so sorry, Foster. I . . . I wasn’t thinking about the mess this would be. I was just wanting to help you out. Everyone deserves to live their life the way they want and not have it dictated by their family. We can go back home and have it annulled. I completely understand.” She stands and starts to pull on some clothes. “I want to help people, but let’s face it, I usually end up making their situation worse.”

  I can see how annoyed she is with herself for suggesting that we get married. But I can’t let her take all the blame. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Harley. I was in on this too. Not just you. I think we both just got a little too drunk and things got out of hand. This isn’t anything we can’t fix.” I reach out and catch her wrist, pulling her to me. She stumbles on the sheet she’s still holding around her and falls into my arms.

  “What are you doing?” she asks around a weak smile.

  “I’m going to have sex with my wife,” I tell her, pulling her lips to mine.

  Just because this isn’t the best situation doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy it.

  Nine

  Harley

  “Where did we even get these cheap-ass rings? My finger is turning green,” I say as we’re on the airplane for our flight home.

  He laughs. “No idea. Maybe they were selling them at whatever half-assed wedding we had.”

  “I never thought I’d be getting divorced at my age,” I joke, and he laughs and takes my hand in his.

  “Annulled, technically. I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t ruin your record.”

  I roll my eyes. “The opposite, actually. This is the longest non-relationship I’ve ever been in,” I laugh out.

  “Me too,” he agrees, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me closer to his side.

  The flight seems to go by faster this time around. Maybe it’s faster because I know our time together is almost up. We’re heading back home, to our real lives—lives where he’s meant to be with another woman and I’m meant to spend eternity alone.

  But that’s what I wanted, right? I want to be alone. I like playing the field. I like having no one to answer to. I like my house, my job, my life. So why am I suddenly so sad that our little weekend getaway is over? Why am I suddenly so sad that this is going to be annulled, or that he’s soon going to be married to someone who isn’t me?

  Why is my heart suddenly racing? Why do I have this dull pain in my stomach and sharp pain in my chest? Am I falling for Foster?

  No, that can’t be. I don’t fall for guys. I keep my distance. They get attached and I break things off when they get too close. I can’t be falling for Foster!

  Okay, calm down. My eyes close and I focus on my breathing. In. Out. In. Out. You’re just . . . tired and hung over. And probably a little sad to come back home to normal life. It doesn’t have anyt
hing to do with Foster. There’s nothing between us and I’ll see that soon enough, when real life kicks back in.

  With all of that fresh in my mind, I feel my body relax and I can finally open my eyes and focus on the ride home.

  “Thanks for bringing them home,” I tell Cora as I hold the front door open while the dogs come running in with her following along behind them.

  “No problem. Did you have fun? Tell me all the dirty details,” she says with a wide smile.

  We walk into the house and sit on the couch as the dogs rush around the place, sniffing to make sure nothing has changed.

  “It was fun. We stayed in a really nice hotel, gambled, drank too much, ate a bunch of food, and had a ton of sex . . . then we . . . got married,” I confess. I have to tell someone.

  She gasps. “You got married?” Her eyes are wide with alarm.

  I scrunch up my face and nod. “Yes, but it’s getting annulled soon enough.”

  She grabs my wrist and sits up straight. “Harley, you realize that Illinois doesn’t do annulments, right?”

  “What? No, that can’t be right.”

  “I swear. Remember when Bethany went to Vegas and married Martin one drunken night? They thought the same thing—they’d come home and get it annulled—but when they got home and went to the lawyer’s office, they were told that Illinois doesn’t do annulments. They do something called ‘judgment of invalidity.’ But even those are super-hard to get.”

  I throw myself back against the couch. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumble. “We’ll just get divorced then. Either way, we just can’t be married.”

  “Why? You two seem to be getting along pretty well. This might just be your longest relationship.”

  I playfully smack her on the arm.

  “Ow! What did I say?”

  “You’re telling me to stay married to man I barely know. Besides, ‘forever’ and ‘monogamy’ are just some illusion. A social construct created by the government.”

  She rolls her eyes and sighs. “When are you going to see it, Harley?”

  “See what?”

  “See that you are the marrying type and that Foster is the type of guy you’ll marry one day?”

  All I can say is, “I hope you’re wrong.”

  I don’t want to marry a man like Foster. If I have to get married, I want to marry Foster.

  Foster and I don’t spend Sunday together after we get back. It’s time to separate and get back to our normal lives and routines. Monday morning, I wake up and go to work like normal. I’m surprised when I see his name flash across the screen on my phone around noon.

  “Hello?” I answer, taking a sip of my tea to wash down the bite of sandwich I just ate.

  “There’s my girl,” he says, sounding cheery. “What are you up to?”

  “Taking lunch. What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be working?”

  He laughs. “I’m taking lunch too. I just got off the phone with my lawyer and I wanted to check to see if you’re free this evening. He can squeeze us in.”

  “Oh, yeah, sure. I can do that,” I agree.

  “Okay, great. When you get off work, you want to meet me at my place? Then we can just ride there together.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “See ya then,” he says, hanging up the phone.

  I let the phone fall from my hand onto the desk. Suddenly, I feel sad, tired, and annoyed. I knew this moment was coming, but I guess I’d just secretly been hoping he’d change his mind and go along with our original plan. Then maybe in the meantime, he’d fall in love with me and our little lie would turn into the truth.

  I shake my head at myself. What’s wrong with me? I should be trying to escape this as badly as he is.

  My phone rings again and I look at it lying on my desk, almost expecting to see Foster’s name back on the screen, thinking that maybe he’d forgotten to tell me something. To my surprise, I see Brett’s name. I frown but pick up the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Har. What’s been going on?”

  I smile from hearing his voice. “Oh, nothing much. What’s new with you? You still zooming around Florida?”

  He laughs. “No, I’m back, actually. That’s why I’m calling. I was hoping I could take you out this weekend. Maybe dinner and drinks like old times?”

  My automatic mental response is no, I’m with Foster. But then I remember that I’m not really with Foster. He’s still planning on moving forward with annulling this sham of a wedding. Foster doesn’t belong to me and I don’t belong to him. I need to get over him before he’s gone for good.

  “Sure, that sounds great,” I agree, even though I hate doing so. I’ve been spending my weekends with Foster for a few weeks now. This weekend would probably be the same—that is, if this whole fake marriage thing hadn’t scared him off.

  “Cool, cool,” he says. “I’ll pick you up around 7 p.m. on Saturday?”

  “Perfect,” I force myself to say through gritted teeth.

  “Hey,” Foster says when the door opens and I step into his foyer. His hands automatically reach for me and pull me against his chest. “I didn’t think you’d be here so soon. Now we have a little time to kill,” he says, his lips moving to mine.

  I kiss him and feel the relief wash through me at being in his arms again. Yep, I’m getting way too attached.

  “I have a date this weekend,” I blurt out.

  He pulls back and looks shocked. “What?”

  “A date. I have one . . . this weekend.”

  “Oh,” he says, turning and walking deeper into his apartment. I follow after him and find him in the living room at the drink cart, pouring a drink.

  “I’m sorry to tell you this way, I just . . . I needed it out there. You’re always so forthcoming with information when it comes to our non-relationship. I wanted to be too.”

  “Thanks for the honesty,” he says, tipping his glass back. But his tone doesn’t say “thank you.” In fact, I think it says “fuck you.”

  I’m confused.

  “Why are you upset?” I ask, walking closer.

  “I’m not. Who said I was upset?” he asks, setting down the glass and pouring another.

  “Your tone of voice says you’re angry. Why are you angry?”

  “I’m not angry, Harley,” he breathes out.

  “You are. You’re angry that I’m going to be with another guy on Saturday night and not you. And why would that upset you? It’s not like I’m the one who’s ending whatever this is in order to marry someone I don’t want to be with.”

  He takes a deep breath. I can see his shoulders slowly rise and fall. “Really, Harley, I’m not angry at you. Does this information please me? No, it doesn’t. But like you said, we’re not in a relationship, so I have no reason to be angry.”

  He seems a bit more at ease now, so I finish closing the distance between us and wrap my arms around his neck as our eyes meet. “Nothing has to change between us—not now, anyway.”

  “You’re saying that you’re going to go on a date with this guy while still being with me?” His brows draw together.

  “This guy and I aren’t serious. He’s a race car driver and he’s gone a lot. We’ve gone on a few dates over the last several months. We only see each other when he’s in town. And soon enough, you’ll be moving on anyway, right?”

  He nods once and sighs. “Right.”

  “I’m afraid it won’t be that easy,” his well-dressed lawyer says. “The state of Illinois takes marriage very seriously. We can petition for a judgment of invalidity, but they’re hard to come by and usually can’t be written off with a, ‘Sorry, judge. I was drunk’ excuse. But we can try.”

  “Yes, please do. It’s important that we end this marriage, and it’s even more important that this doesn’t go beyond this room. My father cannot know. Understand?” Foster says.

  He nods. “Understood. So, I’ll start on the paperwork and be back here in a few for you to sign everything to get the
process started,” the lawyer says, scooting away from his desk and leaving the office.

  “Can you believe this? No annulments? Who ever heard of such a thing?”

  I shrug but don’t reply. Instead, I just lean back in my seat to wait this thing out.

  The lawyer comes back and explains the forms we’re signing. I sign without even paying attention. I could’ve just sold my soul for all I know. I’m in a daze and don’t snap out of it until we exit the building and the warm air blows across my face.

  “Foster?” someone says, and it causes both of us to stop.

  “Dad, what are you doing here?” Foster asks as they shake hands.

  This is his dad? And they don’t hug? They just shake hands like partners or something?

  “Just handling some business. What are you doing? And who’s this?” He motions toward me.

  Foster looks over his shoulder at me and then back to his dad. “This is Harley.”

  His father raises an eyebrow. “I hope Bianca knows about this friendship. I’d hate to see all of our hard work go down the drain.”

  “Oh, no. It’s not like that. This is Bianca’s best friend. I asked her to meet me here. She’s going ring shopping with me.”

  His father’s anger falls away and is quickly replaced with happiness and excitement. “Oh, well, don’t let me hold you back then. Go on, back to what you were doing. It was nice to meet you, Harley,” his dad says, smile still in place as he waves us off.

  I’m speechless as Foster places his hand on my lower back and turns me around toward the car. He opens the passenger-side door for me and all but pushes me in. Then he closes the door and rushes around the car, taking his place behind the wheel. I watch as he starts the car, shifts into gear, then pulls out into traffic rather quickly. I sit dumbfounded.

  “Was that your . . .”

  “Yep.”

  “And you said we were going to buy a ring for Bianca?”