Authors: Kristan Higgins
She lowered her feet and stood on his, still afraid to touch the floor. Tom pulled back a little. He cupped her face in his hands and slid his thumbs under her eyes, wiping away the tears. “Better?”
She nodded.
He nodded, too, a small smile flashing.
Then he kissed her forehead. Then her nose. Then her lips.
And this time, it wasn’t for anyone’s benefit. Just the two of them in this damp old cellar, his mouth so perfect against hers. He tilted her head, his arms like a fortress around her, the best feeling in the entire world. His hair was baby-soft. She’d forgotten that. And he tasted, so, so good.
“Guys. Gross.” Honor jumped back at the sound of her niece’s voice. “I mean, sorry you were freaked out, but please. I have to see enough of this at home.”
Tom cleared his throat. “Back to work, shall we?” he asked.
There was no way in hell she was going to stay down here. One snake probably meant a thousand, possibly a million. She shuddered again. “I’ll go upstairs and start on the kitchen,” she said.
And yet, even with the threat of snakes, she wanted to stay.
* * *
B
Y
THE
TIME
Tom left to take Charlie to the gym and Prudence arrived with her sturdy truck for the dump run, fifteen garbage bags had been filled. Horrifyingly, both cellar and kitchen looked exactly the same. “See you at the wedding dress place?” Pru said.
“Sounds good.” Today, the three Holland girls were going with Mrs. Johnson to pick out a wedding dress. Against Mrs. Johnson’s will, it should be noted.
“We should buy yours while we’re at it,” her sister said.
“Oh, no. This is Mrs. J.’s day.”
“What are we gonna call her now?” Pru asked. “
Mom
doesn’t seem right. I swear, I didn’t even know she had a first name till a few weeks ago.”
“I have no idea. Listen, I have to run back and shower,” Honor said. “I’ll see you there.”
Four hours later, Honor, Faith and Prudence sat in Happily Ever After’s waiting area as the now disheveled and sweaty Gwen, who owned the store, brought Mrs. Johnson the sixteenth dress to try on. The girls had been shown zero, as Mrs. Johnson kept declaring the dresses
foolish, hideous
or, for some reason,
arrogant.
Her requirements were many: nothing that made her look whorish (strapless, in her world view), nothing that made her look cheap (which meant no beading or sparkle) and nothing that made her look doddering (no lace). No ball gowns would be tolerated (pretentious). No sheath dresses (nightgowns). Nothing shorter than floor-length (disrepectful), and nothing with a train (pompous).
“Does anyone have alcohol?” Faith asked. “I could really use a drink right now.”
“Or Valium,” Pru added.
“What are you and Tom planning for your wedding?” Faith asked.
Honor jumped. “Oh, I figured it would just be a city hall thing.”
“What? No! You have to get married at the Barn,” Faith said.
Honor cleared her throat. “It won’t be at the Barn. We, uh, we might just elope.”
“And kill your father, Honor Holland?” came Mrs. Johnson’s voice. The woman had batlike hearing.
“Huh. I hadn’t thought of that.”
Faith turned to her. “So. Let’s get to the good stuff. What was it like, your first kiss with Tom?”
“Oh, uh, it was great.” A lame answer. “Um, how was yours with Levi?”
“Amazing. He kissed me after a seizure.”
“Isn’t that against the law?” Pru asked.
“Not in this state. It was the morning after. Actually, our first kiss was in high school. That was hot, too. He’s the best kisser in the history of the earth.”
“I don’t know about that,” Pru said.
Honor didn’t, either. Tom was gifted in the kissing department. The memory of the kiss in the cellar made her feel downright...swoony.
“You’re blushing,” Faith said.
“Hey, you’d blush, too, if you know where Carl and I did it this morning,” Prudence said. “Oh. You were talking to her. Yeah, Tom’s a hottie, that’s for sure. That accent is incredible, even if I can barely understand him.”
“What kind of accent is that, anyway? Cockney?” Faith asked.
“Nope. Manchester. Just a basic blue-collar accent, I guess.” But yes, it had a certain pull to it.
Gwen darted past again, fear on her face and rightfully so, then returned a second later with another dress, brave girl. They could hear some murmuring and a respondent growl from Mrs. J.
Prudence sighed. “I can’t believe we of all people didn’t bring wine to this. Mrs. J., come on! Show us one, for the love of God!”
“Fine, you rude girls,” Mrs. Johnson called. “But I look ridiculous.”
She came out of the dressing room, and all three girls leaned forward. “Oh, Mrs. J.,” Honor breathed. “You’re beautiful.”
The dress was simple—a mermaid-style gown with ruching and the requisite, nonwhorish straps. It hugged Mrs. Johnson’s rather stunning figure. Her dark skin glowed against the white fabric, and her close-cropped hair made her neck look long and lovely.
“Sold,” Prudence said.
“I love it,” Faith murmured.
Mrs. Johnson frowned down at the dress and gave the bodice a tug. “This would look nice on you, Honor. Not me. I’m an old woman.”
“How old are you, anyway?” Pru asked.
“None of your business, you impudent child.”
“Hey,” Faith said. “You’re going to be our stepmother. Be nice.”
“This
is
my nice.” She gave them a regal scowl.
Honor got up and stood next to Mrs. Johnson. “Dad will love this dress,” she said, bending to kiss Mrs. J.’s cheek. “Come on. Take a look at yourself.”
She slid her arm around Mrs. J., and the two of them looked at the mirror.
“Shall we put on a veil and get the whole idea?” Gwen asked.
“Do I look like the type to wear a veil?” Mrs. Johnson said, though her voice was dreamier now. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off her reflection.
“Get a veil. Here, I’ll come with you,” Pru instructed. “Faith, come with me. I don’t know a thing about this girlie stuff.” Indeed, Pru was still in her farming clothes, not that she got out of them much.
The three other women to the accessory room, and Honor just looked at Mrs. J. “I think this is the dress,” she murmured. “Don’t you?”
“I think you may be right,” Mrs. Johnson said. A smile gentled her face.
“I’m so glad you and Dad found each other,” Honor said.
“I’ve loved him for years,” Mrs. J. said. “Oh, dear, don’t tell anyone I said that. My reputation will suffer greatly.” She gave Honor a squeeze. “But it’s true.”
“You hid it well.”
Mrs. J. gave her a pointed look. “And you’re hiding something, too, aren’t you, Honor?”
Guilt over lying flashed hot and sharp. “Um, no.”
Mrs. Johnson huffed. “Please. You can’t fool me any better than when you were a little girl.”
“I was sixteen when you met me.”
“Exactly. And you’re a terrible liar. Why are you marrying this man you just met?”
“Shh! Mrs. Johnson, come on!” Honor’s face was brick red in the mirror.
“Is it for a green card?”
“Shh! That would be fraud! And I’m not exactly the law-breaking, Jesse James, Tony Soprano kind of person. Am I?”
“No. Which is why I’m so concerned.”
“It’s just...love.”
“Bah.”
“Mrs. Johnson...”
“Honor, my dear,” she said gently, “I won’t tell anyone. But do you think you should be marrying someone you don’t love? Settling for a person because he’s pleasant and needs a favor?”
Honor wiped her hands on her skirt. “Um, no. I shouldn’t. But I—” She took a shaky breath. “You can’t tell Dad,” she whispered.
“I won’t.” The housekeeper’s eyes were kind, even if her face was solemn.
Honor took a deep breath. “Not everyone gets a true love, Mrs. J.,” she whispered. “Some of us make the best with what life offers.”
“And you’ve done that ever since I’ve known you, Honor Grace! Don’t be a martyr!”
“Martyrdom is our family motto,” Honor said. “You should know that by now. And Tom’s nice. He’s a good person. I do have...feelings for him.”
“Does he have feelings for you?”
“Yes. I think so. He could, at any rate. Maybe.”
“Doesn’t that sound heartening.” Mrs. J. gave her a pointed look.
Honor sighed. “Faith and Pru are coming back.”
“If you need someone to talk to, my dear, you can always come to me.”
Her heart softened. “Thank you.”
Pru and Faith approached, a long lacy veil trailing from the hands of the consultant. “Don’t bother,” Mrs. Johnson said. “I’m not wearing it. It looks impudent. The dress, however, I’ll take.”
As they were paying for the dress, Faith leaned over the counter. “Gwen,” she said to the shop’s owner, “so long as we’re here, can we schedule an appointment for my sister?” She flashed a smile at Honor. “Is that okay? You can’t really elope or just go to city hall.”
Honor swallowed. “Sure. Why not?”
Because especially after that kiss in the cellar today, she wanted to marry Tom Barlow. Illegal or not.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“T
HAT
’
S
IT
, C
HARLIE
. Get that hand up, mate.” Tom stood behind the heavy bag, trying not to wince. Charlie’s jab was pathetic. “Put your shoulder into it, remember?”
“I’m
trying!
” He wasn’t, that was the problem.
“Good! Now your hook. Side of the bag, come on. Get that hand up.” Charlie flailed listlessly, his so-called hook weak and off-center. “Brilliant! So how’s school these days?”
Anyone beat you up recently?
No answer.
One would imagine that if Charlie were being bullied, he’d be interested in learning to fight. Perhaps it was a positive sign that he didn’t seem to care about these lessons.
The gym door opened, and Charlie threw himself into the effort, punching like a little dervish, his voluminous T-shirt flopping around him like sweaty wings. The lad glanced at the door—not Abby Vanderbeek. His arms dropped to his sides.
“Hands up,” Tom said, reaching out to tap the lad on the side of the head to demonstrate that an opponent could find an opening.
“Don’t touch me,” Charlie muttered, returning to his lethargic punches.
“There’s a tournament coming up,” Tom said, more to make conversation than because he thought Charlie would actually be interested. “Ages fourteen and up, division by weight. You could enter. You’re getting really good.” A lie, of course.
The bell rang, and without a word, Charlie slouched away. Lesson over, apparently.
Furthermore, the kid wouldn’t shower at the gym, so he rather reeked on the short drive back to the Kellogg house, ignoring Tom completely, staring out the window.
It was bloody amazing, Tom thought as they pulled onto Apple Blossom Drive, how long the kid could hold a grudge. Even if Charlie was correct in blaming Tom for Melissa’s death, when would Tom be forgiven? He wasn’t the one behind the wheel of the car that’d struck Melissa. He wasn’t the one who told Melissa to text and cross a busy intersection at the same time. He’d rewritten his life these past few years for Charlie, and the little bugger wouldn’t give him the time of day.
He loved Charlie. He hated Charlie. He was afraid for Charlie. Every day, there was another tragic story of a teen suicide. Those faces on the news—so young, so doomed—made a cold sweat break out on Tom’s back.
He pulled up in front of the Kelloggs’ house. “See you soon, mate,” he said.
Surprisingly, Charlie didn’t move. “Is anyone else doing that tournament?” he asked, not looking at Tom.
“Um, no, not that I know of.”
Anyone else
would probably mean Abby Vanderbeek. “I’ll mention it on Tuesday at the self-defense class.” He paused. “Are you interested?”
Charlie shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe.”
“Great! That’s brilliant.” So maybe boxing
was
a way to bond. Or impress girls. Hell. That’s why Tom started. Either way, it was a step in the right direction.
“I can look into it for you,” he said. “I’d need permission from your grandparents.”
Another shrug.
“Right. Well, I’ll walk you to the door and mention it, shall I?”
Janice greeted him with her usual once-over. “Hello there, Tom,” she said to his crotch.
“Janice.”
“How was he? Horrible?”
“No, he was great. See you, Charlie.” Tom waved, but the gesture was not returned. Then again, Charlie didn’t flip him off, either, so maybe that was progress. “Listen, Janice, Charlie might be interested in a boxing tournament for kids his age.”
“Really? I can’t imagine that he’d beat anyone.”
“That’s not a great attitude, is it?” Tom said. “If he’s motivated—”
Janice snorted.
“He’s got potential. I mean, perhaps he’s not born to the sport, but if he’s interested, let’s encourage that.”
“Fine. I suppose it’ll cost more money.”
“I’ll cover it. Not to worry.” She was staring at his neck, vampirelike, if there were middle-aged vampires who wore pink tracksuits, that was.
“I don’t know why you bother,” Janice said. “He’s not exactly a joy to have around.”
Tom gritted his teeth. “He is to me.”
“Right.” Derision painted her features, and for a second, it felt like Melissa was standing right there.
“I’ll be in touch,” Tom said.
“Suit yourself,” she said. “But don’t count on him following through. He’s lazy, just like Melissa.” One more look at Tom’s junk, and she closed the door.
How was that for positive reinforcement?
Tom’s jaw was clenched as he got back in the car. Add to this, it was allegedly spring but utterly beastly out. Freezing cold and damp.
How was it that Charlie was better off with those wretched grandparents instead of him? Maybe, Charlie would have a chance in life if the people he actually lived with liked him a bit more. Didn’t call him lazy or horrible in front of him.
Tom needed a drink.
The little rat-dog went off in hysterics when Tom came in, yapping without stop.
Yark! Yark! Yark!
“Spike! Enough,” he ordered. The dog ignored him.
Where was Honor? Had she told him she had plans? Was she still cleaning her grandparents’ house? There was no note, and no message on his phone. He could call her, he supposed. Then again, what would he say?
Where are you? Get back here, I’m in a bloody horrible mood and I’d really like not to be alone.
Yark! Yark! Yarkyarkyark!
The little dog skittered into the room, then commenced growling. “Really impressive,” he said, pouring two fingers of whiskey. “I’m bloody terrified.”
He sat there, trying to ignore the little ankle-biter, who now had his pants in her tiny teeth. “Come on now,” he said, reaching down and scooping up the dog. “Let’s be friends, what do you say?”
Spike sank her teeth into his thumb. “Piss off, Ratty,” he said. He set her on the floor and went to the sink to rinse off the blood. Ridiculous little dog. He should get a proper mutt who’d hopefully teach her some manners.
Picking the nasty little baggage up but keeping his hand on her neck so she couldn’t twist around and bite him again, he carried her upstairs, opened Honor’s bedroom door and set the dog on the bed, where the precious thing continued to snarl at him, sounding more like a rabid hedgehog than a real threat.
It smelled nice in here. Lemony. Neat as a pin, and looking very much as he’d had it, thanks to her paranoia about being discovered. While some of her clothes were in Tom’s room, there wasn’t room enough for all of them. He opened a drawer to find out.
Rather nice panties, he thought. Pink here, black-and-white polka dots there. Matching bras. Hello there. The woman who dressed like a modern-day Puritan had quite lovely knickers. Almost slutty, in fact, and wasn’t that a plus in the marital column?
Yark! Yark!
Ratty was back, gnawing on his ankle. “You know, Ratty, for a squirrel, you’re a right pain in the arse,” he said. “Enjoy your solitude.”
With that, he closed the door behind him, ignoring the scrabbling paws against the door. Back downstairs. No bleeding on the ankle, as the dog’s teeth appeared to have gone straight into the bone marrow instead.
He finished his whiskey. Poured another one and drank half of that.
The door opened, and in came his bride-to-be. “Darling,” he said. “Where’ve you been?”
“We were shopping for a wedding dress.”
Bloody hell. “Do we really need to go all out?” he asked, turning to survey her. She looked...good. Irritatingly so.
“We should talk about that.” She was blushing. “It was pointed out to me that my family expects something a little bigger than just you and me and a justice of the peace.”
“Are you becoming a bridezilla, Honor?”
“No. I’m just saying that I have a family to consider. And also, maybe it’d be more convincing if we had a real wedding. With a dress and flowers and all that. And by the way, the shopping wasn’t for me. It was for Mrs. Johnson.” She paused. “But I made an appointment for myself.” Her face grew even redder.
“Shall we see if Pippa Middleton is free to be your bridesmaid, in case your sisters aren’t enough?”
“Why are you in a mood?”
“Your dog bit me. Twice.”
“Poor baby.”
“Thanks.”
“I meant her. Where is she, by the way?”
“I ate her.” She waited. “She’s in your room.”
“What? I told you she has to have run of the house. She’ll pee if she’s locked up.”
“She gets more appealing every minute, doesn’t she?”
Honor went upstairs and returned with Ratty, who was pretending to be sweet and demure, her head tucked under Honor’s chin. “She’s a rescue, Tom. You can’t shut her away. It makes her anxious.”
“I just told you, she kept biting me.”
“She weighs five pounds.”
“And her teeth are like needles.”
“Man-up.”
He raised an eyebrow. She raised one, as well.
The phone rang. Tom took another sip of his drink and stared at his bride-to-be. She looked good. Better than good. Flushed and pretty and a little irritable, too, her eyes flashing. He felt the start of a smile, and the irritating dog growled.
The phone rang again, and Honor sighed and answered it. “Hello? Excuse me?” Her expression changed. “Oh! Hi, Mr. Barlow! How are you? It’s Honor.”
“Give it to me,” Tom said, holding his hand out. “I’ll take it.”
She didn’t obey, the cheeky thing. “Honor Holland? Your son’s fiancée?” she said. “Oh, he didn’t?” She leveled a glare at him. “Shoot, I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”
“Great,” Tom said. His father would be over the bloody moon about this. Rather a pathetic romantic, Dad was.
“No, it was pretty sudden.... Oh, sure. He’s so, so wonderful.”
“Give me the phone,” Tom ordered again. Again, she didn’t listen. Was that still a part of wedding vows? Love, honor and obey?
“What made me fall in love with him?” She rolled her eyes. “Gosh, that’s really hard to say.”
“Just tell him the truth,” Tom said, taking a step closer. “I’m great in the sack. Give me the phone, Honor.”
“It was probably his love of animals,” she said.
“All right, that’s enough,” he said, pinning her against the counter and prying the phone from her hand. God, she smelled good. The dog snarled and bit his sleeve, but Tom stayed put, rather enjoying having Honor trapped against him. “Hello, Dad.”
“Son! You sly devil!” Hugh Barlow’s voice was filled with joy. “When did this all happen?”
“Dad, I wanted to be the one to tell you, but Honor’s so delighted, she can’t keep the news to herself,” Tom said. “She’s crazy about me.”
“Oh, indeed,” Honor muttered.
“Of course she is, my boy,” Hugh said. “What’s she like?”
“She’s lovely,” Tom said, staring at his intended. “Bossy. Very affectionate. Always with the kissing and the grabbing and the like.”
She gave him the finger. He smiled in return, and a flush colored her face.
“Wonderful,” Dad said. “When’s the happy day, then? I want to come see my boy get married.”
Tom sobered and took a step away, releasing Honor. “Not sure yet, Dad, but we were thinking a quick ceremony, just us two.”
“A big wedding,” she said loudly. “Very soon, Mr. B.”
“Just the two of us,” Tom repeated. “But then we can fly you over and have a lovely long visit.” He shifted the phone away. “You’ll make my dad some blood pudding, won’t you, darling? It’s his favorite.”
“Whatever you kids want!” Dad said. “This is wonderful news, Tommy. Just great.”
Guilt rose up hard in Tom’s stomach. “Thanks.”
“I hope it’ll work out better this time for you.”
“Me, too.”
“Can I talk to her again?” Dad asked.
“Sure. Honor, darling, Dad’s keen to get to know you. Dad, talk to you later, all right?” He passed the phone to Honor.
“Hi again, Mr. Barlow,” she said. “Oh, okay. Hugh.”
Tom finished his drink, watching Honor as she smiled into the phone.
This fraud they were committing...it wasn’t just on the government. It was on all these people, the Hollands and all Honor’s friends, and Charlie and the Kelloggs, and now Dad, too.
And lying to his father had never been a strong suit.
Honor hung up. “Nice guy,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Do you have any other family?”
“No.”
She put the dog down, and Ratty dashed off to investigate a noise from the street. “What happened to your mother?”
“She left when I was little.”
Honor nodded, looking at the floor. “Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, is it?” He certainly made it sound that way. “Thanks, I mean. Listen, I’ve got to correct papers. Are you hungry?”
“No. My sisters and Mrs. J. and I went out after shopping.”
“Right. Listen, buy whatever dress you want. I don’t care.” Ah, bollocks. That didn’t come out the way he meant. Hurt flashed across her eyes.
But really, what did she expect? This was not a typical situation. He really
didn’t
care what she wore, or if they got married with her family there and whatnot.
What he did care about was if she started to get caught up in all the wedding and happily-ever-after crap that women so loved. Had the world learned nothing from Charles and Diana? The only reason Tom had agreed to go along with this was because he couldn’t figure out another way to stay in the States, and because she was coming into this with her eyes wide open. She was a sensible person who didn’t seem prone to...whatever women were prone to.
But he didn’t like where this seemed to be heading. First that kiss in the grandparents’ cellar earlier today. Now he was staring at her and wondering what she’d do if he kissed her again. And then banged her silly on the table there.
“I’m off, then,” he said. “I left something at school yesterday.”
And that, friends, was a lie. But it did get him out of the house.
* * *
W
HEN
T
OM
CAME
home, it was much later than he’d planned. But he’d taken the shuttle bus to school, because only bungholes drove after drinking whiskey, and Tom was a bunghole in some ways, but not that way. Drunk driving, driving while texting, walking while texting...it would not be the way he died. So he’d done some work on a demonstration he’d be showing the students about wind sheer and torque and made good use of his time at school. Might as well.