Page 19 of Marrying Mr. Majestic

I was stunned that he remembered my sister’s name. I couldn’t have mentioned it more than once Saturday night. “N-no. Of course not. Why would?—”

Way’s amusement turned to a belly laugh as my own hypocrisy became obvious. I kicked his boot under the table. “Asshole,” I muttered before taking a sip of lemonade. It was sweet and tart, which was exactly what I needed after the multiple cups of coffee I’d had on the drive from Billings.

A man my age wandered over and clapped Way on the shoulder. “Congrats on your marriage. No wonder you and Eden didn’t work out. But you should have told us. We would have been cool with it.” He seemed kind of hurt.

“I’m not gay,” Way blurted before realizing he’d stepped in it. “Bi… maybe? I don’t know.” He stretched his neck and sat up straighter. “I didn’t know, either, okay? Not really. Not till… not till Silas anyway.”

That last bit had the ring of truth to it, and seeing him squirm didn’t seem funny anymore—not when it wasn’t our sham marriage but his very real sexual identity he was trying to explain to the town.

I wanted to grab Waylon and rush him out of there to someplace private. Fly us both away on my plane to an isolated island where he could take a break from everyone’s opinions and the town’s demands on his time and attention.

“That’s cool, then. I just want you to know I’m happy for you,” the man continued with a genuine smile. “When I tell Cara, she’s going to insist on having a barbecue or something to celebrate. You up for it?”

Way gave him a big friendly smile, the kind that would fool most people. Something about it tweaked my gut, though, as if there were only so many more of those golden-boy smiles he could afford to toss out before completely losing his mind.

“Course I’m up for it. But tell her we can celebrate her contract renewal at the school instead. Thanks to her hard work with the school board, we got the budget squared away just in the nick of time.”

The two of them bantered a bit more before the man took his leave with a friendly nod and “nice to meet ya” toward me. Once he was gone, Way’s shoulders slumped a little, but as soon as the next person stopped by our table, they straightened up again.

“Hey, Judge Whiteplume.”

The older man had long, shiny black hair, olive skin, and eyes that seemed to be permanently squinted from either being in the sun or laughing. “Mayor Fletcher. It seems congratulations are in order. I didn’t know you were seeing anyone. Might you introduce me to your husband?”

Way took a breath. “Sure. Silas, this is Kush Whiteplume. He’s our local judge and has been a tremendous help to me in my job. Judge Whiteplume, this Silas Concannon. My… husband.”

I reached out a hand to shake. “Nice to meet you. Way’s mentioned you,” I fudged. It was true. He’d mentioned the judge’s clerk had loose lips, but the judge himself could be trusted to be discreet.

“Welcome to Majestic, Silas. You couldn’t have picked a better man. Waylon Fletcher is one of the most upright people I know, and everything that’s good about our town.” His eyes narrowed at me. “I hope you don’t have plans to take him away from us.”

“No, sir,” I said, speaking truthfully. “I would never presume to take him away from here. He obviously loves Majestic.”

Way’s aunt stepped over. “And Majestic loves him. You probably already know this, but Waylon holds the record for being voted Mr. Majestic eleven years in a?—”

Way flapped his hand in the air, frantically interrupting her. “Now, now, no need for any of that. Silas doesn’t need to hear more town gossip. But thanks for your kind words, Judge, and I’ll see you and Foster tomorrow morning to go over the crowd permits we discussed.”

He nodded and smiled before murmuring good wishes again and disappearing. Way’s aunt beamed at us before sighing happily and heading toward the kitchen.

Sheridan appeared with our lunch. After setting down both plates filled to the brim with food, she gave a soft squeeze to her brother’s shoulder, which seemed to relax him.

“Hope you like it,” he muttered after she walked away. “No wrap is worth what you’ve had to pay for it so far.”

I reached over and took his hand again. His eyes snapped up to mine in surprise, but he didn’t pull his hand from my grip, even though I could sense several pairs of eyes on our joined hands. “It’s okay,” I said softly before raising my voice back to normal. “I like chicken wraps, and this one looks amazing.”

It was amazing. We spent the next several minutes busily inhaling every scrap of food on the table. As Way ate, I remembered he was a horse rancher in addition to his job here in town. The way he inhaled his lunch made it clear his metabolism was running at top speed. I’d seen his defined ab muscles and remembered clearly the strength of his ass and thighs on the dance floor. There wasn’t a scrap of fat on his body, and if he could eat lunch like this every day, it must mean he worked his ass off on the ranch when he wasn’t stuck in the office.

I thought about all the people who’d come up to him, all the people who seemed to orbit around him. He reminded me of my sister the way he attracted attention as a leader, as a do-er.

Camille had taken a personality test once in college that had identified this trait as being an “activator,” which meant she energetically moved people and projects forward. We shared that trait in common, but her personality carried altruistic and philanthropic aspects the way Way’s seemed to, while mine seemed more inclined toward corporate achievement.

I could tell Way wanted to help people, help Majestic, and it made me wonder what his motivation was. Camille’s big heart came from guilt for growing up privileged. She felt the need to give back to make up for her luck at being born into a comfortable upper-middle-class family. It was why she’d rejected my offer of seed money to open her own medical practice and had, instead, chosen to work in the emergency department of one of the busiest trauma hospitals in New York.

Maybe resemblance was why I was feeling soft toward him. He seemed to be inundated by everyone around him with various demands on his time and energy, and I wondered at the toll it would take on him over time. I definitely didn’t want to be an additional burden on the man.

I spent the rest of our time in the cafe trying to figure out a solution to his—our—marriage dilemma. He clearly didn’t want anyone to know it had been a drunken mistake, and now that I’d seen a glimpse of his life as mayor of this small town, I could understand why. But we obviously weren’t going to actually stay married, either. Not when I had a life in New York to get back to. Not when I had zero interest in being married, period. Not when I had a billion reasons for us to be divorced.

We needed to figure out a graceful escape. An explanation that would allow me to return home tonight and end this in a practical way through the Delaware court system in a few…

My gaze shot over to him. “If the town already knows, we could, ah… file that paperwork… with your judge friend here in Majestic after all.”

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