Page 19 of The Marriage Sham
Chapter Eleven
Frances
Savannah, Georgia
My stomach has graduated from butterflies to fully grown bats flying around and disrupting things internally. The car ride to Savannah has been pleasant, conversation flowing easily between Fen and me. I’m not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved everything we talk about stays fairly surface level. We don’t delve into the deeper subjects, which suits me fine when I’m remembering this whole marriage thing is fake. But then a little voice in my head pipes up about feelings and connection. And then my heart starts pumping, listening to her drivel, and then the bats start flying.
He ties me in knots, and all I want to do is enjoy this weekend. No, scratch that. I just want to get through this weekend so we have the picture evidence to show Granddaddy should he start asking again. But then my mind drifts to the way Fen looks in his dark wash jeans and button down shirt. The ones he’s wearing currently. The ones that hug his muscles and take him from boy-next-door good looking to GQ model good looking. I don’t know where he’s been hiding those clothes, but he should wear them often. Like, every day.
I’m a mess, what can I say?
Fen pulls his truck up to a gorgeous bed and breakfast, the front a charming brick building with black wrought iron handrails that lead you up to the reception desk. Fen is standing still right behind me with our two small bags. As for me, I turn in a circle, taking in the lush accommodations where we’ll spend our weekend, amazed that he booked something so beautiful. This place had to cost a small fortune.
“Fen…” I’m at a loss for words. I’m flattered, I’m annoyed, I’m worried for his bank account.
“Let’s just enjoy the weekend, okay?” He ushers me over to the front desk to grab our keys, apparently not up for a debate on the appropriateness of us staying here. Considering I did nothing to help with the planning of this weekend, I don’t really feel like I should make a stink about it. Besides, no one has ever gone to this much trouble for me, so why should I refuse it? The feminine side of me wants to lap it up and savor it.
I’m busy checking out every antique and piece of artwork on our way up the stairs to the second floor. There are decades, perhaps even centuries, of history here. Fen swings open a dark wood door and steps back to let me enter our room before him. My wedges are sinking into a thick elaborate rug, my nose is smelling the unique scent of old wood and fine fabrics, my eyes are taking in the brick wall surrounding the most beautiful white mantle fireplace you’ve ever seen. My senses are on overdrive, which is why it takes me several minutes to realize there’s only one bed in the room.
Spinning around, I see Fen eyeing the bed also, though he doesn’t look shocked like me. His eyes have that warmed over look again, the color of them similar to what I saw right after he kissed me at our wedding ceremony.
The bats flap their wings, and I hurry over to grab my bag from his hands and speed things along so we get out of this room. This beautiful room that seems to be closing in on us by the second.
“So, what should we do first?” That sounded safer in my head. Perhaps I should clarify, lest he think I have other ideas in mind. “Take a walk at Forsyth Park? Lunch in the Historic District?” I quickly unpack my bag, making use of the antique armoire in the corner. After a few seconds, he follows suit, our clothes and shoes lined up together, far cozier than he and I.
There’s a knock at the door, and Fen goes to answer it. He says a few things to the man standing there, handing him a tip and taking a brown basket out of his hands. When he closes the door, he turns around with a grin on his face, and the tension seeps out of the room.
“I’ve got it covered. Let’s go to Forsyth Park and have a picnic.” He holds out his hand to me, and I gladly take it, already getting used to the way he’s always helping me up or leading me somewhere. Always with our hands clasped tight, fingers weaved together. Like a real couple.
* * *
“Oh, I don’t know, Fen.”
We’re standing on a cobblestone street, having just stuffed ourselves with the picnic he’d had the B&B pack us. We’d sat on a red and white checkered blanket, like out of some storybook novel, the shade of an old tree allowing us to enjoy the day, despite the mid-afternoon heat. We people watched and talked about everything and nothing, simply enjoying each other’s company and the change of scenery. I’d shut my phone off and allowed myself to enjoy the moment.
Now I am eye level with a huge horse, my fear evident in my reflection in his huge eye. He huffs out a great breath of air and stomps his foot. I jump back and nearly trip over my own feet. Fen gulps what sounds suspiciously like a swallowed laugh, but he puts his arm around my waist, pulling me into him and away from the stare of the huge beast.
“Come on. Up you go.” He practically picks me up and settles me on a cushioned bench seat in a beautiful white carriage. “We aren’t riding the horse, don’t worry.”
With the sun beginning to set, there is a nip in the air, so I welcome the blanket he tucks over our legs as we sit cuddled up in the carriage. The driver, decked out in a black tuxedo jacket complete with top hat, spins around and makes sure we were safely inside.
“Welcome, lovers! Are we on our honeymoon?”
I nearly choke on my own spit, which is a really attractive way to start this romantic carriage ride. Thankfully, Fen is more put together and answers him smoothly. “Yes, just got married a few days ago.” He puts his arm around me and squeezes me tight, a big smile on his face. I can’t help but stare up at him, trying to decipher if he’s just telling the truth or he’s simply a good liar. Because the way he’s treating me seems like he thinks we’re married for real.
“Congratulations, my friends. Enjoy the romantic tour around Savannah. If you’d like I can take some pictures for you to remember the evening.”
“Oh, that would be great, thank you.” Fen hands him his cell phone and leans in closer to kiss my cheek, his glasses bumping my temple. “Smile, Francie,” he whispers in my ear.
I snap a smile on my face, remembering we want these pictures to look like we’re a couple wildly in love, not an awkward girl dating a hot guy for the first time. And to be honest, his lips feel super soft against my cheek. The scruff of his five o’clock shadow sends a wave of goosebumps down my arms.
His hand comes up and cups my jaw, turning me toward him fully. Before I can take a startled breath, his lips are on mine, coaxing them apart. I’m all too happy to comply, my body melting into his and my thoughts fading into the background.
The carriage jerks to a start, and our mouths break apart. I look over his shoulder and see the historic streets moving past us and realize the driver has already started our tour. My gaze flies back to his, my heart thumping when I see the fire in his eyes that even the impending darkness can’t cover. I don’t know how long we kissed, but part of me screams it wasn’t long enough.
The rest of the carriage ride is a mix of heated glances, holding hands, and a nervous energy I can’t seem to shake. It’s like I have two opposing people in my head: one yelling at me to back away and remember none of this is real. The other is swooning over Fen and begging me to do the same.
By the time we’re dropped off at our bed and breakfast, I’m a frazzled mess, not sure which voice to listen to. Not to mention the fact that hearing any voices in my head is a not-so-good sign that I’m losing it.
