Page 15 of Marry Me, Right Now

“Coach you on spending money? I thought that was everybody’s dream?” I couldn’t help laughing.

“When you’ve never had money,” she said quite seriously, “You’re always looking to avoid spending it. Always looking for deals, always looking to make do.” She looked around the room. “The thought of redecorating something that is already absolutely lovely is just... Wrong to me.”

I nodded, sort of understanding. “Most of the women in my family, and at my company, want to redecorate every year or two just to be trendy, and show off to each other.”

Her eyes grew wide with horror. “That is so wasteful,” she burst out. “There are people in the city who might lose their apartments because they are a hundred bucks short on rent, and these rich bitches are flinging money around on a new sofa that they don’t even need?”

She clapped her hand over her mouth, ashamed. “I’m sorry. That sounded really judgmental, and I didn’t mean to…” She stopped, obviously overwhelmed.

I poured her another half glass of wine, while patting her knee before I could stop my hand. “You don’t have to censor yourself around me,” I said gently. “The more I know about how you actually feel, the more I can try to make you comfortable in weird situations. I agree that wasting money is wrong, but on the other hand, it’s how some of my family has always operated, so I see it as somewhat normal.”

Handing her the glass, I said, “For the record, I’m not trying to get you tipsy, I’m just trying to get you relaxed enough to be honest.”

She took another sip, nodding. “Maybe we can balance each other. Maybe this year will be a really important growth experience for both of us. You can show me the fancy side of the city, and I can show you the seedy artsy underground.”

“How seedy are we talking here?” I chuckled. “You’re not going to take me down any secret back alleys to underground illegal clubs, are you? Where I have to say a code word to get in?”

“Actually, I’ve heard of a little jazz club in Kensington Market that is a genuine booze can, and it’s been running for years. I wonder if it’s still there.”

I tried not to look horrified at the thought of her going to such a place. My protective instincts were possibly a little too strong, and I realized that I’d have to be careful not to smother her just because she was playing the part of my girl.

M I A

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MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

I woke up, my eyes opening slightly as I stretched out my back a little. It took me a blink to realize that I was in Jacob’s living room. It took me another blink to realize that I was lying on Jacob’s chest, his arms around me as he breathed slow and deep just under my ear.

The last thing I remember was going over details of moving into this place on Friday. I guess we had just fallen asleep, but I’m not sure how I ended up in this position. But I couldn’t move a muscle. I’d never felt so perfect and comfortable in my entire life. He smelled incredible, and being held against the wall of muscle that was his chest was incredibly sensual.

From the beginning, I thought that Jacob was positively gorgeous, but I never allowed myself to think he would be genuinely interested in me. He seemed to think that I was good company, and I adored making him laugh. But he belonged with one of those high society girls, who knew how to behave at country clubs and delighted in things like wedding registries and exotic vacations.

Yet the way he looked at me was riveting. Engaging. I couldn’t tell whether he was infatuated with the idea of acquiring the eight million, plus his uncle’s house, or whether he genuinely liked the thought of having me around.

My glitches about spending money seemed to amuse him. I’m not sure whether he wanted to show me how the other half lives, or open my mind, or whether he was touched that I was not influenced by material things.

No matter what he thought of me, he seemed to be thinking about looking out for me, taking care of my best interests.

I knew that we obviously needed to keep our relationship professional because we could never go anywhere else. But even in the context of faking a relationship, I felt a deep flutter in the pit of my stomach every time he touched my hand or give me a little hug.

How I ended up lying on top of him in his arms, I had no idea. Since I was here and he was hopefully okay with it, I guess I could stay a little longer.

I tilted my head slightly to look at the clock, and his arms snuggled me a bit more tightly as if he never wanted me to leave. It was probably a completely unconscious reaction, and I could have been any girl who was soft and warm in his arms.

Part of me didn’t want to know whether he knew it was me or not. Turning my head just a bit more, I saw it was five in the morning, so I was definitely staying here for the night. But was it proper to sleep on top of him like this?

I turned my head back, trying to figure out what to do, then heard him murmur, “Mmm, stay right here, Mia.”

I froze. I had no idea whether not he was awake, but the fact that he reached for me in his sleep was incredible. My mind began racing even more. What if he really did have feelings for me? How could that work?

As much as my brain was reeling, my body was making all of the real decisions, spreading over his and wrapping my arms behind his neck as I melted into him completely. This was likely a one time thing, an accident, so I may as well enjoy it.

He kept talking about us faking our relationship convincingly, so if he did mention this, we could just laugh it off as subliminal bonding. That sounded completely plausible.

JACOB

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