Page 51 of Fake Wife
This is temporary. Not real.
But God, I wish it could be.
“Corbin,” I say again, but his fingers press against my mouth, quieting me.
My eyes meet his and he smiles, but it’s not happy, not joyful like this should be for an engagement.
It’s not real.
“When you come to grips with what’s happening between us, Teagan, what it is you really want, come to me. I’ll be waiting.” He leans forward, brushes his lips against the top of my head, stealing my breath, and steps back. When he does, his expression is blank, almost professional. “I’ve got phone calls to make and a dinner to set up with my mom so we can move ahead with the wedding. You need anything else from me?”
I shake my head lamely. The weight of the ring feels like a cement brick, and none of this is good.
Disappointment flickers in his gaze and he pulls out his phone. “I’ll be in the workshop.”
He leaves then, and it’s only well after he’s gone that I realize I’m still standing in the corner of the kitchen, staring at my ring.
And I only wish I would have asked him to repeat himself, because what in the heck is happening between us?
I’m not brave enough to reach for him, to throw myself on the line. To demand he be more clear with what he wants from me.
I’ve been burned enough; his mood swings too frequent to have any true bearing when it comes to what Corbin wants.
Chapter 18
Teagan
We pull up to Corbin’s parents’ mansion in Portland’s elite Southwest Hills neighborhood and park on the street. It’s one of the most historic homes in Portland. It’s not the one he grew up in, but his parents bought it when he was in college and restored it to its original character. The grounds are perfectly landscaped, surrounded by a spiked black metal fence.
The home is all white stucco. Above the front doors is a rounded balcony that I’m sure provides a view of the entire city of Portland. I imagine Franklin Lane stepping out onto the balcony in the morning, surveying the city with a mug of coffee in one hand, dressed in a rich black suit and smug grin, surveying his kingdom and all he wants to conquer.
“Wow. Your dad certainly does enjoy being king of the castle, doesn’t he?”
Corbin chuckles, but it’s tight. “Perceptive.”
I’m not sure yet why he hates his dad so much, but he hasn’t exactly been relaxed. I’m certain it’s not fully because of dinner with his mom, but because we’ve barely spoken since yesterday morning.
I spent most of Sunday wandering the property at Cannon Bluffs, which only becomes more beautiful and precious the more I see of it. It’s no wonder Corbin is paying me a quarter million. I wouldn’t want it turned into a shopping center for tourists, either.
Despite the chill and tension between us, though, he’s still been kind, which means I’ve now been spared approximately forty-eight hours of his mercurial mood swings.
Plus, he’s been touching me. A lot. Much like he’s doing now, with his hand on my thigh. I keep telling myself it’s so we become more comfortable with each other, especially in front of his mom, but I suspect I’m lying to myself. His hands seem to find me whenever I’m near, like he can’t be close to me andnothave his hands on me in some way, and it’s softening me toward him…or the hope of him, whether or not it’s rational.
“What’s she going to think?” I ask, my gaze frozen on the huge home. I haven’t stepped foot out of the car and I’m already worried about dropping my drink or ruining an antique.
“She won’t say anything but good things.” His voice is still tight. But warm. He loves his mom and hates his dad, and it makes my chest burn. He takes my hand, which is clutching my purse in my lap, and I realize after a moment he’s twisting the sapphire ring on my finger. “She’s broken, Teagan. Used to be this wonderful woman, laughed all the time, played board games, and would sit at the kitchen table with me for hours playing Legos or helping me with my homework. If she’s having a good day today, things will be fine.”
His voice drifts and sadness lingers on his lips.
I don’t ask what it will be like if she’s having a bad day.
“Okay then.” I blow out a breath and pull my hand from his, reaching for the door handle. “Let’s go make sure her night is great.”
I flash him a smile, but it feels wobbly and fake, so I open my car door and slide out, waiting for him on the sidewalk.
He unlocks the front gate with a key, locking it as it closes behind us, and slowly ushers me up the winding walkway, leading me to what feels like my doom. After stepping up to the brick front porch, I glance back at the skyline. The sun is low, rays spreading out over the horizon as it begins to set. Everything’s in full bloom, the air crisp, and I’m almost blinded by the beautiful view.
I hear the door behind me open and turn to see Elizabeth Lane stepping out. Much like the other night, her beauty takes my breath away. Dressed in white wide-leg dress pants with a perfect pressed seam down the middle, she’s sporting pale pink sling-back pumps and a matching pink silk top that is elegantly tied with a bow at her chest. Her hair is the same color as Corbin’s, the color of brown sugar, although I imagine it’s highlighted gorgeously, straightened, and ends right at her shoulders. A clip pulls a small chunk of hair back and pins it at her temple, and I have a feeling the diamonds glistening on the pin are not fake, or from Claire’s or Target, like I would purchase.