Page 52 of Fake Wife
She’s so beautiful…and empty. Her blue eyes have no light, and she is exactly how Corbin explained: reserved and also broken.
“Teagan, hello again,” she says, greeting me with a gentle nod, and then presses her hands to Corbin’s cheeks. She rolls to her toes and he leans down to kiss her cheek while she air kisses his.
Pity wells in my chest for her.
And for Corbin, who by all accounts has watched his mom become a shell of the woman she used to be.
“Come in, come in,” she says, stepping back and giving us room to enter.
I blink, certain I heard a slight slur in her voice, and Corbin’s hand on my lower back presses against me.
“Shit,” he mutters, more to himself than to anyone, and I have no doubt that today is what Corbin would call a bad day.
My fear is made obvious as we’re led into a room that is absolutely gorgeous. Four large and well-worn gray leather chairs surround a circular coffee table. My eyes take in everything: the black grand piano that shines like it’s just been dusted, the walls of leather-bound books, heaven for a bibliophile like me. I inhale the scent of leather and old paper as I slide into a chair Corbin has gestured to.
“Your home is gorgeous,” I tell Elizabeth. She’s sitting as elegantly as possible, propped on the edge of the chair across from me, Corbin between us, and already has a glass of red wine held in her fingertips.
Without even asking, Corbin reaches to the center table and pours a glass for me.
The decanter is almost empty, which means I doubt this is Elizabeth’s first glass of the day.
Which explains the slurring I thought I heard.
Crap.
I reach out and rest my hand on Corbin’s thigh, his muscle hard and tense beneath me, but it’s not because heisjust hard and muscled, but he’s tense and angry. Perhaps tonight isn’t the best night to deliver our news.
“So, tell me what’s new with you, sweetie. Tell me everything.”
There’s a hint of the woman Corbin says she used to be in her voice, but now I know it’s the liquor making her happier than she really is. The emptiness in her eyes never evaporates, and Corbin flips my hand to hold it in his.
“I have some good news,” he says. “Teagan and I are getting married.”
“Oh!” For the first time, her eyes meet mine and light up in a way that appears too genuine to be alcohol induced. “This is wonderful news, indeed. Let me go get champagne. We need to celebrate.”
Weird. Dreadful. Awkward. Horrific.
All perfect descriptors of how the rest of the night goes. After toasting our engagement with champagne, we’re served dinner on fine bone china with sterling silver flatware and cut crystal glassware. The main course is a heartbreakingly delicious scallop dish that leaves me wanting more.
And through it all, Corbin and his mom act as if our news really is the most fantastic thing to happen in Portland in a decade.
It’s mind-boggling how people can weave such a lie for themselves they believe it with their every breath, and all of it leaves me hollow by the time we go. And I have to do it all again on Friday, when Elizabeth takes me to an upscale wedding boutique for a meeting she scheduled while we were finishing dessert.
She is efficient, though, because in addition to the wedding dress assuredly handled, we’ve also decided on flowers, a trellis portico she wants brought in, and the invite list has been scribbled down on her personal stationery.
It’s safe to say, broken and drunk or not, Elizabeth Lane doesn’t mess around when it comes to planning an event.
I expected Corbin to leave the room at some point to hide from all the girly stuff, which I couldn’t care less about, but he never did.
I’ve just spent three hours planning a whirlwind marriage to a man who completely flummoxes me, but he’s further confused me by playing the perfect, loving fiancé, with soft brushes of his thumb on my shoulder, gentle kisses when his mom is watching but acting like she isn’t. It’s amazing how easy it is to fall into our roles.
“Where was your dad?” I ask once we’re back on the road. I highly doubt he’s working late like Elizabeth claimed more than a handful of times. Once was believable. By the fifth time, I think she was trying to reassure herself more than us.
And every time, Corbin flinched.
“With his mistress and son.”
He speaks the words so blatantly I jerk in my seat. “What?”
