One Bride for Five Mountain Men

“What's a lie?” I ask as calmly as I can. “Just talk to me, Jordan. Everything will be all right.”

She takes a breath that choke in the back of her throat, then tries again.

“Let me get you a drink,” I suggest, pivoting toward my kitchen. In a few moments I press a glass of brandy into her hands and have maneuvered her to the leather sofa. She curls up in the corner with the snifter between her fingers, tucking her heels underneath her. She seems so small there, ensconced in the overstuffed cushions.

“Start at the beginning,” I suggest.

To her credit, she tells me everything. How Kelsey manipulated her, lied to her. How they had been such close friends until, apparently, the moment when Kelsey decided to make Jordan her secret business partner.

But through it all, I get the feeling that she is more upset about the state of their relationship than about the enormous betrayals that have been visited upon her. She seems both relieved and horrified to find that it wasn't her imagination: Kelsey really had withdrawn her affection from Jordan.

“It's like I was right all along,” she whispers, her voice haunted and awestruck. “All these years… I always felt watched. I never felt safe. And I always thought that Kelsey was hiding something from me. I'd ask her, and ask her, and she always denied it. But it's all true, don't you see?”

“I do see,” I agree. “Does that help you to feel better? To know that you were right all along?”

“No!” she scoffs. “It makes me feel worse. I wasted years living in a sort of fantasy. I was just a toy to her and really, I was a toy to everyone. It could be dozens of people, King. It could be thousands of people!”

I nod solemnly, trying just to listen to her. I already decided that whatever she wants to do, I will support her. I just need to wait for her to tell me what that is.

“And do you know what? She gave her parents nothing,” she exclaims. “I mean… what kind of person gives their parents nothing? That's so evil, I just don't even know—I mean, it's like she—”

She stops, flinching, her fingers pressed against her lips in horror.

Gently, I take her hand from her mouth and hold it between my hands.

“Jordan, I want you to listen to me,” I begin. “This is over now. What you need is a new start. You take whatever money she gave you —”

“—I don't want it!”

“All right, that's fine too. You don't have to take it. You can give it away. You can burn it and scatter the ashes on the river Seine in Paris.”

She takes a deep breath and lets it out through her nose. “I don't think this is a really good time to be making jokes,” she scolds me.

Finally seeing a break in the tension, I draw her fingers up to my mouth and press them against my lips.

“I'm not joking,” I inform her. “I don't joke about money.”

Though she doesn't want to, I can feel her relaxing. I am filled with such a sense of relief. I’m so happy to see her misery alleviated, even just a little bit.

“Let's go back to Paris,” I suggest. “Let's start a new life there, Jordan. You can put everything behind you.”

“I can't go back to Paris,” she whispers. “I don't know what I would do there. Everything is so complicated right now. What would I do?”

“You'd be with me,” I say, sliding closer to her. She lets me gather her into my arms, creeping up almost onto my lap and nestling against me. Her fingertips brush the skin of my chest absentmindedly and I want to laugh at how good that feels.

“Why would we do that?” she says in a small voice. I put one finger under her chin and tip her head back, waiting for her eyes to flicker up to meet mine. She blinks twice.

“Because I’m falling in love with you, Jordan, and I don't want to be anywhere if you're not there. We could build a life there. Just us. We could start again.”

It takes a moment for the words to register in her expression, and when they do, it's not what I want. Not at all.

She pulls farther away, sliding back to the corner of the couch and drawing her knees up protectively.

“Oh, King, I don't know,” she breathes, shaking her head tightly. “Everything is so… How can you say that? Falling in love? I mean —”

I hold my hands up. “It's all right,” I interrupt her. “It's okay. Calm down.”

“No, I'm the one who’s sorry!” she pleads. I can tell she really is sorry, but now I am wishing I had not said anything. “King, love is just so… I can't. I just can't!”