Falling for Fallon (Oak Hill 2)

The second I was inside, I blasted the cool air on my sweaty forehead. How can Emmett make me so hot and bothered just with the twinkle in his eye?

It’d only been a few days since I’d gone over to Dawson’s to watch Supernatural with him, Ivy, and Emmett, and yet, I was already ready to drive back to that small town, regardless of the weird smell, because being there was so much better than being here.

I knew my life wasn’t bad. I had maids who did my laundry, and Lupe cooked most of my meals, always pairing them with some inspirational quote or advice. My mother and father had always taken care of me—at least materialistically—and I had a very successful man who was willing to marry me because he knew I was fit for the job. But was marriage supposed to be a job, though?

Derek had called last night, and we’d talked for maybe twenty minutes. He didn’t mention the other night, after the gala, when I’d kissed him on the cheek and flew out of his car like a bat straight out of hell, but he did let me know he was leaving for Guam in the morning. He’d told me he would try to call or text when he could, but he’d be very busy for the next few weeks, trying to score a few deals for the firm. I tried to act like I cared, but deep down, I didn’t. He made sure to ask about the wedding and if we were getting things planned out, and he asked if we had set a date yet. I told him I’d let him know soon, which got back to his mother, which got back to my mother.

So, that was why I was sitting on my couch, scanning through the bridal magazines my mother so sweetly shoved in my arms after dinner. She wanted me to pick a date and a color for the wedding. She informed me that she booked the country club for several months, even knocking Blakley Fincher’s wedding off the calendar. That way, it gave Derek and me plenty of time to work our schedules out.

Poor Blakely.

I sighed as I stared at an overly tanned girl with an olive-green, floor-length bridesmaid’s dress on. I smirked, deciding that the ugly olive color was perfect for the wedding.

Why not have fun with the entire ordeal by picking a color that my mother would have a cow over?

I sighed again, turning the page. No, Fallon. This is your one and only wedding. Make it count.

The arguments in my head were becoming tiring. Enjoy the wedding… don’t enjoy the wedding. Marry Derek… don’t marry Derek. Be the daughter your parents desperately want… leave and never look back.

I raised an eyebrow, contemplating the last one. See ya, Mom! Part of me wanted to just disappear. Put it all behind me. Be who I wanted to be. Do what I wanted when I wanted.

But…

I stopped and looked around my cozy home. The home that my parents gave to me until I married someone worthy. They’d been grooming me to be the perfect daughter since before I could even hold my own bottle, and I was just going to throw it all in their faces?

I groaned and slammed my head onto the table. Blah, blah, blah. I was tired of thinking about it.

From now on, I was living in the now and that was it. No more thinking about marrying Derek. No more thinking about backing out.

I shoved the magazine out from underneath my face and pulled open my phone again.

Emmett: I have a plan for the whole “breaking the law” thing. When are you coming back to Oak Hill?

Was it too soon to say now?

Me: Whenever you want me to.

Gah. That sounded desperate.

Emmett: In that case, just pack your bags and come now. You can stay for as long as you want… with me, of course. In my bed.

I rolled my eyes.

Me: You put a twist on every conversation we have, Emmett.

Emmett: It’s tempting though… right?

I laughed, shaking my head. Then I shrieked because a loud knock sounded on my door. I paused, clicking my phone off. Another loud knock had my heart pounding.

“Coming!” I yelled, jumping out of my chair.

I swung the door open and was met with my father’s grim expression. My heartbeat slowed, just barely. “Dad? What are you doing over here so late?”

It wasn’t that late—only after nine—but usually after he had dinner at the house, he’d go into his study and work for three or four hours straight and then climb into bed, exhausted from working so much. My father was kind of an asshole, but he was a damn hard worker.

“Is something wrong? Is Mom okay?” I asked, worried.

He nodded his head, his jaw set in a firm line. He raised his well-groomed eyebrows at me, and I instantly stood back. “Sorry, you can come in.”