Marriage For One

“Rose?”

I glanced to my right only to find him watching me carefully. The car wasn’t moving, so apparently I’d dozed off for longer than I’d thought. “Are we there?” I covered my mouth with the back of my hand and yawned.

His frown smoothed out and he shook his head. “We’re at a stoplight, almost there. You’re tired.”

At least that was better than You look awful. You’re tired was just a fact and I could live with that. “The makeup didn’t hide it enough, then,” I muttered. I was a whole lot of things, not just tired. I dropped my head back and took a deep breath. “Sorry for dozing off.”

The light turned green.

“I take it you didn’t get any sleep last night either?”

“I did, actually—five hours this time. I’m hoping tonight is the night I’ll sleep my usual amount.”

Two police cars with their sirens blaring passed us and my eyes followed them.

“Are you sure you’re up for this dinner?” Jack asked when it was quieter—as quiet as New York got.

Sitting up straighter, I turned to him. “Of course. I won’t disappoint you, Jack.” At least I wouldn’t make things worse, I was sure of that much. If all else failed, I’d just be silent and moody like Jack, and they’d think we were a good fit.

The frown came back in full force. “That’s not what I asked.”

“No, I know, but I’m up for it. I got ready, and I’m here. I just wanted you to know…that I wouldn’t disappoint you.”

After we shared an awkwardly long look as the passing city lights illuminated his face, we both fell silent.

Too soon, Raymond stopped the car and I looked out the window. We were parked in front of the restaurant where we would meet with Jack’s partners.

“Try to look half alive at least,” Jack said.

It was going to be a complete disaster. They were never going to believe we were in love. There was no way.

“Such pretty words. If you want half alive, that’s what you’ll get. If you had asked me to look fully alive, I would’ve definitely disappointed you. Half alive, though? You’re in luck.”

The butterflies in my stomach instantly started a riot. I didn’t even notice Jack had gotten out of the car until he opened my door. Snapping out of my private panic, I scooted forward to exit. Noticing the bulky handbag clutched in my fingers, I paused and met Raymond’s gaze. “Would it be okay if I left my bag in the car?”

“Of course, Mrs. Hawthorne.”

I met his eyes in the rearview mirror again and gave him a pleading look. “I’d really feel so much better if you would just call me Rose. Please.”

He gave me a small nod and a barely there smile. “I’ll do my best.”

I forced my lips to curve up and got out of the car without my purse. Brushing my hands on the fabric of my jacket, I waited for Jack to close the door. Then Raymond pulled away and it was just the two of us, standing on the edge of the sidewalk right in front of the double doors of the very brightly lit and full restaurant.

“No handbag?” he asked, noticing my empty, nervous hands.

I stopped the fidgeting and shook my head, my eyes still on those big double doors—the gateway to my hell. “I didn’t have one that was elegant enough. This is better.” I caught Jack’s tight expression right before he took a step forward. Before I knew it, my hand was clutching his arm. I gave him a desperate look. “Jack, we forgot!”

His eyebrows drew together. “We forgot what?

“We don’t have a story. I was going to ask you, but your cologne confused me and then I dozed off.”

“My cologne did what?”

“Forget about the cologne!”

He sighed. “What story are you talking about?”

For someone who was about to lie to a bunch of his work friends, he looked oddly relaxed, which only made me more nervous and slightly angry. “A story about how we met! How you asked me to marry you!” I burst out and then lowered my voice. “They will ask something, if not those questions, something about us—you know they will. Everyone asks those questions.”

He shrugged, and this time it was me who looked confused. “We’ll come up with something if they do. Just act natural,” he said. “Are you nervous about this?”

Just act natural?

I gave him an exasperated look. “Of course I’m nervous about this. How can you not be? They’re your work friends. And what do you mean act natural?”

“They’re not my friends, Rose. We’re partners. And act natural means act natural. What else is it supposed to mean?”

He was driving me into madness with his cold demeanor. “What difference does that make? You’re partners, so you must at least be friendly, and if we’re acting natural, does that mean you’re gonna frown and be silent the entire evening? What am I supposed to do then?”