The Beard (Haylee Thorne) Page 4

  “Yes, Brock. A thousand times, yes!”

  “I also wanted you all here to witness the most important moment in my life,” Brock says.

  For a second, I am not sure what is happening. I watch Brock sink onto his knee, and I gasp. What the hell? A quick, high-pitched laughter escapes from my throat. My mind is racing a thousand miles a minute. We did not agree to this. Yes, I agreed to be his wife—or rather his beard—for the next two years. I know we discussed we needed to have the proposal in front of his family, but we didn’t discuss doing this tonight, on the first time meeting them. I am taken completely by surprise.

  Speaking of surprises, this definitely wasn’t the first surprise tonight. I can’t believe the guy with whom I had the most intense moment of my life with is Brock’s brother. What are the odds? He has been on my mind since last night, but I told myself that I would just treasure the moment. I was never supposed to see this man again. The moment we shared was short but intense. I wanted him on the spot; that has never happened to me before. Am I really about to get fake engaged to his brother? My gaze falls upon my hand, which is tightly gripped in Brock’s. Doubt starts to rear its ugly head. I try to school my facial features, hoping to hide my true feelings at the moment. I wonder if I should get out of this because if I feel like this right now, how am I going to make it through two years? This was supposed to be easy, but here he is looking up at me, and all I can think about is Ashton. Why is this bothering me so much? I met him yesterday for like thirty seconds. And yes, I have been thinking about his eyes, those incredible light brown eyes that have been floating through my mind ever since they first shamelessly roamed over me last night. But I don’t even know him, and until he walked in the apartment tonight, I never thought I’d see him again. But now that he has, I wonder if it is a sign. Maybe it’s not too late to back out of this. What am I even saying? Am I really going to give up a chance to reach my dream goal because I am lusting over a guy who probably doesn’t even feel the same way? Am I stupid? I need to stay away from a man who can stir up such intense feelings inside me in mere seconds. I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry.

  “I know that not everyone really knows how long we have known each other. Or rather, how long I have been pining for you,” he adds with a chuckle. My God, he’s convincing.

  “But I do know that I can’t let you slip away now that we are finally ready to tell the world about us. You are incredible, Mackenzie. I admire your strength, your intelligence, your beauty, but mostly I adore you for the kindness in your heart. Would you make me the happiest man on the planet and agree to be my wife?”

  I can kill Brock right now for dropping this on me out of the blue. Brock pulls out a ridiculously large diamond ring, which looks to be white gold or platinum. It’s beautiful. At least my fake symbol of forever is a pretty one, I think to myself. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I cast my eyes upon his and smile the biggest smile I can.

  “Yes, Brock. A thousand times, yes!”

  Brock releases a breath and smiles brightly. He slides the ring onto my finger and brings my hands to his lips. He kisses it gently, and our eyes meet.

  “Thank you, you have no idea what this means to me,” he says softly.

  I know this last statement isn’t pretend. He means every word; this means a lot to him. Beside him Gigi, starts to sob, and she stands to hug him—or so I thought. Instead, she pulls me into her embrace.

  “Welcome to the family, dear,” she says, choked up. “I am so happy he has finally found someone. I’ve been so worried.”

  My gaze searches for Brock. He looks pained for a moment, but he’s quickly distracted by the bear hug his grandfather pulls him into.

  “Well done, my boy,” he tells him as he slaps him on the back.

  Gigi releases me and rushes to hug Brock. I watch them smiling. My smile falters when my eyes fall upon Ashton. He looks…upset. I watch him look upon the situation before him. He stands in silence, absentmindedly rubbing his chin. Our gazes meet, and I’m suddenly flooded with feelings of guilt. I tell myself to look away, but my irises are glued to his. He takes long strides toward us, and I swallow hard. He extends his hand, and without a single thought or hesitation, I take it. I Immediately regret it, as shivers run like a ghostly touch across my skin. I suck in a breath of air.

  “Congratulations,” he croaks.

  “Thank you,” I manage to choke out. “That means a lot to us,” I add as I place my hand on Brock’s arm.

  Brock puts his arm around my shoulder, pulling me against him.

  “Yes, Ash, thank you. We are so happy that you were here to celebrate this moment with us.”

  Ashton smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “What kind of celebration doesn’t have a good champagne toast?”

  We both turn to find Gigi and Pops (as they insist that I call them) standing beside us, armed with two bottles of champagne and glass flutes.

  “I see that you have taken my advice,” Gigi says proudly.

  Brock raises a brow.

  “I usually do, but I’m not sure what you mean, Gigi.”

  “I’ve told you boys to always have a few bottles of bubbly chilled, just in case. I personally keep a better champagne, but I guess Moët will do in a pinch.”

  A giggle escapes my lips.

  “Don’t worry, Gigi. I will teach him about proper champagnes,” I tell her, flashing her a conspiratorial wink.

  “Oh, you know about champagne, dear?”

  “Gigi, you will find my beautiful fiancée to be very knowledgeable about anything related to food or alcohol. She has been in the culinary world for in several different capacities,” Brock say proudly.

  “The food you’ve cooked tonight was incredible, Mackenzie,” Ashton interjects. “I especially loved the appetizers. Faye must have followed your recipe to the letter because they tasted just as amazing the other night.”

  Does he know?

  “Faye is a wonderful cook. She has taught me some recipes as well,” I say evasively.

  Ashton doesn’t seem convinced at all, and I make a mental note to warn Faye. I really like her, and I don’t want her to get into trouble over something this silly. I am saved from further questions when more of the guests come forward to congratulate us. I am relieved when I put some distance between myself and Ashton. The rest of the evening flies by, and after we toast to our happiness and indulge in some more small talk, we walk all our guests out one by one. Ashton is the first one to leave. He makes a swift exit and doesn’t linger as I feared he would, and I can’t deny that it’s a huge relief. Once the last person has finally left, Brock scoops me into his arms for a huge bear hug.

  “You were incredible tonight, Mackenzie,” he says into my hair.

  He releases me and walks ahead of me into the living room. Clearly this evening has been exhausting for the both of us. We both lower ourselves onto the sofa and turn to face each other.

  “Well…I think that went pretty damn amazing. What about you?”

  “You are lucky I think on my feet. I can’t believe you would propose to me without telling me!”

  Brock squirms in his seat beside me. He looks somewhat contrite, and that in itself softens my stance.

  “I swear, it wasn’t even planned. I picked up the ring today so I could be prepared. And when I saw it was going so well, and I saw how happy Gigi was, I just...got caught up in the moment.”

  He sounds like a little kid right now, and it’s endearing. A small smile tugs at my lips.

  “Promise me that we will make all big decisions together from now on, okay? I am not relishing the idea of walking into my wedding without a clue, ya know?”

  “Well crap, I guess I should cancel the priest,” Brock mutters as he pulls his cell from his pocket.

  My eyes widen.

  “You’re kidding.”

  A boyish grin appears on his face.

  “The look on your face just now is priceless,” he says, clearl
y amused. “Yes, I’m kidding.”

  I pick up a throw pillow from the sofa and hurl it toward him, gleefully grinning as it hits its mark.

  “I’m serious, Brock. If this is going to work, we have to do this as a team. No more of this lone wolf crap, okay?”

  “Lone wolf?” Brock chuckles.

  “So help me God, Brock. Stop playing around and promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  “Okay, good,” I say, pleased.

  I hold my hand up and admire the ring on my left ring finger. It sparkles brightly as the light catches it.

  “Please tell me this thing is fake.”

  Brock looks at me, a disgusted look on his face.

  “There is no way I was going to propose with a fake ring, M. Being married means being part of a team. Even if this marriage is one of convenience, we are going to be married for real. That deserves a real ring.”

  The passion in his voice takes me by surprise. I smile at him.

  “Dear God, I will need to hire a security guard to walk around with this.”

  “Luckily, your future husband can afford such things.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “You’re nuts.”

  “Yup, and how lucky are you that I am going to be your nut for the next two years?” he replies with a smirk.

  I drop my head back against the headrest.

  “Oh God,” I groan dramatically. “What did I get myself into?”

  Brock laughs heartily.

  Suddenly my eyes start to feel heavy, and a yawn escapes from the very tips of my toes. Brock rises from the sofa and extends his hand to me.

  “Come on, I’ll get you a ride home.”

  He’s tapping something into his phone while we wait for the elevator.

  Like the gentleman he is, he walks me downstairs where, lo and behold, a car is already waiting to take me home. Always prepared, this one, I chuckle to myself. Brock opens the car door for me, and I duck into the waiting vehicle.

  “I have a surprise for you.”

  That piques my interest.

  “Another one, huh? Should I be worried?”

  The boyish grin returns on his features.

  “It’s a good one, I promise. Be ready tomorrow morning at ten sharp. I’ll pick you up.”

  “I’ll be waiting, future hubby,” I reply.

  He smiles sweetly.

  “See you tomorrow, future wifey.”

  On my way home I text Amber, asking her to come over. Luckily for me, her shift has nearly ended and she agrees to come by. I really need to talk to her about all of this. Brock and I have discussed it, and he agreed that she can be my one person who I can tell the truth to. I may be able to lie to everyone else, but I don’t want to lie to the one person who has always been there for me. I’ve barely taken off my coat when she walks into the apartment.

  “That key is supposed to be for emergencies,” I tell her in greeting.

  “You said you needed to see me asap, so I assumed it was an emergency,” she counters.

  We both chuckle.

  “Well, I was about to open this bottle of wine. Trust me, you’ll want some.”

  She arches a brow.

  “That sounds ominous,” she says as she assesses me with squinted eyes. “I guess you better start pouring,” she adds.

  We go into my little living area, plop onto the floor, and lean against the little loveseat instead of actually sitting on it. I take a big gulp of wine, not even tasting it when I swallow. Then I take a deep breath, and everything starts pouring out like word vomit. I can barely remember taking a breath in between. When I finish, Amber just stares at me for a moment.

  “Oh man! He’s gay? Ugh, what a waste, he’s smoking hot.”

  I burst out laughing.

  “That wasn’t exactly what I thought you’d zone in on.”

  She chuckles.

  “Well, it’s true.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Girl, how do you feel about not dating anyone for two years?”

  I shrug.

  “After everything that happened with Chris, the last thing I am interested in is dating,” I tell her. “Besides, I am hoping to be too busy with the restaurant.”

  She cocks her head and purses her lips.

  “Are you sure this is something you can handle?”

  “I’m pretty sure I can do without dating for a few years.”

  “Don’t be obtuse, M. It doesn’t become you,” she says sternly. “You are going to have your restaurant, sure. That is great, I love that for you, but you will also have to live a lie for two years.”

  It’s true, and it isn’t like I have not considered this myself. I take another swig of my wine.

  “I will do what I need to do, both for me and Brock.”

  Amber sighs.

  “Okay then,” she says. “Well, if you want me to be on board with this, you have to promise me one thing.”

  “Which is?”

  “Don’t put me in an ugly bridesmaid’s dress,” she deadpans.

  I burst out laughing once more.

  “Deal.”

  Amber scoots closer and puts her arm around my shoulder.

  “Now let me see this big ass ring.”

  When ten a.m. rolls around, I am ready and waiting (or pretty much chomping at the bit) to find out what he has in store for me, which is surprising since Amber and I were up talking until the early morning hours. Thankfully, Brock is prompt as usual. I meet him outside of my building, and he looks as excited as a kid on Christmas morning.

  “Good morning, M,” he greets me brightly.

  I smile at him.

  “Good morning, hubby.”

  That earns me a smirk. I expect us to get into a car, but instead he insists that we walk. I take the arm he offers me and hook mine around his. Brock is refusing to tell me where we are going, so we just walk in comfortable silence. Even on this brisk morning, the city is full of life. The sidewalks are packed with pedestrians, and the sound of honking horns, distant sirens, and people talking to each other or on their cellphones fill the silence. I inhale deeply as the smell of coffee being brewed teases my nostrils. I smile as we walk past the many street vendors and admire the colorful store awnings of the droves of stores this part of the city has to offer—eclectic, yet so perfectly matched. The hustle and bustle of the city feels like home. It isn’t long before I realize where we are going, and my pulse quickens. And as I suspected, moments later, we stop in front of the building where I was hoping to start my own restaurant. It definitely needs a bit of TLC, but in my mind’s eye, I can clearly see what it’s supposed to be. My grip on Brock’s arm tightens as the giddiness inside me grows. He pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and dangles it in front of me. I squeal loudly.

  “Can we go inside?” I ask.

  “I was hoping we would. It’s a little chilly out here,” Brocks replies, amused.

  I take the keys from him, unlock the door, and push it open. The moment I step inside, a warmth radiates through me, and it feels as if I have just come home. I start to imagine what this place can become.

  “We are meeting some people here today to help you get started.”

  Brock’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. I take a deep breath and close my eyes for moment, letting it all sink in. Tears start to burn at the back of my eyelids as realization flows through me.

  “It’s really happening, isn’t it?” I whisper, afraid that if I say it out loud I might jinx it.

  Understanding that I need just a moment, he doesn’t reply but simply nods. We walk around the place, and I tell him what my plans for the restaurant are. We meet with some contractors and get things hammered out much faster than I thought we would. It’s amazing what waving some cash around will accomplish. A little after one, the designer Brock retained shows up. Apparently, she is very important and extremely talented. We are sitting in one of the booths when she approaches. I am not sure if any of the things he has told me are accurate,
but I do know one thing: she is definitely gorgeous. Her long, sandy blonde hair is flowing almost angelically around her flawless face. Her legs seem to go for miles and probably seem longer because of the five-inch heels she’s rocking. And holy crap, can she pull them off. She practically glides with a grace that has even me doing a double take. But all of those things are nothing compared to this woman’s eyes. I am not sure if it is the lighting or what, but they seem gold. They exude so much warmth, which is only amplified by her pearly whites as she smiles brightly. She stops in front of me and offers her hand.

  “Hello, I am Mikaela Kingsley. I’m so happy to meet you, Ms. Hart.”

  If Brock was my real fiancé, and I didn’t know for a fact that he plays for the other team, I have to admit, I’d be a little worried. I smile at the beauty before me and accept her hand.

  “Hello, so nice to meet you, Mikaela. Is it okay to call you Mikaela?”

  “Please do.”

  “Great. And please, my name is not Ms. Hart, it’s Mackenzie, but my friends call me M. And since I have a feeling we’ll be spending quite a bit of time together, please, call me M.”

  She looks around the room.

  “M, you have an incredible canvas here, and I am so excited to work together to make this everything you ever wanted.”

  Mikaela’s enthusiasm is definitely contagious. We talk for quite a bit about what my ideas are, and she tells me some of hers. It’s late afternoon by the time we say our goodbyes. We agree to meet in a couple of days, after the contractors have done the improvements needed in the kitchen. Brock walks me home, and while we walked in comfortable silence on the way here, the return trip is filled with excited chatter. We get to my building, and I invite him up. We sit in the kitchen at my tiny makeshift dining table, and I pour us a glass of wine.

  “You know, at some point we need to discuss living arrangements.”

  “What? You don’t like my digs?” I tease.

  “Smart-ass.”

  I chuckle.

  “I’m serious. We can hardly live twelve blocks apart once we are married, and your place...well, it’s small.”