Chapter 22

Emma had never been to Chicago. She knew that it was called the ‘Windy City,' although she couldn't feel even a slight breeze between all those skyscrapers. The last rays of sun were warming her face. She was wearing a blue knee-length pleated skirt, and a black top with a pink cardigan. She had wandered the city for four hours, checking off every tourist attraction she'd read about, and tried a slice of the famous Chicago pizza – which would have elicited a huff and a laugh from any Italian.

In the afternoon, Luke had been tied up with practice and a team meeting, which was why she'd had to forage into the concrete jungle on her own. When they had gotten off the plane, he'd promised her he would make up for it with something extra special. And when Emma had reacted by giving him a skeptical look, he had laughed and assured her that for once he wasn't talking about anything sexual. Not that Emma would have been averse to that. Instead he'd merely told her to meet him in front of the Navy Pier at eight. Emma had nodded, even though she had not the slightest idea what or where the Navy Pier was. Its name suggested that it was by the water, but Emma was by no means sure of that – Hey, Americans had done crazier things. After all, they believed that the Germans would hang a gherkin or pickle on the Christmas tree.

Emma reached the harbor at five minutes to eight. She felt like lying down on a bench and closing her eyes. Her feet were aching, and she wasn't sure she would ever be able to feel anything again. The day had been an utter sensory overload, making her understand why babies often cried so much. She thought that she would surely start to cry and scream if she collected that many new impressions every single day.

She raised her eyes and let out a sigh when she looked out over Lake Michigan. If she hadn't known that it was a lake, she would have been amazed at how smooth and calm the sea stretched out before her. The water stretched all the way to the horizon, while the sun was reflected on the surface, bathing the entire, overcrowded harbor in a warm, orange-and-pink light. The first string lights were tinkling on the pier, where the yachts were lined up one after another. It was amazing how a city could seem to consist of nothing but office complexes in one part, while only half a mile away, it was a world made of light and water.

Emma let her eyes roam, until her gaze snagged on a sign that labeled this part of the harbor as Navy Pier. She searched the area below the sign, and her heart skipped a beat as soon as she spied the tall, dark-haired figure that was smiling at her.

Treacherous little heart …

Emma set one foot before another, and with every yard she covered, her heart warmed further. Luke was wearing jeans and a white tee, and thus would have blended in the crowd – if it hadn't been for his exceptionally attractive physiognomy, which caused various women to do a double take when they passed him. But he didn't pay attention to the women in their short summer dresses; he smiled exclusively at her.

The blushing, homely German girl, whose heart beat faster and faster, as if she hadn't seen this man for an eternity, instead of a few hours.

"Hey," Emma said a little breathlessly as she looked up at him.

"Hey." Luke put a warm hand around her neck and pulled her up on tiptoe, before letting his lips softly graze hers.

It was as if that gesture was the most natural thing in the world, as if he would kiss her now and kiss her forever like that, every time they met again.

Except that he wouldn't.

Her heart skipped a long beat.

Except that he wouldn't.

Emma sank back onto the heels of her feet, and tried to ignore the sinking feeling that was spreading in her stomach. She shouldn't be thinking such things. She mustn't forget what this really was.

But how was she supposed to do that, if there was no photographer in sight, and yet his lips on hers gave her the feeling that she was the only woman on earth. That she was special.

"How was your meeting?" she wanted to know and forced her gaze to return to the lake again. She suspected that he would read her thoughts if he could look into her eyes.

"Alright." He took her hand and walked through the gate into the harbor area, where voices and smells mingled. "Nothing out of the ordinary. Coach Thompson merely reminded us of the fact that it is technically forbidden to have sex before a game." He gave her a sidelong grin, and the way his thumb caressed Emma's wrist raised her suspicion that he wouldn't honor that particular proscription tonight.

"Why aren't you allowed to sleep with someone the night before a game?"

"Oh, we're not supposed to waste our energy, and shouldn't let anything distract us …"

"I think that's a stupid reason."

Luke laughed and interlaced his fingers with hers. "Someone is rather hungry for sex, yes?"

She snorted. "I don't have a problem with staying chaste."

"Such a pretty little liar. But don't worry, nobody gives a damn about it anyway. We only have an off day every ten days … that would be insane."

"Every ten days? But you–"

"I'm a pitcher, Emma. I'm only really deployed, if you want, ever four games or so. Are you hungry?"

She blinked, and a slight blush tinged her cheeks. "For some food?"

He raised a salacious eyebrow. "You know you're not supposed to have dessert first, Emma," he whispered.

She averted her eyes. God, she had turned into one of those people whom she would have yelled at to go get a room only a few months ago! Even worse: She had turned into one of the girls who blushed at every other word that left her boyfriend's lips! And he was only her mock boyfriend! At least they didn't have mock sex.

"Let's find something to eat, Mr. Wichtig," she said archly.

"It's cute when your face gets all red and I can see exactly what you're thinking," Luke noted casually, before pulling her towards a stall. "They have the best pizza in all of Chicago. You haven't had pizza here yet, have you?"

"Nope," she lied as she joined him at the end of the queue. "I haven't."

The evening wore on, and Luke kept glancing at his watch, making Emma progressively curious. What the devil could he have planned?

They had pizza and then cheesecake, before sitting by the water for a while, discussing their favorite childhood foods. Luke was on the pancake team, while Emma favored Spaghetti Bolognese, which was a little different from the Italo-American spaghetti with meatballs. At twenty minutes to eleven, Luke finally pulled her to her feet, and they went in line for the gigantic Ferris wheel, which was lit up like a Christmas tree.

Emma looked skeptical, first at Luke, then at the huge wheel in front of her.

"Is that your plan?" she finally wanted to know, when they reached the cashier at five minutes to eleven, and Luke bought two tickets.

He nodded. "That is my plan."

"Mhm."

"What are you thinking?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing."

He gave her a wide grin. "What did you expect? A submarine tour in Lake Michigan?"

"I don't know. Maybe a zeppelin ride? Or that you would give me a dolphin as a present."

The line inched closer to the turning gondolas. "Zeppelins are for wussies."

"I'm a wussy."

He looked into her eyes and the right corner of his mouth twitched. "If there's anything that you are definitely not, Emma Sander, it's a wuss. You have bigger balls than a lot of men."

"But that is only the fault of the men nowadays. They don't like to get sweaty, they prefer getting a pedicure."

"Which doesn't change the fact that you are one of the strongest persons I know."

And once again there was this warm feeling that started in her chest, and then went straight to her head. Emma swallowed several times, but it wouldn't leave her throat.

The pair in front of them got into the gondola, and the youth next to it tore their tickets, before the wheel started turning leisurely, and then stopped again.

"Ladies first," Luke said, stepping aside to let her get in first. Emma felt a little queasy as she stepped up and into the wobbly tin can, and then she slumped into her seat. The gondola swayed back and forth, and suddenly Emma remembered why she had never liked the boat swings in the amusement parks.

Luke sank into the seat next to her, and the low door was closed, before the wheel started turning slowly once again.

Luke threw her a glance. "Is everything okay? You're a little green about the gills."

Emma nodded. "I'm fine."

He squinted at her, and then a smile began playing on his lips. "Are you scared?"

She quickly shook her head, but avoided looking down. As if she would admit that now, after he'd told her he thought she was one of the strongest people he knew!

"Nonsense." Her arm clamped around his more tightly.

He laughed out loud. "You're such a bad liar. Sometimes I think you're living on Sesame Street!"

She rolled her eyes and stretched out her legs. "I'm not scared – I merely have a healthy respect for the height."

He continued to laugh and pulled away his arm, which she had clutched tightly, to wrap it around her shoulders instead. "Don't be scared, I'll protect you."

Emma doubted he could protect her from a thirty-feet plunge onto hard concrete, but was silent.

Instead she fixed her gaze on the horizon, the lake, and the lights.

It was beautiful. There was no better word for it.

"How is your sister doing, by the way?" Luke asked when the wheel stopped again. They had moved about a fourth of the way up.

"Fine. She's at home and upset about the fact that her husband won't allow her to carry anything heavier than an apple."

"So that means back to normal again, I guess?"

"Exactly." She smiled and then looked up at him. "What do you think of my sister anyway?"

Luke thought for a moment, stroking Emma's shoulder mechanically. "She's very … nice."

Emma laughed, and the Ferris wheel started moving again, until they had reached the top, when it stopped yet again. "You can say that she's hot, come on."

He turned his gaze on her. "She's rather pretty, but hot is the word I'd use for her sister."

Emma rolled her eyes, but couldn't help the smile that curved her lips.

"Thank you very much, but I know that Milla is prettier than me. She always was. In our family she was always the beauty, while I was the smart cookie."

Luke shook his head and frowned. "Has your family ever seen you naked with your after-sex hairstyle?"

After-sex hairstyle? He should get that word patented, stat.

"No …"

"Then I‘m afraid they have no idea of the scope of your hotness."

Emma blushed and felt it bubble up again: the warm, sweet feeling, which no longer seemed content with taking over her chest and her head. It spread down into her belly, and further down into the tips of her toes, along her arms and into her fingertips.

She cocked her head, more than a little embarrassed at being this overwhelmed.

"Say, does the wheel stop this long for each of the gondolas?"

Emma furrowed her brow as she looked down. She couldn't remember that it had stopped for such a long time during the earlier rounds.

Luke shook his head and pulled her a little closer. "Nope. I slipped the ticket guy some extra money so he would stop it for us."

Perplexed, she raised her eyebrows. "But why?"

He nodded out at the lake. "Because of this," he whispered, before the first skyrocket went up and exploded in a shower of dark red stars. Emma didn't even have time to open her mouth, before the first one was followed by a dozen more, painting the sky in a glittering cornucopia of colors.

She held her breath and refrained from sighing. The rockets rose into the sky, swirled and blended with the multicolored string lights and the stars, were mirrored by the smooth surface of the lake, and illuminated both the yachts and the skyscrapers.

"Zeppelins are for wussies and fireworks for strong men?" she whispered and put her chin on his shoulder.

She felt him nod. "Yes."

She smiled and kissed his jaw. "Thank you. That is really very special."

They were silent for a while, watching the fireworks and savoring the quiet, until Luke buried his nose in her hair and whispered: "Emma, it doesn't matter what Brittany or your fiancé told you – they're both idiots. Especially your fiancé. You've always been good enough. For anybody."

And when he pulled her closer into his strong arms, Emma knew that she had been stupid enough after all, stupid enough to fall head over heels in love with Luke. That the token relationship had gotten a little too real for her. That she could no longer pretend to herself they were only sleeping together.

Luke was right: She was a terrible liar. She could no longer fool herself. And she wasn't sure how much longer she would be able to fool him.

One week was virtually nothing. Least of all when you had to put the finishing touches to a VIP wedding, while all you could really think about was the fact that your heart was yearning for the person you would have to publicly dump in the foreseeable future.

Emma was inclined to think it was a ludicrous joke the universe was playing on her.

Ever since she could remember, she had been the one who was dumped by the guys. It had always been that way. She didn't know why, but it was a simple fact. She had been happy to have someone, and it hadn't mattered whether she really loved her boyfriend, she had held on to him – until he cast her into the street and ran her over with his car (metaphorically speaking, of course).

And now, with Luke, she was the one who was supposed to break up with him, and cause as big a scene as possible. For the first time, she loved someone so much that it twisted her guts, and now she was basically bound by a contract to put an end to the whole affair. What did it matter that there had been no actual written contract, but only a spoken agreement – she dreaded the day when Luke would remind her of that. But first of all there were other matters to attend to.

The soon-to-be Nadia Carter eyed the two flower arrangements before her with a critical frown, before shaking her head. "Are you sure that I wanted white roses?"

Emma raised her eyebrows. "Very sure."

The bride-to-be picked up a small bouquet and studied it more closely. "Remind me again, what argued against the orchids?"

"Your fiancé is allergic to their pollen. If you don't want to take a guy with red eyes and a swollen tongue for your lawfully wedded husband, I'd stick to the roses."

"Oh, right." She put down the bouquet with nervous hands. "What else do we have to take care of?"

Emma shrugged her shoulders. "That was it. Everything has been taken care of. For the remaining four days, you can lean back and relax."

Nadia looked dumbfounded. "The guest list?"

"Everyone is checked off."

"The caterer?"

"Is hired and ready."

"The bridesmaids' dresses?"

"Fitted and mucked up with a little tulle here and there, to make sure that you remain the irradiant bride."

"My future stepson?"

"Just bought a new tuxedo" – looked smoking hot in it, too – "and even has his best man's speech prepared."

It consisted of no more than four sentences, but Emma was of the opinion that it was an achievement, considering that initially he had wanted to say: "Drink and be merry, since from now on, my dad can't do that anymore."

The bride-to-be took a few deep breaths and sat down in a chair, looking around the room, which was still as good as empty, but would be decorated to the max and filled with people in only four days.

"Were you ever married?" Nadia wanted to know, while she fanned herself with her hand.

Emma shook her head and pulled up a chair for herself. "No, never."

"I was, and yet I'm as nervous as if I was asked to walk across a deep ravine on a two-by-four … in heels."

Emma laughed. "It's normal to be nervous. Believe me, I've seen more than one bride climb out through a window, only to watch her walk back in through the front entrance five minutes later, as if nothing had happened."

Nadia looked at her, aghast. She was about thirty years older than Emma, but she looked like a little girl who had just been told that vampires actually existed. "And that is supposed to reassure me?"

Emma cleared her throat and fidgeted in her chair. "I can have your bathroom window boarded up from the outside if you wish."

For a few seconds, Nadia simply stared at her, but then she slumped in her chair and shook her head. "No, that won't be necessary. I love Paul and he loves me. I'm so very lucky … and my crinoline would never fit through the window anyway."

Emma smiled and searched the older woman's face. Panic had given way to a deep, satisfied smile, which could only be worn by people who were in love, and knew they were loved in return.

That had to be an incredibly wonderful feeling. Emma's heart constricted. She thought of Luke and how sweet he was to her, and the way he acted when he was with her – maybe she had a chance after all? Maybe he felt the same way?

From time to time Emma was haunted by the feeling that this fake relationship was realer than most of her past ones. How would she ever know if she couldn't have everything, if she didn't ask him? But would she survive if he didn't give her the answer she wanted to hear?

God, why did her heart always want the one thing that was unattainable? That was masochistic!

"Would you like to get married someday?"

Emma was torn from her increasingly gloomy thoughts, and raised her eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

Nadia smiled good-naturedly. "You attend so many weddings; I couldn't help but ask myself if you wouldn't like to get married someday, too."

Emma's cheeks turned pink, because the image of a certain tall baseball player immediately flashed through her head, waiting in front of the altar in a black suit, smiling at her.

Good Heavens, she was doomed!

"I don't know," she finally answered, her throat feeling parched. "Probably, yes. But if I do, it shouldn't be a big affair. I've had my share of big weddings. I don't want to have to keep the plan in my head at my own wedding, you know? And then one would have to find the right man for such an endeavor …"

But in truth she had already found him. The only question was whether he would want to be found by her at all.

Nadia studied Emma closely, and finally folded her hands in her lap. "May I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Are you really just Luke's girlfriend for show, or is there more going on?"

Heat infused Emma's cheeks and she averted her eyes, but then met Nadia's again quickly, if only because she felt that the failure to do so would prove her guilt.

She cleared her throat. "We're also friends. We … get along quite well."

Nadia smiled at Emma with her head cocked to one side. Emma couldn't shake the feeling that it was a pitying smile, congratulating her on her stupidity, since she had managed to fall in love with the ‘male slut.'

"Okay."

"Why do you ask?" Emma asked casually and crossed her legs.

Nadia shrugged her shoulders. "Just because."

Emma pricked up her metaphorical ears as she looked at Nadia. Women didn't ask questions just because. She knew as much, for she was a woman herself after all!

But she could hardly probe for a better answer, for obvious reasons.

She rose and shouldered her purse. "I'll see you on Saturday. Don't fret, you'll be a beautiful bride."

"Thank you."

They said goodbye, and when Emma closed the door behind her, she took a hissing breath. Being in love was exhausting. Especially if you had the feeling that everyone was able to read you like an open book. Except for the person where it would have mattered most.

***

Luke opened the second bottle of beer and handed it to his friend. Wesley was sitting on a bar stool, leaning on his forearms on the kitchen island. The TV was running in the background, showing the Yankees steamroller the Atlanta Braves. Wesley gasped when the Braves pitcher launched the ball too high for the fifth time in a row, and the Yankees batter was allowed to move forward to the next base.

"Jesus Christ, who kicked Bradley in the balls? He's been throwing like a girl all day."

Luke grinned and took a sip from his bottle. "Maybe he forgot to take his hormones. The same thing could happen to you, once you're married."

His friend threw him a nasty look, which warned Luke that he'd like to see his balls in his wife's purse, too.

"I wouldn't talk so big if I were you, Lucky," Wes replied and took his eyes off the TV screen. "You've been running around with your tail between your legs lately, too, and I'm not talking metaphors."

Luke's expression darkened. "I'm keeping my tail between my legs because my incompetent agent implored me to do so, to drag the cart of my reputation out of the mud, so to speak."

Wes grinned. "Smart man, your agent. Speaking of that …" He leaned back on the bar stool and pulled up the sleeves of his sweater. "It's about time you guys break up."

Luke blinked, taken by surprise with the statement. "What?"

"It's about time for your grand finale."

Grand finale. Luke thought it was rather macabre to label the end of a relationship as a finale. But it wasn't a real relationship. It was a show. The terminology was fitting for a show, wasn't it? Finale.

Luke knit his brows. "Why now?"

"It's perfect. It looks as if things have gone back to normal between you and her again, but everyone still remembers that there might be an affair with Dexter somewhere in the mix. If she breaks up with you now, they will remember that, will assume that she cheated on you, and will therefore be on your side. It's the culmination, the perfect ending of it."

Ending …

"Bullshit. It's too early."

Wesley raised an eyebrow. "Too early for what?"

The left corner of his mouth pulled upward, before he said slowly: "To early to stop sleeping with her?"

"Cut the crap! It's not about the sex."

Wes laughed dryly. "Then what is it about?"

Luke shrugged his shoulders. "It's simply too early! It isn't believable that I'm supposed to already love her so much that she could break my heart."

Wes guffawed. "Dude, the world things that you're living with her – believe me, that is believable enough."

Well, he was living with her. And if he was completely honest, it was really nice sometimes, not having to come home to an empty apartment …

Luke shook his head again. Of course she would break up with him at some point.

At some point.

But not now. Not now, when everything was so … when she was so …

"It's just too early."

His agent rose slowly. "What is this whole thing about, Luke? Don't you want the curtain to fall on your play?"

To divert his attention, Luke glanced at the flat screen TV, where the two mascots were currently wrestling each other. "Of course I do."

If she moved out, he could begin to live his old life again. He wouldn't have to ask if he should bring anything from the grocery store, because she wanted to cook. There would be no throw over his bed, and he could finally start going out with normal women again. Women who didn't take every little thing he said as an offense, ready to throw a flower vase at his head.

"I simply want it to be right."

"You sound like a woman! Please! You want it to be right?" Wesley gave him an incredulous look. "Luke, your entire relationship is a lie! You guys are acting for the cameras; have you forgotten that?"

Luke was riled, and he directed his gaze back to his friend. "Shut up, Wes! I haven't forgotten anything. I'm going to remind her to break up with me when the time is right!"

Wesley laughed dryly. "Is that so? Are you sure? At the moment it seems more as if you go down the path every normal guy does: You're falling in love with your girlfriend, buddy. Token or real."

"Stop the bullshit!"

Without noticing it, Luke had risen as well.

"No, you stop the bullshit," Wesley said, raising his voice. "You're acting like a twelve-year-old girl! If you don't love her, the whole thing has achieved its purpose, and you're not going to undo that purpose because you're thinking with your dick, and you don't want to lose your convenient fuck!"

Anger flared up within Luke, and the blood seemed to boil under his skin.

"Don't call her that," he growled.

"Call her what? A convenient fuck? What am I supposed to call her then? Fact is, it's not that gentlemanlike to practically hire a woman, then sleep with her, and later get her to compromise herself in public. If you don't have feelings for her, then stop using her and let her break up with you! Before she is the one who suddenly dreams of having your kids."

Using?He wasn't using Emma! And she wasn't falling in love with him. She wasn't one of the women who got clingy and suddenly demanded he put a ring on their finger.

If there's anyone who can hurt her, it's you.Luke stared at his hand, which was gripping the bottle of beer. He liked Emma, and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

What if Wesley was right? What if he was in fact using her? There was at least one grain of truth in his statement, and that was the fact that what Luke was doing was not the action of a gentleman. He should tell her that their deal had come to an end, but – he simply wasn't ready to let her go.

He didn't have enough of her yet. The thing they had right now was a good thing – why destroy it all? She didn't expect anything from him, and he didn't expect anything from her, so he would be an idiot if he didn't protract this arrangement for just a little while longer.

He took another sip of beer, before he declared: "My father is getting married this weekend. She's the wedding planner. I can't tell her to break up with me before that has gone smoothly."

Wesley nodded as if he understood – only to measure his friend with that look again a second later. The look that gave Luke the feeling he was no longer perceived as a real man. Not a feeling he particularly liked.

"Sounds reasonable. Plus it gives you the opportunity to gush about your relationship in Saturday's Morning Show. And afterwards you'll tell her she needs to make something up, okay?"

After the wedding and the damn publicity stint.

That was three days from now. Three days during which he would need to fully savor everything of her. She would be sitting in a plane back to Germany very soon anyway. What difference did it make whether he had one or two weeks less with her?

None, he told himself – but he couldn't prevent the voice in the back of his head from whispering that it did make a difference. That three days were not enough to soak up everything Emma had to offer.

That three days would not be enough to see her eyes light up again, when she thought she had understood baseball another little bit better.

That more than three days were necessary to fully savor her shooting pool, dressed only in one of his shirts, trying to distract him by whispering dirty things into his ear.

He took a deep breath. It didn't matter. Three days had to be enough.

"Sure. I'll tell her after the wedding," Luke promised and drained the rest of his bottle.