CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN DUFFY

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

DUFFY

I ended up winning the apple-picking battle. It wasn’t even much of a competition. Riggs did a wonderful job filling my basket to the brim. And yes, there was a euphemism there. #SorryNotSorry.

The rest of the weekend was a blur of drinks with my childhood mates (Riggs made all of them swoon, and one even tried to take him home, thinking he was just my flatmate, which gave me a small heart attack), a visit to Tim and Kieran’s chippy (Riggs approved, wolfing down three servings; I found pride in that, since BJ absolutely detested anything fried), and a day in Camden, going through old record shops and secondhand finds.

It was both lovely and soul crushing, knowing the interview letter from the immigration office would come in the mail any day now. After that, there’d be no need for us to physically stick together, and we’d go our separate ways.

But the haze of vacationing with my fake husband didn’t evaporate until we were tucked in the cab on our way back to our Manhattan flat. Something about the tall, imposing buildings and unbearably fast pace of the city anchored me back to reality. With it came the reminder that I had pressing issues to tend to. None of them related to BJ, my visa, and finding a job.

“You know what today is perfect for?” I toyed with the soft tuft of blond curls behind his ear.

“Sex on the beach?” Riggs was scrolling through his phone, looking largely unbothered by the fact our so-called honeymoon had come to an end. “The act, not the cocktail. I still have my balls intact, thank you.”

My cheeks were so hot you could make well-done burgers on them. “That too. But you need to schedule your appointment with the neurologist.”

If looks could kill, I’d be stuck in an underground fridge right now.

“I can book it for you if you’re busy,” I suggested, not particularly enjoying playing his mum.

“I’m a big boy. I’ll do it, eventually.”

“But your headaches—”

“You’re contributing to those with your constant nagging, Poppins.” His voice was soft, but his expression hardened.

I opened my mouth, then clamped it shut. He needed to know about the potential risks he was up against.

“You should also go see Charlie in the hospital.”

“Yeah, I’ll drop by tomorrow on my way to Christian’s.”

“No, not tomorrow. Today.”

His head finally snapped up. “Why’re you pushing this?”

“Pushing what?” I played dumb.

He circled the air with his finger. “All of this. My headaches. Charlie. Why do you give a fuck? I’m not your business. We’ve already gone through this. Fuck buddies with benefits, right? Nothing more.”

You’d think the frequency with which he said it would make the pain dull, but it never ceased to hurt me.

“Just because the marriage isn’t real doesn’t mean the friendship isn’t,” I mumbled.

“You think BJ’s gonna like you being friends with the guy you’re married to, the guy who fucked you in every single position in the Kama Sutra?” He snorted.

Actually, I was quite sure we were about eight positions short.

I licked my lips. “I’m not sure I’m getting back with BJ.”

Why couldn’t I simply spit the truth out? That BJ hadn’t even been in my thoughts for weeks? That Riggs haunted them, day and night, and at some point through it all, I’d realized love was more important than money?

Because that would be admitting to yourself that you’re in love with your bloody husband.

Riggs let out a rusty laugh. “Is that why you didn’t tell your parents you’ve broken up?”

The reason why I hadn’t told my parents about BJ and me was because I was embarrassed. I wasn’t ready for Riggs to witness the cringe when I had to explain to Mum and Tim that BJ had run off to a Thai island to sample exotic beauties while I twiddled my thumbs and pined for an engagement ring.

“Now who’s the one overstepping?” I answered.

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “My bad. I have no right giving a shit about you and BJ. It’s not like I’m your husband.”

When the cab dropped us off at our building, I went straight to the mailbox. I unlocked it and flipped it open, my heart stuttering in my chest. The usual junk mail spilled out of it, landing at my feet. Riggs shut the door behind me, dragging my trolley along.

Among the leaflets and commercials was one white letter. I bent down to pick it up. Riggs used the opportunity to slap my ass, forever the gentleman.

I ripped the letter open with unsteady fingers, holding my breath. My eyes ran over the text, drinking it in.

“Planet Earth to Poppins, copy,” Riggs grumbled behind me. “We going up, or what?”

I turned to him, holding the unfolded letter from the US Citizenship and Immigration Services. Riggs’s eyes skimmed the short text. His jaw was squared and locked.

It was going to be over. Him and me. The little kingdom of takeouts and midnight giggles we’d built in my shoebox flat.

“October twenty-second, huh?” Riggs sucked his teeth in, nodding. “Not too long.” October 22 was three weeks from now.

“Yeah.” I licked my lips, feeling quite light headed.

“That’s good.” The words sounded like he’d forced them out.

“Exactly what we wanted,” I agreed, choking on every single vowel.

Riggs glanced around, running his rough palm through his angel hair. “Ah, fuck,” he groaned.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to wait until we were home?” I joked weakly.

“I need to tell you something, Poppins.” He dropped his backpack onto the floor. My suitcase went down in a thud too.

“Yes?” I angled my entire being toward him. I wanted so badly for him to say something I could hold on to. That maybe he could stay here for a while after the interview. Or perhaps I could accompany him on one of his trips and work for him. I’d even do it for free. Or .?.?. I don’t know, even that we could try to see each other casually whenever he was in New York and see where it led.

“I—” he started. The entrance door to the building swung open with a whoosh.

A male nurse in a blue uniform breezed inside, peering down at his phone. He scratched his forehead, looking up at us. “I’m looking for apartment number twenty-four?”

Charlie’s apartment.

“Th-third floor . . . ,” I stuttered.

“Thanks.” He started climbing the stairs.

“Wait!” I called. Guilt made its way quickly and efficiently up my body, its hold tightening around my neck. Poor Charlie had been all alone in his hospital room over the weekend while Riggs and I got drunk and had filthy apple sex. “How’s he doing? Charlie?”

The man hesitated, holding on to the banister with a wince. “I .?.?. uhm, I’m not supposed to tell.”

“You can tell us. We’re family.” I jerked my head slightly in Riggs’s direction, without him noticing.

The man took one look at Charlie’s clone, and his shoulders eased. “Oh. Okay. Yeah, he’s .?.?. struggling.”

“Elaborate,” Riggs quipped.

The man looked straight into my husband’s eyes. The same dazzling shade of blue as Charlie’s. “You should probably pay him a visit.”

He vanished upstairs. I turned back to Riggs, looking for any sort of understanding or recognition.

Riggs shook his head. “As I was saying—”

“You need to go talk to him,” I interrupted, resolute. I wanted to hear Riggs’s confession more than I wanted my next breath, because I had a small, pathetic hope that maybe he was going to say what I wanted to hear. That maybe in all of this fakeness, something real had grown.

Riggs clamped his mouth shut, giving me the stink eye.

I put my hand on his chest. “You know you’re Charlie’s favorite person.”

“If that’s true, then A, he needs to meet more people, and B, that’s creepy.”

I gave him my disappointed-parent look.

He grunted. “Fine. I’ll go. You’re lucky you give good head.”

“I give good hugs too. Would you like one of those?”

He hitched a shoulder up, downplaying it. “I guess.”

I squeezed him tight, trying to transfer to him every bit of my inner strength. He was going to need it. He was going to see Charlie today, and both their lives were going to change forever.

“Tell me how it goes when you see him.”

He glowered. “What do you mean, tell you? Your ass is coming with me. You’re the one who’s been preaching about visiting him.”

I can’t come with you because he is about to tell you he is your father, and there’s a good chance you’ll want to murder someone, and that someone could very well be me.

I’d considered that Riggs would be mad at me for keeping the information about Charlie from him. However, I’d tried to reason with myself, I’d only really known the truth about them for one weekend. And I’d been doing everything I could to rub his nose in the truth.

“I’ve got things to do .?.?.?,” I stuttered out. “Laura needs help with her kitty again.”

He nodded seriously. “Pussy first. Trust me, I get that more than anyone.” Then, before I had the chance to let loose another weak lie, he picked up his backpack and my suitcase like they weighed no more than a coffee mug and headed upstairs. “Fine. But we’re finishing that conversation when I get back.”

The next couple of hours seemed to stretch over a month and a half. Time dripped like honey, slow and thick. I kept glancing at the clock, annoyed with every leisured tick it made.

I tried to keep myself occupied. I cleaned the place—twice—did all our laundry, applied to a couple of jobs, answered all my starred emails, and even had the audacity to look for discounted, sexy lingerie on the internet for Riggs, even though I had no business spending money on anything, now that I was neck deep into unemployment, paying an expensive immigration lawyer (shouldn’t I have gotten my first invoice from her by now?), and fully committed to helping Riggs on his possible health journey.

An hour dragged by, and then another. Riggs hadn’t come back. Paranoia began creeping into me—what if he’d had a big blowup with Charlie and decided to up and leave? Riggs’s entire worldly possessions were in his backpack. It wouldn’t be terribly far fetched that he’d left it behind. But no. His camera equipment was still here, and that was expensive. Maybe he got hit by a train? A bus? A plane? Or maybe he got attacked. Crime was rampant in New York.

“If you’re that worried, you know what you need to do,” Laura said on the phone when I decided my Riggs problem was now our Riggs problem.

“I can’t call him.” I plastered my forehead to the wall, grunting.

“Call? Of course not. What are we, in the Middle Ages? But you could text. Ask where he is.”

I could. But I didn’t want to seem too needy and hysterical. Riggs already thought I was neurotic, and I could no longer pretend I didn’t want him to like me.

“No. I’ll wait.” I scrubbed the counter in my kitchenette for the twentieth time. “He should be here any minute, shouldn’t he?”

“Well .?.?.” I could hear Laura munching on a crispy apple on the other line. “I’m not his secretary, so I can’t tell for sure, but you said it’s been two and a half hours, right?”

I flicked my wrist, glancing at my watch. The same watch I’d told myself over and over again I should remove because it was a present from BJ, but never quite got to doing so. No wonder Riggs thought I still had feelings for that wanker.

“Three hours now,” I corrected.

There was a thump on the door, followed by the sound of the key swirling in its hole.

“Oh. He’s here. Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need luck, you just need to remember you’re worthy,” she chirped. “Loving, caring, smart, ambitious. He’d be lucky to have you.” She paused. “And if that doesn’t work, then at least remember you’re super fit, and he cannot help himself around you.”

I tossed my phone onto the couch and tucked stray flyaways behind my ear as I rushed to the door. I opened it. “Riggs, I—”

But I didn’t get to finish this sentence.

Because it wasn’t my husband standing in front of me.

It was BJ.

“Babe.”

BJ’s voice broke, and apparently so did he. He sank down to his knees melodramatically at my doorstep, his face marred with anguish. He had a deep tan, overgrown hair, and a new beer belly. That pet name—babe—I’d never thought of it before, but now that I did, I loathed it. How lazy. How impersonal. I loved Poppins so much more.

He was kneeling in front of me, and strangely—infuriatingly—the only thing I felt was disappointment and annoyance it wasn’t Riggs at the door.

All I needed was one look at this man to know that I could never marry him, never forgive him, and never imagine my future with him, no matter how many zeros were in his bank account. I’d outgrown him completely, perhaps because I’d also outgrown the version of myself that had found his swanky flat, designer clothes, and filthy rich parents attractive. Without these props, he was sadly lacking in all the places that mattered.

And, while I was being completely honest with myself, he was a mouth breather. And that trilby? Pure ridiculousness.

“What are you doing here?” I reared my head back, looking at him like he was a piss stain I had to rub off the carpet. I wanted Riggs. Wanted to talk to him. Wanted to stroke his pretty head and tell him everything was going to be all right. To help him sort through the complicated emotions of finding his biological father and, yes, of losing him soon too.

“I cut the trip short.” BJ choked on his words, still on his knees, which frankly made me feel like I was talking to a toddler bargaining for a treat. “God, Duffy, I just couldn’t concentrate on anything after how we left things off.”

“That’s an interesting narrative to what happened between us.” I looked around, distracted and disinterested. “Oh, BJ, do stand up. This is so melodramatic and improper.”

As he stood up and shuffled inside, it occurred to me that nothing was ever improper or indecent when Riggs did it. In fact, when Riggs strolled around completely naked in this place, even bending down to pick up a piece of cereal he’d dropped, I found it sexy, funny, enchanting, and bold.

BJ approached me with puckered lips, expecting a kiss. I turned around and gave him my cheek, revulsion bubbling inside my stomach.

“I’ve missed you.” His lips skimmed my ear.

I stepped back. “Please, take a seat.”

He plopped on the settee, and I took the recliner, happy to put distance between us. Honestly, I’d have loved to skip this entire conversation altogether, but I suppose we both needed closure. Plus, even though I despised BJ these days, we’d still shared quite a few years together.

“I got you a ton of gifts—had a layover in Singapore, and they had awesome designer stores at the airport—but they’re in my suitcase downstairs.” His face scrunched. “I came straight here from the airport. Didn’t even make a pit stop to my apartment for a shower, and trust me, the business class in Jet Giant Airlines stinks.”

If this was supposed to make me swoon, he’d failed spectacularly.

“Not impressed?” He gave me a fake, humble smile. “Yeah, okay, fair enough. I guess I have a lot of explaining to do.”

Still, I said nothing. BJ’s face was becoming red under his new tan. He looked genuinely stressed, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the irony. A month ago, I’d have killed to get this reaction from him.

“Tough audience.” He gulped, rubbing his palms over his ridiculous Bermuda pants. “So, here’s the thing. Six months ago, a friend of mine from prep school, Kane, saw me at a bar downtown. He told me he got engaged to his girlfriend and that he was going on a six-month, last-hurrah-type vacay in Thailand. You know, just rent a place on the beach on an island, eat well, drink well, do water sports .?.?.”

“Shag around?” I finished the sentence for him, folding my arms over my chest.

BJ’s chest caved in on a sigh. “He didn’t present it that way, and I didn’t go there thinking I was going to cheat on you or something.”

Like a spontaneous infidelity was less immoral than a planned one.

“Do go on.” I smiled sweetly, cupping my knee.

“Kane asked if I wanted to tag along. He knew that I was getting ready to propose to you and pointed out that I’d never really done the whole bachelor thing. You and I met when we were so young, Duff.”

“Yeah, I know, I was there.” I rolled my eyes. “Believe it or not, BJ, I had urges too. Needs that weren’t fulfilled. Low points. Second thoughts. It’s a part of being human in a serious relationship.”

“You’re right.” He stood up and paced around. “But at the time, I was really stressed. I knew you were the one, that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, but Kane’s idea was so tempting.”

“So you decided to lie to me instead of telling me how you felt,” I concluded, feeling nothing. No rage, no anger, no disappointment, no heartache.

BJ shook his head. “No, no. I mean, yes—I did. I fucked up. I lied. I knew how selfish it sounded, that I needed some time to fulfill the carnal, self-indulgent needs of mine before I could commit. The whole Kathmandu story just sounded better in my head. And then when I got there .?.?. well, I didn’t wanna talk to you too much because I was scared you’d be onto me. That you’d expose the lie.”

“How unlucky that you were daft enough to do the job for me,” I muttered.

“I was so ashamed I couldn’t even call you to say I’d made it safely,” he said, ignoring my snark.

“My heart bleeds for you.”

“Please, Duffy, please.” He rushed toward me but stopped short when I gave him a look that made it clear that if he touched me, he would lose a finger. “You’re the love of my life. My soulmate. I fucked up, and I own up to that—”

“No.” It was my turn to stand up. Every time he spoke my logic shriveled deeper into itself, feeling personally attacked. “You don’t own up to that, and you’re not holding yourself accountable. You’re just sorry you got caught.”

His face paled. “That’s not true—”

“Anyway.” I spoke over him. “It doesn’t really matter. As I said before, you boarded a flight to Thailand and left me here, visa-less and jobless. I had to take care of business. So I got married.”

The last word exploded between us, and the room was blanketed with silence for a few seconds. He looked shell shocked, like he’d just watched his dog get run over. If he ever had a heart to adopt one. BJ didn’t like pets, and thought that dogs were dumb and high maintenance. What did I ever find in the bloke?

“What do you mean you got married?” he asked, finally.

“What part wasn’t understandable?” I replied tersely. “Don’t you know what marriage means? Or is it the got part that you’re struggling with? I have a dictionary in my room, if you need one.”

Dazed, he looked around, registering the proof that I was indeed with someone else. Riggs’s photography equipment. Clothes. Scent. “I mean .?.?. when? How? Who?”

“A bit after you left.” I looked down at my nails, bored. “His name is Riggs. You don’t know him. Cheers for the idea, by the way. Of me marrying someone else. Worked well.”

Too well, as it turned out. The line between real and fake had never been so blurred.

“But it’s .?.?. it’s .?.?. just for the visa, right?” He looked perplexed. Like he genuinely thought I was a dumb cow who’d wait for him forever.

“Of course.” I smiled politely before delivering the final blow. “Though we did consummate our marriage. Including yesterday. Just to be on the safe side.”

He hung his head between his shoulders. Holy eye roll moment. The man cockblocked me out of an engagement, ran away to the other side of the world, and picked up randoms. At least I’d stumbled into bed with Riggs after knowing of BJ’s indiscretions.

“You slept with him?” He looked up, his eyes wide and haunted, as though he was witnessing a crime against humanity.

I waved a hand between us. “Only once or .?.?.” I did a quick mental count. “Eighty-six times.” I frowned, remembering that time on the washing machine. “Make that eighty-seven, actually.” Pause. “And a half, I guess.”

I wasn’t even including oral in that.

I could tell there were so many things he wanted to say but couldn’t. It’d be hypocritical of him to chide me for something he’d done himself.

BJ shook his head, probably trying to rid himself of the mental image of his reserved, English-rose ex-girlfriend getting defiled several times by a faceless man.

“You say you want to see accountability? Well, there you have it. I’m happy you slept with the guy. I deserve it too. But I’m a changed man, Duffy. And I still want you. I want us to start over. To do it again, the right way this time. Please, would you give me a chance?”

Old Duffy wanted to say yes. New Duffy, however, had both a spine and healthy self-worth.

“I can’t divorce him now,” I said coldly. “We’re in the process of getting me a visa.”

It was easier than telling him the truth—that I felt nothing at all toward him anymore, and even if I had still loved him, his actions were unredeemable. My mum had a saying—jam could never become fruit again. That was how I felt about BJ and me. We were jam. We could never return to our initial form.

Plus, there was something else that was bothering me about my relationship with BJ. Something completely independent from the way he’d wronged me. And I could only point that out now.

I had always felt like I’d faded away in my story with Brendan Abbott Jr. If we were a picture, I’d be the landscape. That thing in the background that exists solely for the purpose of emphasizing the subject of the story. I was tired of being his plus-one.

BJ pressed his lips together, looking down. “I’ll wait.”

“It’ll take years.”

He nodded, not looking at me. “I’ll give you decades if need be.”

There was a beat of silence while I tried to think of ways to turn him down politely. It annoyed me that after everything that had happened, all the heartache and wrongdoing, all I was left with was dull disappointment and a bit of sadness for BJ, who was daft and arrogant enough to think he could get away with having his cake and eating it too.

“BJ . . . ,” I started on a sigh.

“No. Don’t say a word. Not before I do this.” BJ held up a hand. He turned around and hurried to his bag, retrieving something square, black, and velvety from it. He returned to me. When he was about a foot away, he lowered himself to one knee and stared up at me like I was a sky full of stars. Like I held the answers to all his prayers.

“Daphne Markham. I will wait until my last breath if need be. Begging for a chance to prove myself every day. We could move in together, or we could stay apart. I’ll be a good husband to you. Loyal and faithful. I’ll give you everything you ever wanted. Money, class, prospects, opportunity. You won’t have to work a day in your life ever again. All I ask is one thing—say yes. Marry me.”

He flicked the box open. The diamond inside was square and big, surrounded by small shiny diamonds. It looked gorgeous and sinfully expensive. Upper-six-figures expensive. The kind of engagement ring you flaunted once, then shoved in a safe, since it was unsafe to carry around.

It was perfect, but not for me.

I loved Riggs’s ring. The unusual, quirky, classy heirloom. It was rich in things that weren’t money. With history and memories and nostalgia I wished I knew more about. It was something I could pass one day to my own child.

A crazy thought invaded my mind. Did Riggs know me better than BJ did? Even during the week he gave me that ring? When we were still complete strangers?

Oh, God. He did, didn’t he? He knew me then and had got to know me even better every day since.

And me, I loved him. I love him.

So much it hurt to breathe when he wasn’t around. That the thought of him boarding a plane and going somewhere for months made me want to wither into something tiny that he could put in his pocket just so I wouldn’t have to say goodbye.

That tangled web I’d woven around me, made of rusty barbed wire to fend off genuine feelings to a man, had somehow been cut, ripped, and destroyed by a man who had zero aspirations to fight for my heart.

I was in love with my husband.

I had to tell him. Not tomorrow. Not in a few hours. Now.

Tears prickled my eyes, and I cupped my mouth in astonishment.

I was so shaken with the revelation that I didn’t even notice the door dragging open and Riggs walking inside. He looked ashen. But when he stopped in front of us and saw the scene of BJ on one knee, and me standing there with tears in my eyes, his face turned from ashen to destroyed.

And that was the moment when I knew what love truly was—the need to know you’re someone’s entire world, and still not want to ever witness what your power over them could cause.

“Riggs .?.?.” I gravitated toward him like a moth to a flame, almost tumbling over BJ in the process, forgetting he was there. The latter finally came to his senses and seemed to comprehend that a heartfelt reunion wasn’t in the cards for us and stood up. “Wait .?.?.”

Riggs chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. “You surprise me sometimes, Poppins. Breaking your own rules over and over again. Thought we said no hookups inside the apartment. By the way.” He turned to BJ with swagger, a cocky smile on his face. “I’m the guy your girlfriend has been fucking the entire time you thought you were winning at life.”

BJ gasped, raising a fist to wave at my husband. “Don’t you dare talk about Daphne like that.”

Riggs narrowed his eyes, stepping into BJ’s sphere. The latter stumbled back, whitening under his (fake?) tan. For a moment, I thought I was going to witness murder and was ready to jump between them. Their noses nearly touched when Riggs spoke again.

“Don’t tell me what to do. Not when you fucked off and left me someone who doesn’t trust men, doesn’t trust her own emotions, doesn’t believe in love. You ruined her, Cocksucker, with your selfish ways. And lookie now.” He stepped back, his eyes ping-ponging between us. “Seems like you both figured it all out. Enjoy your reunion. Just don’t do it on the couch,” he spat out before storming off. “After all, it’s my bed.”