Chapter 16

SIXTEEN

I've always known this was the plan.

Lennon and I get married. We stage it to look like a real, whirlwind wedding. Then we both go back to work the next day as if it never happened. After all, that's the whole reason he married me in the first place. He has a business to run, and now that he's secured his inheritance, he's effortlessly slid into his new role. Long days and nights keeping him at his office. But knowing the facts hasn't deterred the feelings I've come to realize since our wedding day.

I've fallen for my husband.

I'm not delusional in thinking we'd have the honeymoon of my dreams, or even a honeymoon at all, but disappointment has burrowed itself into my bones, refusing to let up. Over the course of the past three days since our wedding, I've woken up alone, with Lennon already at work. After the second day, I began to question if it's his normal routine to wake up before the sun has begun to rise, or if he's doing it to avoid me.

Reassuring myself he's an early riser to his core, I shove aside the negative thoughts invading my mind.

I rely on the memory of his mouth against mine. His voice rumbling in my ear, telling me he wanted me to want him. And the moment he reached into his pocket and pulled out the flower he'd stolen from the greenhouse before placing it on the bathroom counter.

I tell myself none of those moments have been lies even if this marriage is one. Because since the night of our wedding, Lennon has infuriatingly kept his distance. He hasn't touched me. He hasn't laid another finger on me.

He's even gone as far as falling asleep in a T-shirt and his signature gray sweatpants. As if the gray sweatpants weren't enough visual torture, it's been impossible not to look at him without my eyes falling to the ring he now wears on his fourth finger. A ring to signify to the rest of the world he belongs to me. But does he really?

Frustrated both mentally and sexually, I toss the bed sheets aside, hoping work will take my mind off Lennon. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed only to immediately regret it. My head pounds from my forehead down to the base of my neck. Snot drips from my nose. I frantically fumble for a tissue, pulling one from the small box sitting on my nightstand. I blow my nose. One nostril is completely clogged, and when I swallow it feels as if I've eaten a thousand knives.

"Shit," I croak in a voice deeper than usual.

Feeling like my head is the size of a hot air balloon, I shuffle to the shower before another string of snot drips from my nose. I stay under the stream of hot water longer than usual, hoping it will clear my sinuses enough to think clearly and go to work.

After a long shower, I head straight to my closet like a zombie and get dressed in a simple baby pink blouse and black dress pants. I've blow-dried my hair and swept some mascara over my lashes before heading out into the kitchen.

Ray, Lennon's, scratch that… mine and Lennon's jack of all trades, is waiting for me in the kitchen, his laptop open as usual. I call Ray a jack of all trades because I haven't been able to pin down one single job he's responsible for. It seems he does most everything for Lennon, other than Lennon's actual job of working at Harding Holdings. And now, it seems he does the same for me.

Driver. Assistant. Bodyguard. Friend. A jack of all trades.

Since I only see Lennon in the evenings, I've come to know Ray quite a bit more over the last few days. I haven't brought up the night we first met when I'd mistaken him for my rideshare six years ago, or how it appeared he remembered me when we met again. Considering Lennon and I still haven't talked about it, I figured it's best to keep it as the elephant in the room between us. Knowing it's there but never speaking it into reality.

"Good morning, Mrs. Harding." Ray grins. "I've taken the liberty of making you a fresh cup of coffee. Two creams, no sugar, just the way you like it."

"No coffee for me this morning, Ray." I sniff. "I don't think my throat can handle it."

"Are you okay?" His forehead wrinkles as he lifts both eyebrows at me. "You don't look very well."

"I feel like my head is going to explode," I say, passing him in search of medicine. Starting with the farthest one, I open every cabinet, hoping to discover pills or some sort of liquid hidden behind the coffee mugs or sauté pans.

"Can I help you find something?" Ray asks, looking up from his laptop.

"Medicine. I need medicine. Preferably something that will numb whatever is going on up here." I wave my hand over my face. "But not strong enough to cause me to pass out and wake up a week later. Please tell me my husband keeps medicine here. There was none in our bathroom."

Ray slides off his stool and opens the cabinet to the right of the sink. He hands me a bottle of bright orange liquid.

"Thank you." I sigh, sniffing again.

"Are you sure you want to go to work today, Mrs. Harding?" Ray asks. "Maybe it's best you stay home."

"I can't." Taking a swig of medicine, I walk over to the large dining room table and slide my laptop into my black leather work bag. "I have an important case that goes to trial in a few months, and I have a ton of paperwork I need to sift through."

"Okay, but if you need to come home, just give me a call."

A tickle reaches my nose, and I tilt my head back, preparing myself for a sneeze. The reaction causes me to squeeze my eyes shut, which only adds to the pulsating pressure in my head. I sneeze five times in a row while Ray watches on with a mixture of sympathy and disgust.

"I'm not sure Mr. Harding is going to be pleased when he finds out you went to work like this."

I roll my eyes, waiting in front of the elevator doors. Ray presses the call button.

I cross my arms over my chest, grinding my teeth from the echo of pain vibrating in my bones. "If my husband can go to work as easily and early as he appears to daily, then there's no reason I can't as well."

Ray presses his mouth into a tight line and nods once in understanding, dropping his argument. The elevator doors slide open, and he holds his arm out, allowing me to step in first. It's strange having someone escort me everywhere. I'm no stranger to bodyguards. My parents used to have one: Lewis. We were close when I was growing up, and at times, I caught myself thinking of him as the cool uncle. But he was always more attentive to my parents than he was to me or my siblings.

But Ray is different. He is to me what Lewis was to my parents.

I let my bitterness for Lennon's scarce presence fill the air in the elevator. I'm unsure whether Ray notices. If he does, he doesn't tell me.

By the time I make it to my office, I've used nearly every tissue I shoved into my purse before leaving the apartment. I also have only one text from Lennon, letting me know he's going to be in meetings all day, but he'll call me after his first one ends. I haven't responded. Mostly because doing anything involving moving my body is painful, and partly because I wouldn't know what to tell him. It's hard to know how much I'm able to open up to Lennon about when he keeps his feelings to himself. Sometimes at night, I lie in bed and watch him sleep, wondering what he's dreaming or what his life looked like growing up. I want to know more about him and how his heart works, but I don't want to push him, either.

He opened himself up to me the night of our wedding. Vulnerability filled his dark blue eyes as I traced my finger along his tattoo. But I've come to learn Lennon doesn't allow his vulnerability to show for long. I'm hoping, with time, he'll let me in. But until then, we'll stay sitting in this limbo of sorts. Wavering back and forth of letting each other in just enough before shutting the door again.

I decide to leave his text unanswered, hoping to distract myself with work.

I fail miserably. An hour later, I've struggled to respond to even two of my emails. My fingers and bones hurt, and my eyes are fighting to stay open.

Three knocks on my office door pull me away from my computer screen.

"Busy?" Frederick asks, raising his eyebrows. The moment he catches sight of my appearance, he jerks back, scrunching his nose. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." I brush him off. He sounds like Ray.

"You don't sound it."

I cut him a glare and click out of my emails, resting my head in my hands. After a few seconds of silence, I look up at my uncle. He's still staring at me wide eyed. Only now, he's standing noticeably farther away than when he first walked in here.

"Really." I clear my stinging throat, crossing my arms on my desk. "I'm okay. I just have a little cold. I'm not even sure where it came from."

"If you're sick, you should have stayed home."

Irritation pricks at my chest.

My uncle's uncanny ability to flip between being boss on the verge of letting me go to a concerned father figure makes my head spin.

"It's astonishing, Frederick," I clip, my annoyance boiling over. "It's astonishing that you beg me to land more clients and remind me on a daily basis how our firm is on the brink of collapse but complain when I actually come in and do the work."

The wrinkles in his forehead deepen, and sadness fills his eyes as he frowns. "I'm sorry, Laurel. I never meant to place that much pressure on you."

I suppress the mock laughter fighting to come out of me, but I hold it back, knowing it would only make my throat feel worse.

Every single day since my parents died, Frederick has done nothing but put pressure on me. Thinking back on it, I'm not even certain he grieved the death of his brother and sister-in-law. At least not publicly.

I shake my head and bite my bottom lip. Tears well behind my eyes, and I'm unsure if the reason for them is from this conversation with my uncle, the stress of Roe's cancer, Lennon's distance over the past three days, or the sickness that has managed to knock me out both physically and mentally.

But my beaten down heart tells me it's a combination of all four.

I look up at Fred. "I don't think I can talk about this right now."

"Okay." He nods in understanding, pulling a newspaper from under his arm and slapping it on my desk. "I just wanted to let you know The Boston Globe has published the news of your wedding this morning."

With trepidation, I pick it up and read the headline.

A SECRET LOVE, A SECRET WEDDING

BOSTON ELITES LENNON HARDING AND LAUREL brANFORD TIE THE KNOT IN UNDISCLOSED INTIMATE WEDDING

Below the headline is a picture of Lennon and me kissing. The only kiss we shared that day in public. The one right after we said, ‘I do'.

We look happy and in love. It's strange seeing us from this perspective when I'm the one who lived it. Lennon's hand is wrapped around the side of my face, pulling me close. His head is tilted as he presses his lips firmly to mine, like he won't be able to breathe if he pulled away. We look like a couple who've been together for years.

In the bottom corner of the photograph is our photographer's name. It's no surprise finding the story of mine and Lennon's wedding in the paper. It's always been part of the plan. At the urging of Lennon's attorney, Perry, and my uncle, we all agreed publicity was for the best.

Lennon's marriage would show stability and strength for his family's company. Even though the public isn't aware of the stipulations placed on his inheritance, they knew the story of his marriage to me would quieten the speculation around the future of the company, considering Lennon's reputation. It appears I wasn't alone in thinking Lennon was like his father when it came to relationships.

As for me, Frederick couldn't wait for the announcement. He was more than convinced my marriage to a Harding would increase our public image. I guess after today only time will tell if my fake marriage has bettered our reputation.

Looking at mine and Lennon's kiss at the altar has my heart twisting in ways I didn't know it could. I've fallen for my husband, and I've fallen hard. But have I fallen harder than him? Judging by the photo on the front page of the Boston Globe, I would say I haven't. But pictures can be deceiving. I want to believe everything Lennon said and did the other night, but it's difficult when he's hot one second, cold the next.

I hand the newspaper back to Fred, but he waves his finger and points at my desk. His lip curls in disgust. "You can keep it. I can find another copy."

"Thanks, I guess." Reaching for a tissue from the box on my desk, I blow my nose and wipe it before tossing it into the trash.

"Before I go, I meant to ask you. Has Monroe said anything to you about what's going on with her lately?"

My stomach drops. Roe asked me not to tell Fred. I've respected her wishes, but I can feel the blood draining from my face at the prospect of where this conversation is headed. I'm not prepared to handle the conversation if Fred tells me he knows or if he guesses.

"What do you mean?" I cautiously ask.

"I don't know." He shrugs his large shoulders. "She's been quiet lately, and it's very unlike her, if you know what I mean."

"I do." I give him a small smile.

"I was just curious if maybe her and Steven were going through anything, or if it might have to do with her work at the museum."

I frown, shaking my head. "Not that I'm aware of."

"Okay." his eyes wander in thought before swinging back to me. "Well, if you see her, let her know I'm worried about her." He begins walking out of my office but stops in the doorway. "On second thought, maybe don't see her until you're better. You might be contagious."

My heart sinks into my stomach. Frederick leaves my office, and I'm quick to grab my phone. Panic settles in, overriding all the pain I've felt since waking up. I scramble picking up my phone, nearly dropping it as I call Roe.

She picks up on the first ring. "Hey, sis."

"Roe," I croak, clearing my throat. I swallow my breath and shove aside the pain.

"Are you okay? You sound sick."

"I am sick," I blurt out. "And I just realized what that could mean. I don't know how or when I got it, but I'm worried I might have passed it on to you. You aren't feeling sick, too, are you? Sore throat? Stuffy nose? Feeling like your head might explode?"

My pulse quickens. If Roe is sick, it could lead to any number of complications. It might compromise her chemo schedule and even her surgery. Her immune system can't be put at any more risk, and the guilt I would have for being the one to give it to her would shatter me.

"No," she whispers. "I'm fine. I'm actually at my weekly chemo session right now."

I breathe a sigh of relief and pinch the bridge of my nose. Silent tears stream down my face. An avalanche of emotion crashes against my chest, and the floodgates have opened. Roe. Lennon. My head. It's all too much all at once.

"How's it going?" I ask her, trying my best to not let her know I'm crying.

"As good as it can be," she whispers again, sadness laced in her wispy voice.

"I told you I wouldn't mind sitting in with you one of the days you're at the hospital. You're there for eight hours, Roe. It must be taxing." I don't tell her about my conversation with Fred. The last thing she needs is to feel like I'm pressuring her to tell him when I know it's not what she wants. I don't want her worrying whether I'm going to spill the beans or not.

"It is, but I have Steven," she reassures me. "Besides, you just got married, and I don't want to hold you back from spending time with your new husband. Regardless of the reasoning behind your marriage."

"You're not holding me back," I tell her.

Lennon's doing that all on his own.

"Good," she whispers again. "Listen, it's a little difficult to talk in here since there are other patients getting their treatments, too. I'll call you when I feel up to it later. Okay?"

"Okay." I blow out an exasperated breath.

"Feel better soon, Laurel." I can practically feel her warm smile through the phone. "I know you're at work, but consider going home. You sound terrible."

I chuckle. "Thanks."

"I love you."

"Love you, too." When Roe hangs up, the silent tears I shed when I was on the phone only get worse.

My heart is incredibly heavy, and it does nothing to help the weight radiating across my body for varying reasons.

I reach for another tissue, wiping away my tears and then swiping it across my nose. My eyes hurt. My chest hurts. Everything hurts.

Reluctantly, I pick up my phone. It's nine in the morning. Lennon's probably still in his first meeting, but I don't think I can make it until then.

I click on Ray's number and type out a message before packing up my laptop and heading down to the main lobby of the building.

Laurel: You win, Ray. I need to go home. I'm on my way down to the lobby.

I step into the elevator and fall back against the wall, watching the numbers go down with every level. My body aches as I close my eyes, ready to hibernate in bed and not wake up until this sickness is gone. But I know even then that's not what I truly need to feel better.

What I need is all those things… but with my husband lying beside me.