I love my daughter; I love the fact that I live with my mom and that the family I have is close to me.
What I hate is holier-than-thou people. Especially ones who are only that way because they happen to be living a life of estates and diamond tycoons and passports filled with stamps from the entire world.
What I hate is that I feel less-than because I live in the desert in my mother's house. Because my baby-daddy left before our daughter was born. Because I don't have a college degree or a retirement plan-or anything, really, besides my girl.
And shouldn't that be enough?
Landon follows me from the house, calling my name, but I want to keep running. I've run down a stone pathway, and I don't know where it leads, but what's new? I don't know much of anything.
Right now, all I know is that I hate Landon finding out about Sophia this way. I shouldn't have held my cards so close. And I know this is just a job ... but when Landon looks at me, kisses me, says he loves me? I swear it is something more.
Last night we played pretend, and I know that it was just a game -a way to numb and a way to hide and a way to get lost. I know there is nothing more between us … but, God, a not-so-small part of me wishes there were.
But as Landon catches up to me, grabs my arm, forces me to stop and look in his eyes, I see that my wishes mean nothing. This is a job to him ... and I think I may have royally fucked it up.
"What the bloody hell are you doing, woman?" he asks, panting for breath.
"You never use the word bloody back in Vegas. One day in England and you've returned to the slang of your childhood?"
"This isn't a joke. And we aren't making this about me right now."
"Can we? Can we please?" I ask him, turning from him, my chest pounding and my ears pounding as I look around the gorgeous garden we've run into. Oak trees and ivy and massive hedges in the shape of diamonds surround us.
"No, Claire." Landon places his hands on my arms, forcing me to stop and turn back to him. "We are talking about you. What was Geoffrey referring to? What made you run?"
"You didn't stay and listen?" I ask.
"Dammit, Claire. Stop it. My parents think we're bloody engaged. You think I'd just let my fiancée run from the house without coming after her?"
"So you came because I'm your employee?"
"Stop being difficult." His eyes search mine, but I've already turned off the emotions ... the feeling that could reveal how I really feel. Because what I really feel is something passing between Landon and I every time our hands touch. Every time he whispers my name. Every time we make love.
"You said Fiona and Geoffrey were beasts, but you never mentioned the fact that they were completely determined to ruin your life."
"I'm pretty sure I did, Claire. I said if you had any dirt at all that they might dig up, they would."
"I haven't even been in the country twenty-four hours. I thought I'd have time to win them over before they attacked."
"That isn't my fault. God, Claire, what are you hiding? Who are you hiding?"
"I can't do this." I pull away again and sit on the cold stone bench, resting my face in my hands, brushing away the tears. Suddenly I miss Sophia madly. With all of my heart.
This was so stupid, to travel here for a scam. There was no chance in hell we could pull it off. Fake fiancées are only a thing people write about in books, or that you see in romantic comedies starring Reese Witherspoon. Not real life. Not my life.
"Don't do this. Don't be a brat about it. I've brought you all this way, Claire. The least you could do is be honest now."
"Don't be mean to me," I say, my voice cracking. Hating him for looking at me like I'm a bitch. Just wait until he hears that I've been hiding a daughter from him. I swore I had no dusty cobwebs, no skeletons in my closet.
And sure, Sophia is one of the things I've kept from him ... but she isn't everything.
How deep did Geoffrey get when he started digging?
"Just tell me what Geoffrey meant when he said you have family back in Vegas."
Landon sits next to me, and his softness with me-the tender way he's been taking my hand, threading our fingers together-isn't here. This is a hands-in-his-lap, no-room-for-emotion sort of conversation.
"You won't see me the same way once I tell you."
"And how do you think I see you now?" he asks plainly. Which I hate. I hate him putting it back on me, right where it belongs. I don't want to own anything at the moment. I just want to curl up in a ball like a cat, find a sunny spot to sleep, and pretend this isn't happening.
I'm so freaking tired of wishing for a life I don't have. It isn't fair to the life I do have.
I let out a small hmph, ashamed of myself for the millionth time today. Why the hell can't what I have be enough?
Landon deserves more than I've given him. Sure, I've given him my body, but friendships can't be built on orgasms alone.
"I think you see me as a smart woman who's put together, but prone to panic," I say quietly.
I look away from him, focusing on the diamond-shaped greenery, because that is emotionless. That is what I can handle in this confession. Landon's eyes are filled with an expanse of feelings that are too much for me to take.
I keep talking, "You think I'm pretty and fun to be around, and you like the way I make you feel, even if the feelings aren't forever feelings. In the moments that we're together, I think I make you feel better. And I think there are moments where this doesn't feel fake. Where you forget you're a bachelor in Vegas with famous friends and a different woman every night of the week. I think when you forget that ... you like what you have."
The garden is so quiet; the only noise is Landon clearing his throat, and I wonder why I said all those things. Because maybe he doesn't think that about me at all. Maybe I am presumptuous and a fool. And maybe I'm just putting on him the emotions that are my own. Maybe it's me who's falling for this boy, and not the other way around.
Either way, it doesn't matter. Either way it ends in a good-bye. He thinks I am single woman who likes sex and has no strings attached to anyone or anything ... but the reality is so different. Right now, Landon doesn't even know surface-level Claire. He doesn't really know me at all.
"Fuck, Claire. That was a speech."
"Too much?"
"Never too much."
"That's not true," I tell him. "I haven't told you the secret."
"Which is?"
"That's not fair. I laid out for you what I think you see in me. Shouldn't you be required to say what I see in you?"
"Is this game really about what's fair?" Our eyes meet. The air is still. My heart catches. "I think you're trying to hold out on the inevitable."
He's right. I give in.
"Landon, I have a daughter."
Landon
I'd say I am a level-headed man. Sure, I like pussy; I'm not denying that. But it doesn't get me all whacked out, because it's just a fact of life.
If I want to have sex, I take a woman to my room. And I also like to gamble. There's something about cards on the table, where you can't hide. You can only bluff for so long before you have to show your hand.
Claire has the best poker face I've ever seen.
A daughter? I literally would have never guessed that's her dirty little secret.
"A daughter?" I ask, incredulous. "No fucking way."
"This is so stupid," she says, tears streaking her gorgeous cheekbones. "I should go. I have to go. I can call myself a cab."
"Shut up and sit down," I instruct, grabbing her hand before she can run off again.
"I told you I had no skeletons ... but I lied. About a lot of things."
"She's a daughter, not a fucking basement filled with rats."
"People don't put rats in the basement."
"Crazy people do. And that isn't you. You are a mother, not a psychopath."
"I said I'd go, because I understand this compromises the entire deal."
"Maybe we can find another angle. You are obviously not leaving."
"They want Fiona, not me, Landon. A perfect English woman, with nothing wrong with her besides a resting bitch face. Not a single mom living with her mom."
I ignore her assessments. "Do Tess and Emmy know?" I ask.
"No." She swallows and looks away.
"That's pretty fucked up."
"I know, God." She hits me then, against my arm, and I don't want any more answers or to ask any more questions. I just want to fuck her.
Maybe my desire for pussy does get me all whacked out.
All I want is her. Again.
"Claire, you are a really hot mum," I say, pushing her hair from her face and leaning closer. I know her having a daughter is a big thing … but it's not the only thing. I still want her in ways that overwhelm me.
"Don't brush this off like it's a joke," she says. "I feel awful enough already. I've lied to basically everyone and now you want to have sex with me because it's another thing to check off on your sex-list."