Not the Marrying Kind(35)
He glanced at the cake and back at her, his expression wary. “I’ll come with you.”
“No!”
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
She couldn’t tell him the truth so she settled for the next best thing. “I need some space.” She gestured around the room. “All this? Pretending? Has taken it out of me. I need air.”
He opened his mouth to respond and she held up a hand. “Alone.”
“Okay.” He sounded hurt and that hint of vulnerability from a tough guy like him had her softening the blow.
“I’m an independent person, Beck, always have been. So standing up in front of all these people and faking wedded bliss was an ordeal. I felt smothered and I need to get away.”
“Is that why you freaked out during the bridal dance?”
What could she say? That dancing involved body contact, and she couldn’t go there with him, not after his kisses. Uh-uh. “Pretending sucks. I don’t like the show we had to put on tonight for your buddies.”
With a terse nod he turned away. She almost reached out to him. Almost. Her hand hovered halfway to his back before falling to her side. What was the point? This yawning gap between them was a good thing. Exactly what she wanted. No emotional involvement.
Then why the nagging unease that it may have been too late?
She slipped off her shoes, snagged them with her fingers, and ran for the elevator.
…
Beck swore after Poppy bolted.
He’d had grand plans for tonight. Plans that involved thanking his wife for the monumental role she’d played in helping him achieve what he wanted. A second chance with the investors.
Instead, he’d let her go.
She’d been in a mood, part snit, part rebellion. It was like she’d wanted to pick a fight, but he wasn’t biting. Sure, he understood her feeling stifled. Tonight had been a mega ordeal for him, too, accepting backslaps and congratulations from people he’d known for years.
It was why the most important person in his life hadn’t been here. He couldn’t face lying to Pa and had taken the easy way out: called him when he knew his grandfather would be at the local stock car races and left a phone message. A lousy, vague excuse along the lines of “Hey, Pa, don’t keel over, I’ve tied the knot. It would’ve been great for you to be here, but I’ll explain when I get home. Soon.”
Coward.
Pa hated the cell phone and never used it. The only time they spoke was when Beck called him, far too infrequently these days. He knew he’d have to visit and tell Pa the truth in person.
Once he nailed the deal so it made his marriage sound halfway logical.
Pa understood practicalities. When Beck’s folks had died, he’d stepped in and did what had to be done. Organized a makeshift room—a cleared space behind a tattered curtain—in his trailer, spoke to the teachers about his non-tolerance of truancy, and laid down the law to Beck in clear, concise terms.
He touched drugs, he was out on his own.
Beck didn’t have to be told twice. He had no intention of treading the same path as his loser parents. In fact, his memories of them drove him to excel, to ignore the taunts from the rich kids because he had holes in his sneakers or hand-me-down pants from the thrift shop.
He worked his ass off to get good grades, a scholarship to college, and a step into the life he craved. One where he didn’t have to starve because he only had ten bucks in the bank and one where people looked at him with respect, not derision.
He owed Pa, and nothing less than the truth face-to-face would do. But first, he had to sort out the mess with his wife.
His wife.
It sounded ludicrous, but he’d married Poppy to achieve a goal, and with that goal in sight he wanted to reassure her he would keep his end of the bargain. Sure, it’d be tough keeping up appearances for a while, but getting her offside on their wedding day didn’t bode well for the rest of the marriage, fake or not.
Thankful he’d had the latest elevator technology installed in his hotel, he burst out of the entrance two minutes later.
The Strip teemed with life. Goggle-eyed tourists rubbernecking, young guys cruising, local casino employees hurrying to work.
He loved the desert but there was something about this city that made his blood fizz.
He stepped onto the pavement and inhaled, car fumes and designer perfume and dust clogging his nostrils. People jostled him and the bright lights cast a permanent dawn in the sky. Rap music from a passing limo clashed with car horns and the blend of foreign accents from all around.
Yeah, the cosmopolitan buzz had him hooked. He’d traveled extensively for business but whenever he glimpsed the Grand Canyon out of the plane window, he knew he was almost home.