Wife Me Bad Boy (7 page)

“I see,” she said, her face full of sympathy.

“Yeah. So, you know. I’m pretty sure there’s no point in waiting around for him to propose to me. I’m thirty-four, Faith. I want to move forward with my life. I want to find the one.”

“I understand that.”

“The way Jackson feels about you. The way he spent years hunting down Los Lobos to make sure you and Sam were safe. I know it was torture, waiting for him. But he was committed to you completely. He’d have died for you. That’s what I want.”

“Of course you want it, Lacey. You deserve it.”

“Do I?” I said, my eyes filling with tears again.

“Of course you do, sweetheart. Don’t you think otherwise for one second. You deserve all the happiness in the world. You’re a wonderful person, and you’ll make someone very happy someday.”

“I don’t think Grant wants me in that way.”

“Then you find a man who does. Do you hear me? You find a man who’ll cherish you for the treasure you are. You don’t need to settle for anything but the best, Lacey. If you want a husband, if you want a big wedding, and a diamond ring, and the whole nine yards, then you find the man who will give it to you. Because he’s out there.”

“I just hope I won’t let my feelings for Grant hold me back.”

Faith smiled. “He was that good, huh?”

“Oh, Faith. I can’t even describe it. He was better than good. He blew my mind.”

Faith laughed. “I know the feeling.”

I looked at her and smiled too. It was true. Any girl who’d ever seen Jackson knew Faith had a hell of an animal in her bedroom.

“Yes, you do.”

“Well,” Faith said, “why don’t you just count it as a blessing. You had the orgasm of your life with the guy you’ve been secretly obsessed with since high school, and now that it’s out of your system, you can find Mister Right and settle down.”

I nodded. That was certainly a good way of looking at it. I could search for the man of my dreams, while knowing that I had at least had the chance to taste the pleasure of Grant’s cock. It wasn’t the way I would have preferred things to play out. My first choice would have been for me and Grant to fall madly in love. And then he’d propose to me with the ring of my dreams, a solitaire diamond ring. Then we’d have our dream wedding, with flowers and doves and music, then move into a beautiful house with a white picket fence, and I’d give him the most beautiful babies he could ever imagine. And then we’d live happily ever after.

And then unicorns would fall out of rainbows in the sky. A girl can dream, but at the end of the day, it’s reality that has to give you your happiness, not fantasies.

Chapter 11

Lacey

I
CHECKED MY MAKEUP ONE
final time.

“You look great,” Faith said from over by my bed where she was watching a reality television show.

Jackson had taken Sam to a baseball game in the city and Faith was helping me get ready for my blind date.

“Why am I so nervous?” I said.

“Because you’re normal,” Faith said, “and you’re about to go out on a date with one of San Francisco’s most dashing young doctors.”

I hugged her before leaving the room.

“Thank you so much,” I said to her from the top of the stairs.

“For what?”

“For helping me through all of this.”

“Lacey, you helped me through so much when I needed you.”

I blew her a kiss and ran down the stairs. The drive into the city would take over an hour and I was already running late. I’d really cast my net wide this time, relying on an internet matchmaking website to find me the man of my dreams. Rob Crawford, a plastic surgeon in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods of San Francisco, was the match they’d found for me. I prayed he was as charming in real life as his online profile made him out to be.

At the bottom of the stairs I ran into the kitchen to grab my purse from the counter. Grant was standing by the refrigerator, startled to see me.

“Lacey,” he said, awkwardly.

I looked at him. God, he was handsome. Even after everything we’d been through, living together for years, he could still take my breath away. His hair was wet, fresh from the shower, and he smelled of shaving foam and cologne.

I stopped dead.

“Grant.”

“You look very pretty,” he said. “Are you going out?”

It was the first time he’d said more than a few words to me in days.

“I’ve got a date, in the city.”

For some reason I felt guilty telling him about it, but he was the one who’d been adamant that our affair was only a one night stand and nothing more.

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Some doctor. I got matched with him on the Internet.”

“I see,” Grant said.

I leaned past him and took my purse from the counter. My arm brushed his and made my breath catch in my throat. Why did he have such an effect on me? Why did my heart have to go nuts for the one guy who wasn’t interested?

“Well,” he said awkwardly, “I hope you have a nice night.”

My eyes locked on his. I wanted him to be jealous. I knew I looked my best.

“Don’t wait up,” I said.

In all the years that had passed since high school, not one thing had changed. Grant was still watching me go out on dates with guys that would never match up to him, and I was still hoping against the odds that somehow, one of them would make him jealous and force him to make a move.

I got in my car and turned the ignition. For a moment I sat still, the engine running, and waited. What was I waiting for? For Grant to run out and stop me? I was being ridiculous. He was never going to do that.

*

T
HANK GOD FOR GPS.
Otherwise, I’d never have found the secluded little restaurant Rob had chosen for our date. It was a beautiful old turn of the century villa that had been converted into a restaurant. It was hard to find, located in an expensive, quiet neighborhood in the hills overlooking the city.

It was my idea to meet him there. He’d wanted to pick me up but I didn’t let him. I didn’t want to be stranded in the city without my car. It would mean I couldn’t drink more than one glass of wine, but I wasn’t in the mood for drinking anyway. At least not with someone I didn’t know.

Inside, the house was decorated extravagantly, as if it was still the home of some rich nobleman from the colonial era. An ornate chandelier hung over the entrance and a valet took my keys. Inside, I asked the concierge for Crawford and he brought me to a candlelit table by a window. We were on a hill overlooking the entire city and the view was stunning.

A handsome man in a tailored suit, white shirt, and black tie, stood to greet me.

“You must be Lacey,” he said.

His voice was delicate, a hint of British in his accent. His hair was short and neatly combed. A gold watch sparkled from his wrist. He was handsome, certainly presentable, and there was no doubt he was wealthy and well travelled.

The only problem was that he wasn’t Grant. There I was, doing it again. I had started immediately, instinctively. I was comparing him to Grant, and I was allowing myself to feel the disappointment I always felt. No one would ever measure up. Grant could have lifted this guy over his shoulder with one arm. Rob didn’t stand a chance of measuring up physically. Not to sound shallow, but this guy’s cock was probably half the size of Grant’s.

I shook my head. I forced myself to stop the comparison. I couldn’t keep doing this. I couldn’t keep sabotaging my happiness by allowing myself to believe that every man I was with wasn’t as good as Grant.

Who was I to make that judgement? This man was clean, polite, educated, successful.

Who the hell was I to decide that Rob Crawford wasn’t every bit as intense and passionate and fulfilling a lover as Grant Lucas?

“You must be Rob,” I said, plastering a wide smile across my face.

The concierge took my coat and I took my seat.

I stifled a sigh and tried to look excited to be there. There I was. On a date. I’d put my makeup on and gotten dressed up. The least I could do was make the most of it.

*

D
INNER PASSED PLEASANTLY ENOUGH.
Rob made very good company. He asked me about my life in the Valley, the vineyard, the wine store I had with Faith. Of course I couldn’t tell him about the Brotherhood and all that entailed. He didn’t need to know about that. I told him I lived with my three adopted brothers. He thought that was a little strange, but it was too early for him to have much of an opinion on how I chose to live my life.

In turn, he told me about the plastic surgery business. It was actually quite interesting. Super-rich wives from the city came to him and had their beauty enhanced while paying him inordinate sums of money. They actually paid him to cut them open with a scalpel and break their bones.

“Aren’t they afraid of the pain?” I said, taking my last sip from the one glass of wine I was allowed for the night.

“You’d be surprised what women are willing to go through in the name of beauty,” he said.

I nodded. I knew all too well. No matter how beautiful they were, no matter how much their husbands loved them, women were always on the hunt for the next thing that would give them an edge. It was in our genes. If there was something we could do to make ourselves more beautiful, then why the hell wouldn’t we take advantage of it?

Women looked at beauty the way men looked at money. Sure, you might have enough, but it was always safer to have a little more, just in case you needed it.

“Take you, for instance,” he said, “there are about six things I could name right now that we could improve.”

“Excuse me?” I said.

Was he actually implying that I needed plastic surgery? I know he wasn’t trying to insult me, in fact, everything he’d done all night had shown that he was trying his hardest to impress me, but I was taken aback by his comment.

“Sure. I mean, you look really great already, but you could be a knockout if you came to my clinic for some work. A facelift, lips, collagen, boobs, cellulite. For less than a hundred grand I could have you looking perfect in six months.”

“Six months.”

“It would be a lot of surgery. You’d need time to recover.”

“I bet.”

“But it would be worth it. At least, my clients would say it was.”

“I could get a law degree with that amount of money.”

“But what would a girl like you want with a law degree?”

“It’s just an example.”

“It’s a bad example, Lacey. At my clinic, we could give you something you’d actually use.”

“Beauty?”

“Exactly.”

“Isn’t beauty in the eye of the beholder?”

Rob laughed. “Sure, whatever. Believe that if you want. Women who think that don’t come to my clinic, and they miss out on all the ways we can make them better.”

“Make them better?”

“Isn’t it better to be more beautiful?”

I couldn’t believe we were having this argument. To be honest, I really didn’t have anything against plastic surgery. Who was I to judge? I spent a small fortune on clothes, makeup, even botox and filler on occasion. What was making me angry, was Rob’s attitude. He was implying that women could
improve themselves
by getting surgery. Like it was something we
should
do. Like it was an obligation. It was almost as if he was saying we weren’t good enough the way we were. It was a double standard. No one held men to such a high expectations. No one said to them, you know, some men speak five languages, work out every day, have perfect bodies, entertain everyone at a party, make millions of dollars, and drive Ferraris, and you’re not really keeping up unless you do the same.

Women, at least the women I knew, were accepting and loving of the imperfections in their men. They didn’t demand perfection. I felt like Rob wasn’t like that. I felt like he’d only love me if I did everything possible to be worthy of him.

“You know why women go through all that pain and agony and expense?” I said.

“Because we provide a service they’re hungry for?”

“No,” I said, my temper getting a little higher than I’d intended. “Because guys like you are constantly hinting and implying that we should.”

“I don’t hint.”

“You just told me that I could be way hotter if I had surgery.”

“You could. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re beautiful now.”

“But doesn’t it imply that I’m not beautiful, if you can think of fifty things I could do to improve myself?”

“Oh, don’t take this personally, Lacey. I’m just telling you what I do for a living. The world I inhabit. I’m not calling you ugly.”

God, was this what dating was like these days?

“You know, there was a time when men told women on dates that they were beautiful. You’re telling me I’m not ugly, and that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“Isn’t it the same thing?”

“No, it’s not the same thing. It’s not the same thing at all.”

The waiter came over, and it was a good thing he did, because I was about to fling my glass of water across the table at Rob. I was fuming. He’d unwittingly hit a raw nerve. I don’t know how it is for all women, but I’m incredibly self-conscious about my appearance. No matter how hard I try, and no matter how beautiful I feel, there are still things about my body that I’m sensitive about. I’ve struggled with my weight all my life. I’ve obsessed about this and that defect. Did he even appreciate the fact that I’d spent over an hour making myself as beautiful as I could for this date? Did he think it was easy? Did he think all girls were supermodels who just fell out of bed looking beautiful?

I fucking put myself on the line coming out to meet him. He was rich, handsome, successful. I’ll admit it. He was a little intimidating. Saying I could do things to improve my appearance, even mentioning the word
cellulite
, was not cool.

“Can I get you another glass of wine, Madam?” the waiter said.

I turned my wrath on the waiter. The poor guy didn’t know what hit him.

“Exactly when did I go from being Miss to being Madam? I’m thirty-four.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry Miss. I meant no disrespect whatsoever.”

I shook my head. I was losing it. I was making a complete fool of myself.