I’m in over my head.

I thought I could handle four months as Mason’s wife, but four days in, and he’s already too close to my secrets. It’s like he’s nosing around in the dark and has found them, but he doesn’t know what he’s looking at. And what’s worse is that I just want to tell him everything. Every. Damn. Thing. Maybe I would if it were just about the promises I’ve made, but I’m so afraid of losing him. I don’t think I have the courage to turn on the light.

After he took our little make-out session from sixty to zero in two seconds flat, we returned to our scheduled evening of awkward with a side of awkward. I smoothed out my dress and he got his keys, and here we are—pulling up to the party and ready to share our tension with the world.

I think I preferred the angry kisses and desperate finger banging to Mason’s tense silence, but nobody asked me.

A man in a pressed black suit opens my door, and the valet takes Mason’s keys. Yes, this is a party with a freaking valet.

I’ll take, “How Do You Know You Have Too Much Money?” for a hundred, Alex!

I thought Mason’s house was luxurious, but it’s nothing like the house in front of me now. As much as I’ve been dreading a party for the woman Mason’s parents approve of (i.e., my opposite), the upside of our fight is that, suddenly, I don’t care about my dress or my hair and makeup. I’m far too focused on the frustration rolling off Mason.

This place makes me uncomfortable in my own skin. One look at this house—from its two-story windows to the dramatic, phallic fountain in the circle drive—and I want to run back to Blackhawk Valley and hide under the covers.

Laughter rings out from the back of the house, and normally that sound would put me at ease, but I know nothing will make me relax here. The luxury of this place is so goddamned intimidating to a girl who grew up in a trailer park and took off her clothes for money.

“You okay?” Mason asks. It’s the first thing he’s said to me since we left his place.

I squeeze his hand, knowing his warmth will give me strength, pull back my shoulders, and nod. I am who I am. My past is my past. And while I don’t relish situations that make me question my worth, Mason was once my best friend. Being on his arm this summer is the least I can do if it’s going to save his career.

We climb the steps and enter the house behind an older couple, and I realize the place is even more impressive on the inside. I’ve watched enough HGTV to know the value of marble floors and crystal chandeliers, even if they leave me wondering how anyone could actually relax in a house like this. The foyer opens into a wide-open entertainment area with a gleaming granite bar. The space boasts three separate seating areas with couches that look more ornamental than comfortable and a wall of accordion doors that open the inside space to the outside. Waiters wander through, handing out drinks and offering trays full of hors d’oeuvres.

Out back, people mingle around the pool. The men wear suits, and the women wear every variety of little black dress. Emma called it on the wardrobe.

“Mason,” a man calls from across the room. He has gray hair, rosy cheeks, and a round stomach. He waves a hand, motioning for Mason to join him by the polished bar in the corner of the living room.

“Bill,” Mason calls back, lifting his chin.

I grip Mason’s arm. “That’s the Gators’ owner?”

He gives a subtle nod and pats my hand as he leads me through the room. “Relax,” he whispers. I can feel the tension from our earlier conversation melting away. “Everyone’s going to love you.”

“He wants you to marry his daughter,” I whisper. “I seriously doubt beating her to it makes me his favorite person.”

Mason grins. “But it makes you mine.”

I don’t have time to respond before we’re stepping up to the bar. Bill McCombs is shoving his hand in my direction.

“You must be Mason’s wife,” he says. I reluctantly release Mason’s arm and give Bill my hand. “He’s been keeping you a secret from everyone, you know.” He skims his eyes over me in appraisal. “But now I see why. He just wanted to keep you for himself.” His laugh is loud and forced. It makes me feel like everyone is staring at us.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. McCombs,” I say. He releases my hand, and I slide it under Mason’s arm. I feel safer there. “Your house is lovely.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind. So how are you liking Seaside? It’s beautiful, isn’t it? My wife and I only recently moved here when we started the Gators franchise. Such a quaint place. Reminds you how much joy there is to be found in the simple things.”

He just used the words quaint and simple to describe a town where there are homes this opulent. Mind blown. I smile politely. “I’ve always loved the area along 30A. My sister lives nearby, so I’ve been here before.”

“Oh, is that so? Where’s your sister located?”

My stomach twists the way it did when I was a kid and people would ask where I lived. I wasn’t ashamed of living in the trailer park, but I hated the way people looked at me differently when they found out. I don’t want this man to judge Sarah because of where she lives. There’s nothing wrong with Sarah’s town, but it’s not part of this man’s world. “She’s over in Rock Hill.”

He snaps his fingers and points at me. “Right.” He looks at Mason. “That’s the golf course community south of Rosemary Beach, right?”

“You’re thinking of Rock Grove,” Mason says. His gaze holds mine for a beat. “Rock Hill is about half an hour north of here.”

“Oh, right, right,” Bill says, but he obviously doesn’t know the area or give two shits where it is, and I’m glad. With everything else I’m carrying tonight, I’m not interested in carrying the weight of his judgments. “So sorry your parents couldn’t make it tonight,” he says to Mason.

“They had a previous engagement,” Mason says. “But they send their regrets and said they’ll join you in the box for Sunday’s game.”

“Wonderful.” Bill turns to me. “Will you be joining us in the box this weekend?”

Mason already gave me my tickets for Sunday’s preseason game. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I promised Emma, Keegan’s fiancée, that we’d sit together.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Well, probably better that way. A carefree thing like you wouldn’t want to hang around a bunch of old people like us anyway.” I’m not sure what that means or that I should read anything into it at all, but I don’t get a chance to respond before he smacks Mason on the back—harder than necessary, if you ask me—and grabs his drink off the bar. “Lindy’s out back. I know she’s anxious to meet your bride.”

 

“You look terrified,” I say in Bailey’s ear as we head out back.

“Sorry,” she says. “Just nervous.”

I’m more than a little grateful to have her on my arm tonight. It’s not like I can’t hold my own with Lindy, but she’s upped her crazy game lately. Maybe if she sees me and Bailey together it’ll finally sink in that it’s over between us.

As we walk to the back, Bailey looks around the party with wide eyes. I try to imagine it from her perspective. I know she sees money and a place she doesn’t belong, but I just see a bunch of assholes trying to one-up each other. Just because I grew up with money doesn’t mean I value it more than I value people. The opposite is true. Growing up with money taught me that it causes more problems than it fixes.

Case in point: Lindy McCombs.

Lindy’s red dress has a long slit up the front, and the sides float around her when she saunters over to us. Her eyes land on Bailey, and her jaw goes hard as she sweeps her gaze down her body and back up. “Is this the lucky girl?”

“Lindy, this is Bailey . . .” Fuck. Is she Bailey Green? Bailey Dahl? I guess to be Dahl, she’d have to file some paperwork to get her name legally changed, and that’s obviously not happening. Better to not tackle the last name. “Bailey, this is Lindy, Bill’s daughter and an old friend.”

Lindy chuckles and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Well, we were certainly more than friends, Mason.” She looks at Bailey and says, “For years, we were everything to each other. But I guess that’s all irrelevant now.” She offers Bailey her hand. “It’s nice to meet the woman who’s held Mason’s attention for so long.”

“Nice to meet you,” Bailey says. I slide my arm around her waist, and I feel how tense she is.

“Are you settling in okay?” Lindy asks. “I just moved here myself, but if there’s anything I can do to help, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I’m fine.” She leans into me, and I don’t even think she knows she’s doing it. “I’ve spent most of the week job hunting.”

Lindy looks to me. “She’s still working? Is that necessary?”

Bailey shifts uncomfortably. “I want to. I like to stay busy.”

“Girl, I can hook you up.” Lindy waves to another woman standing nearby. “Jackie! Didn’t you say that place by your husband’s office is hiring? Mason’s wife is looking for work.”

The woman excuses herself from her group and joins our awkward little circle. “Sorry, who’s looking for a job?”

Lindy points at Bailey. “This is Bailey, Mason’s wife. She’s looking for work, and I thought you told me the place by your husband’s office was hiring.”

“Seventh Heaven?” Jackie says with a laugh. She looks at Bailey and shakes her head. “You don’t want to work there. It’s a nasty strip club.”

“But Bailey’s a stripper,” Lindy says. She puts her hand on Bailey’s arm and cocks her head in mock thoughtfulness. “Or do girls like you prefer the word dancer?”

“Lindy,” I growl. “Jesus Christ.”

Every passing moment of this conversation, Bailey was inching closer to me, but now she steps away. “Excuse me,” she says, her smile tight. “I’m going to find myself a drink.”

She disappears into the house, and Lindy beams.

“Is she really a stripper?” Jackie asks, snapping her gum.

I turn on Lindy. “You’re despicable. If only you were as ugly on the outside as you are on the inside, you might look in the mirror and understand why I don’t want to be with you.”