Epub her younger self co.., p.24
epub HER YOUNGER SELF Copy, page 24
“And then what? You get the money and you disappear until you’re broke again?”
“It’s not like that. It doesn’t have to be like that. I did miss Dad. And you. And I regret not being here. But there was so much expectation, and I guess I’m more like Mom than I thought, because I couldn’t handle it. Every time I thought about coming back, I thought of how disappointed Dad would be. You know that look he gets.” She does, in fact, know that look, but their father hadn’t been disappointed at all to see Harley. He’d been overjoyed. “I swear, every time I planned to come back I saw that look in my mind, and I just couldn’t do it.”
“He’s your father.”
“And I’m a big ole coward, okay? Do I have regrets? Of course.”
“You could have just called, if you needed money. I would have gotten it to you, without you coming back here and getting Dad’s hopes up that you were back for good.”
Harley winces. “I didn’t know he was sick. I didn’t know you were in charge of everything now.”
“That’s the point, Harley! You. Should. Have. Known. Family doesn’t abandon one another.” Except Harley had. And so had Ingrid’s mother. “Dad doesn’t have a whole lot of time left, and I’m not going to let you run out on him…again.”
“I won’t do that. Despite what you think about my actions, I do love the man. He’s my father. I’m not staying in Ellen Point—living up to the Wyatt legacy isn’t in my DNA. But I’ll keep in touch, come back for regular visits, even bring Mia down with me—assuming she’ll still have me. Dad will be happy to know he’s going to be a grandfather, right?”
“He’ll be thrilled, of course. What are you going to tell him? About not staying?”
“You think I should come clean, tell him the truth?”
She pauses, working through things in her head. Is she prepared to help Harley, now that she knows he doesn’t want to take WMB from her?
“About being a barista? No. Let him believe you have a real estate job you enjoy, and that you have to get back to it. Tell him about Mia if you want. Tell me how much money you need, and I’ll do my best to get it for you. Don’t mention it to him at all. If you do, he’ll think you only came back for that. As long as you keep in touch and you’re good to him, then I won’t tell him either.”
“He won’t notice, though, if you pull money out?”
“I have my own accounts, Harley. I don’t need to dip into Dad’s funds or even into your ‘inheritance’ to help you out.” She’s been investing since she got her first paycheck. She shakes her head.
“Damn. You really are the one in charge here. Thank you so much.” He hugs her, but it’s still so new to have him back that she can only return it stiffly. He looks at her. “Did you really get engaged just to secure your spot at WMB?”
She shrugs. “It was…an impulsive decision.”
“Call it off, okay? I never trusted that guy, even when we were kids.”
“We’ll see what happens.” There’s no way she’ll actually marry sleazy, conniving Thomas, but she can’t forget the look on Willard’s face, the bliss etched there in the age lines. He was so happy. He’d feigned annoyance that she hadn’t told him how close she and Thomas had gotten, but he was already going on and on about the big engagement party they’d throw to celebrate.
Ingrid thinks of Paxton, of how devastated he would be if he knew what she’s agreed to, even if it’s all a big lie.
He’ll never need to know.
She did all of this. She created this madness. With Paxton. With Thomas.
Now, to get it all back under control.
CHAPTER 31
Ingrid calls the Foxglove Society meeting to order. She doesn’t have time for this today, but she made a commitment to the Foxglove Society ages ago and she can’t push it to the side now. As soon as it's over, though, she’s going to meet Thomas.
She’s returning the ugly ring and telling him she won’t go along with his stupid plan. Let him try to take her company. He’s the one who will come out looking worse for it. Everyone knows Ingrid lives and breathes WMB, and Theodore Birch and Carter McIntyre can’t actually overrule her father even if they want to, since it was Willard’s business in the first place and he still holds the majority share. She could kick herself for letting these takeover attempts (one of which existed only in her imagination) get to her. She’s never doubted her own abilities before.
The ring is going back. And in the spirit of honesty—and in the spirit of no longer pretending to be someone else to please the men in her life—Ingrid is going to tell her father the truth. That Thomas manipulated her into a fake engagement and that she’s simply not having it. If Willard is upset, so be it. Soon enough he’ll learn from Harley that he’s going to be a grandfather, and he’ll be too excited about that to care about Ingrid calling off an engagement that only just began.
Fundraisers are on the Foxglove Society agenda today. The Golden Hour Gathering is coming up at the end of the summer and after that, they've got a masquerade ball in the winter to raise money for the local women’s shelter. Another silly excuse to play dress-up, to be fancy, and to feel good about it because it’s all for a good cause. Not that Ingrid has any room to judge. God knows she enjoys the finer things in life. But lately, in the same way that Paxton has started to see the world through her eyes, she’s started to see the world through his. And through his eyes, this kind of thing feels…idiotic. What if, instead of buying fancy dresses and masquerade masks and decorations and entertainment, all of that money went to the women’s shelter in the first place?
Maybe she’s not cut out to be the Foxglove Society president anymore.
Ingrid rushes through the event schedule and eagerly draws the meeting to a close. This month’s meeting is being held at Elodie Rose’s new house, which is nearly bare and which Elodie Rose keeps reiterating is “a work in progress” until her decorator gets back from vacation. When the whole thing is over, Ingrid grabs her purse and starts to make her getaway.
She is promptly blocked by June Pressman and her big magenta smile.
“Ingrid, what a treat to see you here. Seems like we never see you anymore, outside of the meetings,” she says.
“I’ve been working a lot.” Ingrid looks at the door. The last thing she wants is to get caught up chatting with June.
“And that’s not the only thing taking up your time, I hear…” she says, with eyebrows raised and a grin on her face.
“I’m not sure what you mean.” Ingrid’s pulse picks up.
“Well, Dana Redding told Elodie Rose that she was antiquing a few weeks ago and she saw you outside a restaurant, canoodling with a man. A much younger man.”
Ingrid freezes. She remembers the night well. She’d thought they were safe in Wildflower Glen, the next town over. They’d had a few glasses of wine with dinner and outside the restaurant Paxton pulled her under an awning in the spring heat that felt more like summer and kissed her and she’d wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back. She was feeling so giddy from the wine that she’d nearly wrapped her legs around him too. She’d only just managed to refrain. Thank god. Paxton drove them back, and when they were passing the mountain road that led to the acres of land owned by the Wyatt family, Ingrid had insisted he pull in. They’d made love there, in the grass while the sun set.
She mentally chastises herself now, for having been so goddamned stupid.
“Hmm, I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re referring to,” Ingrid says smoothly. “Dana must be mistaken.”
“That’s what I told her. She didn’t seem confused. Said you two were practically tearing each other’s clothes off right there in public. She claimed to have a picture of it on her phone but it was too blurry to tell if it was you. Dana wanted to pass the story along to her sister at the paper, but I told her to wait a minute. I told her you aren’t the type to go gallivanting around, being indiscreet. And with who? Some young stranger? ‘Ingrid is our Foxglove president, for heaven’s sake,’ is what I said. ‘She’d never be so tawdry. She cares too much about her reputation.” Still, June is staring at Ingrid like she does, in fact, believe Ingrid was out “gallivanting.” June looks like she’s positively starving for details. And something about the way she describes what Ingrid and Paxton were doing makes it sound dirty, and wrong. Ingrid is hit with an unexpected wave of shame. She thinks of all of the times she’s seen middle-aged (or older) men with much younger women, and how she always assumes those relationships are driven by money, not love. And that’s exactly how it is with Paxton and her. She’s bought him, paid for him. It’s an excruciating thought, and it hits her right in the chest. Paxton couldn’t possibly care for her the way she’s grown to care for him.
It’s that shame, and panic, that propel her forward. “Actually,” she says. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard. I’ve been seeing Thomas McIntyre, Carter’s son. Surely you know he’s back in town?”
“Oh?” Her eyebrows lift. “Eugenia McIntyre did mention that he was home, but I didn’t know you two were…enjoying each other’s company.” It’s a heady feeling, having a piece of information June doesn’t, and Ingrid would appreciate it more if she wasn’t lying through her teeth.
“We are.” Ingrid rummages through her purse frantically. “There’s no other man but Thomas, and he’s not all that young anymore—but don’t you tell him I said that.” She fakes a giggle and pulls out the ring, slips it on her finger. “In fact, Thomas and I aren’t just dating. We’d planned to wait a bit longer before sharing the news, but I’d rather you ladies hear it first. We’re engaged.”
June grabs Ingrid’s hand and gasps, and then goes to town cooing over the jewelry. Ingrid hates this fucking ring. Before she knows it, all 23 members of the Foxglove Society are crowded around her like excited buzzards and it’s all she can do to hold her hand steady and smile.
***
Ingrid knocks at the door of Paxton’s fancy apartment. Seems like he never stays at his other place anymore. She wonders how often he sees his friends. She’s made it so he enjoys the same quality of things she does, and in return, he’s always available for her.
He opens the door with a small smile. “It’s been a little while,” he says, stepping back so she can enter.
“God, I’ve missed you,” she says. “I would have come back here, the night Claudia caught us, but I didn’t hear from you...” she trails off. “And then with the Harley situation…it’s been busy. But good news: You were right. He doesn’t want WMB, and he’s not staying.”
“That’s great. I knew it would work out.” She follows him to the sofa and sits, and he leans in to kiss her like he just can’t wait. The stubble on his face scrapes against her skin and she could cry.
She pulls away. “Paxton. There’s something I need to tell you.” There’s a crack in her voice and he notices.
“What is it?” He asks. “Is it your dad?”
She shakes her head. “I did something. It’s not a big deal, not really. It’s all pretend, but it was a mistake anyway. I haven’t found my way out of it yet, but I will.”
“Tell me.”
Ingrid swallows and holds up her left hand, where there now rests one ill-fitting and ostentatious engagement ring.
If we’re doing this, you have to wear the ring, Thomas had told her when they met after the Foxglove Society meeting. When she should have backed out but didn’t, all because she couldn’t stand up to June Pressman and her father and everyone who expects her to be perfect in the exact way she’s taught them to expect it of her. What a coward she is. I want everyone to know you’re mine.
I’m literally pretending to be yours, she’d corrected, waving cigar smoke out of her face.
Cigars are for celebrations, he’d said. And this is quite a moment to celebrate. They have a deal now. This engagement is for show, until Thomas gets his trust and Ingrid gets her promotion. At least, that’s what Thomas thinks.
We have to pretend the right way. Would Ingrid Wyatt ever marry someone who couldn’t provide her with a proper ring?
Paxton’s eyes are glued to the jewelry. His face grows pale, then red. She could have just taken the ring off and not told Paxton about it at all. She could have withheld the information. It’s not like she’s really getting married. And yet, it had felt wrong to keep it from him once she’d committed to the charade.
“Ingrid.” He’s almost growling. “What the hell is that?”
Composure, she thinks. She’s the one in charge. “I’m fake engaged. It’s only for a few months.”
His jaw is clenched. He stands, backing away from her.
“It’s not what you think,” she says. “It’s not real. It’s…I made a deal, with Thomas McIntyre. I…someone in my women’s group saw you and me together and I panicked…and I needed to secure my spot at the company, and he has this trust fund he can’t get unless he’s married. It’s all temporary.” She’s babbling like an idiot. The plan sounds as stupid now as it did when Thomas first suggested it.
“So what? You’re just going to marry him? What about you and me?”
“It’s not going to get that far.” She swallows. “We aren’t really going to get married. And you…you have nothing to worry about anyway. My deal with you is in writing. I wouldn’t go back on it. You’ll still have your apartment, your tuition, your stipend. I made you a promise.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it. I’m not talking about the money. Not everyone cares about money the way you do, Ingrid. I’m talking about us.”
Lo and behold, there’s at least one man in the world for whom money isn’t everything. She gets up, follows him, puts her hand to his cheek. “Nothing changes between us either,” she says.
It’s her left hand she’s put to Paxton’s face, and he flinches against the feel of the metal on his skin.
“There’s an engagement ring on your finger, and I didn’t put it there.”
“I told you, it’s all pretend.”
“Is that a real ring, Ingrid?”
“Yes.”
“And did you tell your father about it?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then you’re engaged. That’s not pretend. And that means I can’t do this with you. You know about my mother, and how I feel about cheating. I can’t.”
He runs a hand through his dark hair. Anguish is written on his face, and she feels guilty for finding him sexy this way.
He paces the room. “It could have been me, you know. If marriage is what you wanted.” And then he stops, stares at her. “Oh wait, it couldn’t have been me, though, right? I’m not good enough to please your father.”
Ingrid shakes her head, even though he’s right. “Paxton, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. I couldn’t drag you into this.”
“But you already did drag me in. I thought I was part of your life. I thought…Jesus, what a stupid kid, right? I thought I meant something to you.” She hears what he’s saying, but she also hears what he doesn’t say. He doesn’t say he loves her. He’s twenty-one years old, what on earth does she expect?
“You do.”
“Just not enough. I’ll never mean more to you than that stupid company.”
“It’s the company that’s allowed me to do this for you,” she says. It’s too much all of a sudden, and she can’t hold back her frustration. “You’d think you’d be more appreciative.”
He stares at her, shocked. She immediately wishes she could take back her words. “You’ve never made me feel like a charity case before.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“I think you did. And I think you should go. Or, am I even allowed to kick you out, since you pay for this place? Am I not being appreciative enough?”
“It’s your place, Paxton. I’ll go.”
She doesn’t know how this got so out of hand. She’d hoped that things didn’t have to change between her and Paxton, but she knew, deep down, that he’d have a problem with her engagement. Even if it’s fraudulent. She’d told him anyway.
“It doesn’t matter what the contract says.” Paxton is behind her as she heads for the door. “If you want me out, say so. I’ll get by without your pity money.”
The door clicks shut behind her, and she’s alone in the hallway of The Prestige at Ellen Point. She’s always thought of this place as so luxurious, but now the lights feel too dim, the black and white photographs impersonal. Claudia has always joked that this whole place is staged to make people feel important. It’s the exact ambience Ingrid prefers, and yet she finds herself wishing they were back in Paxton’s old place, crushed together on his twin bed. She finds herself longing for something that isn’t put together just so for her pleasure. She thinks of going back, knocking on Paxton’s door, of suggesting they run away, the way Harley did. Hop in the car and ride off into the sunset. They could get by for a while. She imagines sleeping in hotels across the country, a cottage on the beach.
Harley did it. Her mother did it. Why can’t she?
Even if Ingrid could bring herself to leave it all behind, she suspects that Paxton wouldn’t actually agree to go. The horrified expression on his face when he’d realized she was engaged told her more than she wanted to know. He won’t touch her while she has a ring on her finger, while she’s committed—even pretend committed—to someone else.
She knew this thing with Paxton couldn’t last. He’s too young, too real, for this life. It could never be anything more than a fling.
She knew it all along.
***
The email shows up in her inbox a week later.
To: Ingrid Wyatt
From: Paxton Gale
Date: 5/1
Subject: (no subject)
Ingrid—I know I told you to go. But every single thing in this apartment makes me think of you. I should go back to my old place, if my friends would even still have me there.
