Page 42 of Ring Me

Chapter 12

The Invitation

––––––––

“THAT'S TOO PINK.”

Conner squinted at me, the computer light washing his face out. “It's an invitation to a wedding.”

“It doesn't have to be pink.”

“I thought you liked cherries.”

“Cherries are red,” I sighed, leaning back in my chair with a long, exhausted stretch. We'd been designing the invitation to our fake wedding for hours now. “Even if we're only giving these to my grandfather, my aunt, and my mom, they should still look good.” I blinked as a thought hit me. “Should we be inviting anyone from your side, to make this seem more...”

“Real?” he chuckled. “I honestly don't have any family to invite. I wouldn't call myself an orphan, but for all intentions, let's act like I am.”

“I know your mom is gone, I didn't know your dad was, too.”

“He's not dead. They divorced when I was young. Pretty amicable split, really. He moved on and started a new life, new family, new everything. I never saw a reason to chase him down to maintain a relationship he was apparently fine with letting fade.”

“Okay,” I said carefully. “What about friends?”

All the bemusement slipped from his face. “I'm kind of an introvert.” He put his hands on my chair, giving it a firm shove, sending me rolling a few feet away. “Let me take a jab at this invitation,” he said, cracking his knuckles.

I slumped over the arm of my chair. “Fine, go for it. I'm too burnt out to be in total control.”

“Wow. You are tired,” he teased. He moved the computer mouse around, adjusting things I couldn't see. When he started to type, I was impressed at his light, precise key taps. I knew how good he was with his hands—I started to blush as I recalled how perfectly he could stroke my clit and tug my nipples at the same time—but I'd never seen him at a keyboard.

“Conner,” I said, twisting my chair in a lazy circle, “Were you ever a professional typist?”

“A what?”

“A secretary, a CPA, just anything that used a keyboard a bunch?”

He shot me a look. “I don't know anyone who can't type properly.”

“Mn, I know a few who do the two finger chicken peck.” I demonstrated in the air with my fingers.

“Look at this,” he interrupted me. It was obvious he was still avoiding talking about his past job. It drove me crazy—I wanted to know what he'd done. Why keep it secret? And how much money had it made him, since he didn't seem to be working now, but could afford his ritzy apartment downtown and the ring that weighed heavily on my finger?

I rolled my chair closer to stare at the screen. The invitation was simple enough: cream colored with silver letters, a silhouette of a pink tree behind everything. “A cherry blossom tree,” I said, realizing what it was.

He nodded. “Seemed fitting.”

“You put the date as almost a year and a half away?”

He pulled a grim face. “I'm playing it safe. This gives us time to make things right for your mom.”

“Yeah,” I agreed happily, but inside, I'd gone cold. Setting the wedding so far in the future made it clear it was never going to happen. We were just delaying to convince Pappy. That's good, I reminded myself. Why didn't it calm my nerves? “I'll send these to the printers and have them mailed to the three of them.”

“Make sure you choose the nicest, most expensive card stock.”

“I hope a proper invitation lets Mom breathe easier.” I felt like shit the further this lie went. I tried to soothe myself by thinking about how my mom would be able to retire, and really, this lying was only because my aunt had lied in the first place to convince Pappy to give her the entire inheritance.

I was only cleaning up that mess.

“You look grumpy,” Conner said, “Let me feed you.”

---