Inconvenient Wife Page 4

  “So we’ll reconvene tomorrow,” Mr. Ravenel says, and I realize he’s probably repeating himself for my benefit. “And go over any questions you might have. Daisy can schedule one-on-one time with me if you’d rather discuss the particulars of your disbursements in private .”

  Damn right I would .

  “Sure. Thank you.” I glance out the glass doors of the conference room at Daisy, the paralegal and receptionist. She’s prim, wears a tight suit, tighter hair, and has a cute face. Pretty. What if I married Daisy? As the niece of Ravenel’s law partner, I know she comes from an old Charleston family. The right pedigree Isabel Montgomery would say, although I’m sure grandmother would be concerned that Daisy’s legal aspirations might interfere with her volunteer requirements as a Montgomery wife and her Junior League membership commitments. It was why my mother ultimately divorced my father, after all. She got tired of living up to Isabel Montgomery’s expectations. And tired of my father being too weak to step in .

  I dismiss the idea of marrying Daisy and realize I am now going to be sizing up every single woman I know to decide if I can stomach being married to her, or she me for that matter. It will probably be an instant gut check rather than based on any other merits. The problem is my gut doesn’t want to be married, not for all the money in the world. But, I think, as I push back from the conference room table and exit the glassed-in room, I want to build boats enough to do it. Anyway, it’s not like anyone I’ve known has ever taken marriage that seriously. Seems like a lot of fuss for a piece of paper no one respects and promises no one keeps .

  I stop at the paralegal desk. “Daisy, please schedule me for a one-on-one with Mr. Ravenel tomorrow. I need to know what these ridiculous marriage stipulations are about and what my work-arounds might be.” She nods and writes my note down in her notebook. She looks back up. “You know … I could put the word out — ”

  “No!” I snap a little too abruptly. “I mean, thank you for the offer. But I need to get my head around this first.” I look up and see my grandmother, Isabel, still at the table talking to Ravenel, her eyes repeatedly flicking to me with concern. She’ll want to have a fat discussion with me about this later, I’m sure, to see what’s in the best interests of the family. I’d rather she just stay out of it .

  “Just …” I look back at Daisy, but she’s watching the rear end of a brooding Trystan disappear out the door. “Schedule me for time tomorrow, and I’ll give it some thought. Thank you .”

  Heading outside, I’m so dazed I walk right into someone’s back. “Sorry,” I mumble. Then I realize it’s my cousin who looks as dazed as I feel. “Oh hey, Trystan .”

  Trystan looks at me blankly, and I can see his mind churning. He just inherited our family’s entire business and has been asked to leave New York City and relocate here to Charleston to run it. It looks like we both have a lot of processing to do. But damn, it’s good to see him .

  “You want to grab some lunch?” I ask him, suddenly needing to reconnect. Yesterday at the funeral was the first time I’ve seen Trystan in almost twenty years. We were best friends as kids, or so I’d thought. He’s changed. His Montgomery-blue eyes, which I always remembered as bright and fervent, seem hardened and icy. They soften though as they look at me .

  He blinks and shrugs. “Sure .”

  I’m at a loss as to where we should go. “I’ve been living out at the house on Awendaw,” I tell him, referring to the old plantation house about forty minutes up the coast, north of downtown Charleston. “I don’t know what’s good around here anymore. Let’s walk and see what we find .”

  “I know someone who will,” he says, pulling out his phone. His mouth has a smirk playing around it as he starts texting. He looks up. “Are we close to Market Street ?”

  Amused at the way he’s looking at his phone and wondering who he’s communicating with, I point left and we start walking .

  We go into a cool restaurant that’s housed inside an old church .

  As soon as we sit, Trystan pulls his phone back out. Something about his expression when he texts has me asking, “Your girlfriend?” and nodding at the phone .

  He jerks his head up, shocked. “Oh, no,” he says. “Just someone who knows the best places to eat in Charleston. I don’t know her .”

  I smirk but stay quiet, waiting. There’s a story there, I know it .

  “Actually, it’s kind of a funny story,” he admits with a sheepish expression, and I lean back and settle in. “In the airport when I arrived, I plugged my phone in the charging station and somehow this woman took it.” He holds up his phone. “This phone isn’t mine, it’s hers. We switched phones, and she’s in New York now, and I’m here .”

  Yikes. A chick having my phone? I wouldn’t even lend mine to Gwen. “Oh my God, that’s crazy .”

  He shrugs and shakes his head like he can’t believe his own words. “We’ve been … talking. She’s from here so I guess she’s been my unofficial tour guide. She’s just a tour guide,” he reiterates, seemingly for his own benefit .

  Somehow, I can tell from the way he smiles when he texts her that he’s enjoying their “talking” a lot more than as a mere tour guide, but I decide to keep my thoughts to myself. “And I thought my life just took a turn for the weird and wonderful. You have me beat .”

  He rubs a hand over his face. “I wouldn’t say that. So do you have a girlfriend? Are you even close to doing what he wants ?”

  “Getting married? Hell, no. I haven’t ever gone past a tenth date to my knowledge.” It’s not like I keep perfect track, but I’m pretty sure it’s around ten. Maximum .

  “Ten. That’s not bad. I draw a line at three. Four if we haven’t … you know .”

  Sadly, I do know. But unlike Trystan’s clearly hard and fast rule, I’m happy to go back several more times if it’s good and fun and clearly casual. “I should rein it back to four,” I admit. “Getting all the way to ten gets you in all sorts of trouble.” Recently, ten dates has seemed to signify it’s moving into “let’s meet the parents” category. Maybe it’s our age. “Lots of women around here looking to trap a Montgomery. Though,” I look up at the stained-glass window and cross myself. May my condom never break, I pray. “Thankfully, I’ve been careful .”

  We order and catch up some more, which includes me reassuring him I’m not the least upset about not being given any part in the family business. It’s been a drain on my psyche to be in that office all day every day when I’d rather be on the water and working with my hands. In fact, that’s why I’ve kept my head down, worked hard, and have been staying at one of the family homes—to save money. I’ve been squirreling away every cent so I can buy the boat building equipment I want. I’d been planning to start my own business come hell or high tide. Our grandfather’s last will and testament just made that an almost reality. The “almost” because of the tiny catch of having to get married. Jesus, my grandfather was a twisted old S.O.B .

  “So who are you going to marry in order to get your inheritance?” Trystan asks as if he can read my mind. Of course the words are out of his mouth right as the waitress arrives to top off our iced tea. I glare at him then glance toward her, my face feeling hot .

  She pauses mid pour and gives me a slow perusal. “Well, honey,” she says obviously satisfied at what she sees, which must be me naked in her mind’s eye, “I’m available if you’re stuck .”

  I open my mouth to say something, my skin is burning. “Uh, thanks .”

  “He’ll keep you in mind,” Trystan tells her with a huge grin .

  “See that he does. Your food will be right out .”

  If we were twenty years younger or I knew him better I’d kick him under the table. Suddenly I feel stupidly happy Trystan is back, and he’s all but being forced to stay in town. I was devastated when he and his mom left. Back before the days of social media, it was like he just ceased to exist. I’ve missed him and I didn’t even realize it. I hope he and Gwen get along. Then I think of him and Gwen mee
ting and frown. I really hope this girl Trystan is texting keeps his interest .

  We both watch the server walk away .

  “She’s cute,” Trystan says. “You could do worse .”

  “Probably. What in the hell was Grandfather thinking putting that stipulation on me?” I vent. “Why not you ?”

  “Me? Never. Anyway, I hardly got off scot-free.” He grimaces. “It just so happens I’m about to sell my company in New York. I wasn’t sure what I was going to work on next, but it sure as shit didn’t involve being involved in anything to do with the Montgomerys. No offense. I’m sure grandfather knew if he added in a marriage stipulation to that bombshell, I’d walk .”

  I try to ignore his jab at the family. I know he was hurt by our grandparents’ actions of cutting him out for twenty years. He must be reeling at the apparent change of heart. “Well, I for one, am glad. It’ll be good to have you back here more.” I push my hair off my forehead. “You can help me narrow down my prospect list.” I think of bringing up Gwen as an option, but I know I have to dismiss the idea. She’d laugh in my face. She’s always said she’d as soon kill me as date me. Marrying me would result in bloody murder. Even if it was just for convenience. Not least of all her father wouldn’t condone his daughter marry someone under these circumstances. He likes me well enough, just probably not that much. He’d want grandkids .

  Our food arrives and I watch with amusement as Trystan pulls his phone back out. “Just a tour guide” my ass. I chomp down on a fry and don’t say a word .

  Thinking of Gwen gives me a yearning for a salt breeze and the smell of engine oil. I planned to head to the Montgomery home on South Battery, but instead when I head that way after lunch, I find myself passing the house right on by and heading for the city marina .

  5

  Beau

  E ver since I was a boy I’ve gone to the marina when things get stressful. Of course, the marina has changed a lot over twenty years. In fact, it hardly resembles what it was with all the new development and the mega yachts .

  Rhys Thomas Boatworks is one of the last remaining holdouts of what the working marina used to be. Last I heard someone wants to turn Rhys’ place into a high-end oyster and champagne bar. Like we need another luxe restaurant in Charleston. And of course, he’d never sell .

  But as a kid, down there with my hands full of splinters, my lungs full of saw dust and epoxy fumes, and the calming advice of Gwen’s father, Rhys Thomas, I’d found where I belonged. I’d found who I was and who I could be. And today, I need the company of the old boat builder, and if not him then just the boats will do. I glance at my watch, wondering if I’ll catch him by himself since Gwen should still be at work at her fancy job on King Street .

  Obviously, Gwen would be the easy solve for this marriage predicament, but last I knew she was seeing someone. Darrel? Derek? I can’t remember. I do remember he had big hands, and I remember wondering if they were gentle enough for Gwen. Which is ridiculous of course because Gwen is the toughest girl I know. In fact, if you tell her a girl can’t or shouldn’t do something, she’ll go right away and do it, regardless of consequence .

  Gwen has never mentioned wanting to get married and be a mom, so maybe it could work. But what if she does want that? Maybe that’s why she’s waiting on Daryl, David, or whatever the hell his name is .

  The thought of Gwen as a mom brings a smile to my face. I wonder if she’d let them run wild about the marina like she and I did. I’d be their “Uncle Beau,” teaching them about boats, and carving wood, and fishing. They’d have permanent tans, freckled noses and soft, salt-dusted skin. My insides feel a weird churn, an attachment, and I quickly try to imagine their father but come up short. I can only see Gwen looking at me, smiling widely, her hair catching gold in the sun with love in her green eyes .

  Wait, what ?

  I stagger slightly and catch my step. Uneven sidewalk. And I’m hopped up on too much iced-tea—that waitress would not stop refilling it .

  Christ, this whole situation has me thrown. Gwen really would laugh in my face if she knew where my head just went. Besides if we did give it a go and I messed it up for some reason, I’m not sure I’d survive the loss of her friendship. She’s tied up in the very fabric of who I am. The cold fear of that is enough to make me reaffirm the vow I made as a teenager never to mess up that friendship line. Even though I’d once had a painfully large infatuation with her, I don’t see her that way any more. And haven’t for a long time. Thank God .

  The afternoon May heat beats down on the back of my neck, and I turn the corner to see the sea of white masts bobbing in the distance set against the backdrop of the Ashley River bridge and the bright blue sky. To my right, I see the hospital Medical University of South Carolina, where grandfather passed away .

  But when I get down to Rhys’ boat shop, it’s not him I find. Nor any of the guys who work for him. The strains of Hot Chocolate’s “You Sexy Thing” are audible from outside .

  Gwen is there by herself in cut off jeans and a white tank, her blonde hair hoisted high on her head. I take a moment to watch her work. Her skin is slick from sweat, her muscles working hard as she rhythmically planes the joins of Rhys Thomas’ latest creation in smooth, long strokes. Her flow is beautiful—a fluid push and pull. She’s singing along as she pauses to do a little hip wiggle on each backward stroke, dancing as she works. Seventies classics. That’s all her father ever played in his shop when we were growing up. She shouldn’t be here on her own, with the place unlocked and unable to hear anyone approach. I’ll be mad at her later, but for now I take a moment to appreciate her at work. I know it made Rhys sad when Gwen told him she didn’t want to take over the business. To be honest, I never can understand why she wouldn’t. She loves boats as much as I do. She lives and breathes them. And she’s really damn good .

  It’s been my life-long dream to do this. To build beautiful wooden boats. But I wasn’t born to a boat builder like she was .

  Now, my dream is so close I can taste it .

  And there’s not much I wouldn’t do to make it happen .

  * * *

  “I need a wife,” I say loudly, making Gwen jump and turn with her hand to her chest .

  The planer she was holding skitters along the floor .

  To her credit she recovers quickly, giving me a scowl after she leans down to retrieve it. “I know you do. Been telling you that for donkey’s years.” She wipes the dew off her forehead, wisps of her blonde hair are curling and sticking to her damp skin .

  “Wife . Not life,” I grumble. And I’m not sure why I just come right out and say it, but as soon as I do I feel relief that it’s out there. That Gwen knows. She’s a solver. She’ll help me figure this out. Just like she helped me figure out how to take Ginny McKinley to the Magnolia Ball, instead of Lucy Peterson who I’d promised to take six months prior. In fact, I’d really have rather taken Gwen as my date, but she’d refused to set foot in a country club since we were teenagers .

  She’s still for a second, then she gets back to work without answering. I’ve shocked her. Hell, I’m still shocked .

  The muscles in her bare tanned arms flex as she swipes the planer back and forth in a steady rhythm over a join on the hull of the boat. It’s better when there’s at least two of us working on a boat this size, but I’ve been MIA the last few days what with all the funeral and reading of the will shit going on. She has her own job and can’t afford all the time her dad needs to keep the business going since he’s been under the weather .

  The boat shop is hot and humid, the stinging smell of swirling wood dust sticking to the insides of my nostrils .

  She straightens finally as she gets to the end of the curve, not looking at me but staring unseeing, straight ahead .

  Then she casts me a quick glance to see if I’m joking. Whatever she sees on my face hopefully makes it clear I’m not .

  “Why exactly?” she asks carefully .

  “Fuck knows. Because my grandfather
was a crazy old coot. But, Gwen, he left me the warehouse on James Island, the boat slip, everything I need. I think I can finally do it .”

  She stares at me, a myriad of emotions I can’t even begin to name moving through her green eyes. Is she happy for me? I can’t tell. A smile finally materializes at the edges of her mouth .

  I’m happy. I’m so damn glad I get to share this news with her. She’s been with me through thick and thin. And I know, know , she’s kept a few buyers for her dad’s equipment at bay while I tried to raise the money to buy into his business. I may be a Montgomery, but the family is pretty tight with money unless you’re dancing to their tune. It’s a control thing. Which is what makes this whole new situation as much surprising as unsurprising .

  “Are you serious?” she finally asks .

  “Deadly.” I purse my lips and wait .

  “Congratulations. I’d heard a rumor you were cut out of the will .”

  I roll my eyes. Of course, this is Charleston. Still small enough to have a wicked grapevine. “On the business side of things, yes. In a surprise twist, he left pretty much everything to Trystan. But,” and I can’t help a large smile as I list out what he left me .

  “Wow, Beau.” She covers her mouth in delighted shock. “So he believed in you after all. Congratulations .”

  “But on the personal side, perhaps not congratulations. Perhaps commiserations.” I shrug. “The inheritance comes with a stipulation that I have a wife .”

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Sounds like Isabel’s handiwork to be honest. The question is why do you have to get married? It makes no sense .”

  “I think it was all him, actually. Perhaps it was some twisted way of getting the family back together. Like the way he left Trystan the business side of things, all but forcing him to come back here. He knew we’d all have to communicate if there was a wedding being planned. He’s made the same stipulation of Suzy too. Which makes even less sense .”