My Perfect Fiance (Perfect Guy Book 2) Read online

  My Perfect Fiancé

  a novel by

  Annabelle Costa

  My Perfect Fiancé

  © 2019 by Annabelle Costa. All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, incidents and places are the products of the authors’ imagination, and are not to be construed as real. None of the characters in the book is based on an actual person. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Bailey

  Chapter 2: Noah

  Chapter 3: Bailey

  Chapter 4: Noah

  Chapter 5: Bailey

  Chapter 6: Noah

  Chapter 7: Bailey

  Chapter 8: Noah

  Chapter 9: Bailey

  Chapter 10: Noah

  Chapter 11: Bailey

  Chapter 12: Noah

  Chapter 13: Bailey

  Chapter 14: Noah

  Chapter 15: Bailey

  Chapter 16: Noah

  Chapter 17: Bailey

  Chapter 18: Noah

  Chapter 19: Bailey

  Chapter 20: Noah

  Chapter 21: Bailey

  Chapter 22: Noah

  Chapter 23: Bailey

  Chapter 24: Noah

  Chapter 25: Bailey

  Chapter 26: Noah

  Chapter 27: Bailey

  Chapter 28: Noah

  Chapter 29: Bailey

  Chapter 30: Noah

  Chapter 31: Bailey

  Chapter 32: Noah

  Chapter 33: Bailey

  Chapter 34: Noah

  Chapter 35: Bailey

  Chapter 36: Noah

  Chapter 37: Bailey

  Chapter 38: Noah

  Chapter 39: Bailey

  Chapter 40: Noah

  Chapter 41: Bailey

  Chapter 42: Noah

  Chapter 43: Bailey

  Chapter 44: Noah

  Chapter 45: Bailey

  Chapter 46: Noah

  Chapter 47: Bailey

  Chapter 48: Noah

  Chapter 49: Bailey

  Epilogue: Noah

  Chapter 1: Bailey

  Tonight we had dinner reservations at La Petite Maison, a small and romantic French restaurant with a month-long waiting list to get a table. I browsed the online menu last night, and had all but decided to get a cheese plate followed by the coq au vin. My boyfriend Noah was planning to get the steak—ranked in a recent Times article as the best in New York City. We had both been looking forward to this dinner for ages.

  Instead, we are eating dinner at McDonald’s. There is absolutely nothing romantic or French about this meal. Well, except maybe for the French fries.

  “I’m going to kill him,” I say to Noah, as I stuff a handful of fries into my mouth. I’m not even hungry, but I’m Angry Eating now. I just Angry Ate a Big Mac, and now I’m Angry Eating a large French fries. I’m glad they got rid of Super Sizing, or else I’d be Angry Eating myself up a dress size.

  Noah takes a bite of his own chicken sandwich and chews thoughtfully. He has got to be furious too, but he’s been decidedly good-natured about the fact that my ex-husband, who was supposed to pick up my daughter Lily an hour ago, suddenly canceled on us until tomorrow morning because “something came up.” Noah was looking forward to this meal as much as I was, but he’s not stuffing fries into his mouth and planning to definitely get the hot fudge sundae.

  “We’ll go another time,” he says. His blue eyes meet mine, which makes my heart flutter. After all this time, he still does it to me. I’ve known him fifteen years and one look from him is all it takes. “It’s okay.”

  I fold my arms across my chest, pouting. I’m the most upset person here. Lily was upset at first when we told her Daddy wasn’t coming like she thought, but as soon as Noah said the words “McDonald’s Play Area,” she magically got over it.

  “I was just really looking forward to it,” I mumble. And I stuff ten more fries in my mouth at once. Angry Eating is the worst.

  Noah pries my fingers away from my mouth, which isn’t easy. He takes my hand in his warm, larger one and gives it a squeeze. Back when we were in college, we used to play footsie under the table at restaurants, but there’s no point in that anymore. “I’ll get another reservation. Don’t worry. La Petite Maison isn’t closing any time soon.”

  His hand in mine makes my whole body tingle, and I feel a flush filling my cheeks. After nearly a year of living with this man, I would have assumed some of that excitement would die down. But it never does.

  And all I wanted was to be alone with him tonight. And eat French food that isn’t of the fry variety.

  “Noah!” Lily is hurling herself across the play area, her eyes wide with excitement. There’s nothing she loves more than the McDonald’s play area. Well, it’s possible she loves me more than the play area, but only very slightly. “Noah! Lookit what I found!”

  My seven-year-old daughter comes to an abrupt halt in front of our table, slipping slightly in her pink socks. Before I know what is happening, Lily has released a living organism onto our tray. It’s got six legs and it’s crawling toward my fries.

  “Lily!” I shriek as I jump up from the table. “You just put a bug on the table!”

  “It’s a beetle.” Lily looks at Noah for confirmation, and he nods. “I found it on the slide.”

  “And then you brought it here.” Noah grins up at me—I’m still cowering two feet away from the table. “Very nice.”

  “It is not nice.” I hug my chest as I stare at the insect. The only good thing I can say is it will save me about three hundred calories, since there’s no way I’m touching those fries now. “Lily, what did we say about bugs at the table?”

  She looks at me blankly while Noah laughs into his hand. About six months ago, after Noah took us camping, Lily became obsessed with bugs. Whenever she spots one, she captures it and identifies it. And sadly, there’s no shortage of bugs in New York City. She told me recently that her new career goal is to become a bug scientist. Or entomologist, as Noah corrected her.

  I can’t decide whether to be grateful to Noah for encouraging Lily in her new hobby or to be furious with him for… well, encouraging her in this new hobby. No, I’m grateful. He’s great with her, really. It’s my greatest regret that Noah isn’t her father.

  But you can’t change the past.

  “Let’s capture it in a cup,” Noah says, as he sucks down the last of his soda to empty the container. “Then when we get home, we’ll put it in your bug catcher. Okay, Lil?”

  “Yeah!”

  She is really excited about this beetle.

  Noah scoops up the beetle with his bare hand and deposits it in the cup. I feel like even with the lid in place, there’s a very real chance that the bug will get free in his Toyota, but if he’s willing to take that risk, I’m not going to say anything. Anyway, Noah isn’t terrified of bugs like I am. This summer there was a wasp in our apartment, and he smashed the damn thing with his bare hand. When I reacted with amazement, he laughed. It’s just a bug, Bailey. It’s smaller than the tip of your finger.

  “Mom,” Lily says when the beetle is secure in the soda cup. “When can we get an ant farm?”

  “When you’re eighteen and living on your own,” I say.

  “Mommy!”

  “You know…” Noah’s blue eyes twinkle. “An ant farm is really cool. I had one when I was a kid. It teaches you responsibility of caring for the ants, and you
can watch them dig all these neat tunnels. It’s a great option for a budding entomologist.”

  Lily’s eyes are shining, and part of me really wants to do this for her. She’s been through a lot in the last few years, and this will be a great way for her to bond with Noah. But no. No way. I won’t be able to sleep if I know there are hundreds of ants crawling around in the bedroom next to me.

  “I’ll think about it,” I lie.

  Lily is too young to realize that’s a hard no, so she skips off happily, secure in the knowledge that I’m “thinking about it.” Even though all I’m thinking about is how happy I am that we aren’t getting an ant farm.

  Noah raises an eyebrow at me. “You’re not even going to consider it?”

  “No. I am not.”

  “Why not?”

  “What if the ants get loose?”

  He laughs. “Come on. The ants won’t get loose.”

  “The ants will definitely get loose!” I cry. “I can’t even imagine a situation in which they don’t get loose! Remember what happened with Lily’s goldfish? Well, imagine instead of having to clean one goldfish off the floor, we had to clean a thousand ants.”

  I still don’t know how Lily knocked her goldfish tank off the shelf in her room, but that thing shattered into a million pieces. And sadly, Goldy didn’t make it.

  “If it spills,” he says, “I’ll clean it up.”

  “Damn straight you will. But still no.”

  Noah shakes his head at me. He thinks he can convince me, but he can’t. He won’t.

  “Mom! Noah!”

  My eyes are drawn up to the top of the play structure, where Lily is hollering for us. For a moment, my heart drops into my stomach and I see my panic reflected in Noah’s face. A few months ago, Lily twisted her ankle at the top of the play structure while we were here together. I am not what you would call nimble, and I could see Noah was itching to go rescue her, but he couldn’t. He went to the entrance to the structure, staring down in frustration at his legs. I finally had to put my arm on his shoulder and admonish him, Don’t try it. He would never have made it, but he would have stupidly tried. I practically twisted my own ankle worming my way in to get her.

  But Lily isn’t injured or trapped. She’s just waving at us. Or maybe she’s captured another bug. I don’t want to think about it.

  “Be careful!” I yell up at her, even though she probably can’t hear me, and even if she can, she definitely won’t listen. I sigh and lean back in my chair. “Sorry I’m crabby tonight. I was just really looking forward to having that romantic dinner.”

  “I know.” He smiles crookedly. “So was I.”

  “Theo always does this,” I sigh. “He cancels on us when we really need him.”

  “I’m not going to argue with that.” He lifts a light brown eyebrow. “Didn’t I say we should have just gotten a sitter instead of relying on him?”

  “And you were right.”

  “Just like I’m right about the ant farm.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” I allow myself a tiny smile. “It’s not just about the restaurant. Work’s been stressing me out lately, and I really wanted this night out with you. I wanted a special night—you know what I mean?”

  He nods, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  “Oh, well.”

  “Hey.” He looks at me intently, an unreadable expression on his face. “Maybe we can still make tonight special.”

  I swallow, thinking of what Noah will do to me once Lily is safely tucked away in her bed. That tingle returns. When it comes to the bedroom, Noah is… well, he’s incredible. “Yeah, that would be great,” I murmur.

  He grins at the look at my face. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “Oh.”

  “I mean, I did.” He laughs. “But not just that. I mean, something even better. I hope.”

  I don’t know what he’s talking about. But if this has anything to do with the ant farm, I’m seriously out the door.

  But instead of extolling the virtues of an ant farm, Noah reaches into his pocket and pulls out…

  Oh my God.

  It’s a blue box.

  What’s he doing? What’s Noah doing?

  What is he doing at McDonald’s?

  “This isn’t where I wanted to do this, believe me.” His voice cracks ever so slightly. “But it’s not about where, is it? It’s about… well, wanting to spend the rest of our lives together.”

  “I…” My throat is so dry, that’s the only syllable I can get out.

  Then he opens it. And it’s beautiful. A tasteful square diamond set in white gold. I hate that there was a moment just before he opened the box where I was praying to God it wasn’t the same diamond he gave me ten years ago. I never want to see that ring again, and I’d guess he doesn’t either.

  “Bailey.” A smile curls his lips. “Will you marry me?”

  People are starting to turn and stare because… well, I’m guessing proposals at McDonald’s happen just about never. We could be the first. In history.

  This is the most romantic moment of my life.

  “Get on your knee, boy!” an elderly man—probably a grandfather of one of the little ones—yells out.

  The smile on Noah’s face slips ever so slightly. He’s old-fashioned in a lot of ways, and I know he’d love to get down on one knee. It’s killing him he can’t. And the last thing we need is some old man pointing that out to us.

  But I won’t let it ruin the moment.

  “Yes!” I say. “Of course I’ll marry you!”

  He looks relieved—as if there was any doubt. And while Lily is playing happily within the play structure, he leans in and kisses me in the way that makes my toes curl every time. Damn, he kisses good. So good that my left hand won’t stop shaking as he slides the ring onto my fourth digit.

  But it’s hard to push away the thoughts that keep intruding on my subconscious:

  This happened once before. Noah asked me to marry him and I said yes.

  I returned the ring.

  I broke his heart.

  But it won’t happen again. Noah and I are completely different people than we were ten years ago. There’s absolutely no reason to believe we won’t live happily ever after.

  Chapter 2: Noah

  I wake up at five in the morning every single morning.

  It doesn’t matter if I go to bed at ten, midnight or three a.m. At the stroke of five, my eyes fly open. I’m wide awake—ready to go. Ready to run five miles around the park, which is what I used to do before I turned twenty-two and couldn’t run ever again. I don’t need much sleep. Never have. Five hours is great, but I could do with three or even two.

  Bailey doesn’t have that ability. She’s conked out on the mattress next to me because I kept her up late last night, celebrating our engagement. Celebrating it three times, to be specific. Just because I don’t sleep much, it doesn’t mean I don’t have great stamina. Especially when it comes to Bailey. I’m always ready to go.

  That’s the way it’s always been with Bailey. I can’t stop thinking about her, even at times when I shouldn’t be thinking about her because I need to concentrate on sewing up the fingers of this guy who was using a band saw even though he clearly was not in any way competent to use a band saw. If they outlawed band saws, it would cut my business in the ER by a quarter. (If they outlawed alcohol, I’d lose half. If McDonald’s went, I’d have to find a new line of work.)

  I don’t think she knows how badly Bailey’s got me wrapped around her finger.

  So that’s why it’s half past five, and I’m lying in bed next to the woman of my dreams, using all my willpower not to wake her up for another round of celebrating our engagement. She looks so peaceful asleep. Her red-tinted hair forms a fan over her cheek. She’s got one white hair in the fan. I want to wake her up to tease her about it.

  Damn. Wish I could go for a run. The gym is half a mile away and I used to practically live in the pool on
my days off before Bailey, but it feels too far right now. If only she were awake. Sex is the best exercise.

  “Mommy!”

  Bailey’s eyelids flutter at the sound of Lily screeching outside our door. Lily’s got the same problem as me—wakes up way too early. Sometimes she watches TV alone, but other times she wants company. I get it. When I was a little kid and woke up at five in the morning, I wanted my mom to come sit with me too.

  I know it makes no sense because we’re not actually related by blood, but I see a lot of myself in Lily. I wish I were her dad instead of that loser jackass who stands her up more often than not. She deserves better. I don’t want to come off as arrogant, but I’m better. I’d be better at being her father than Theo. But she’s got a dad. So.

  “Mom!” Lily flings open our bedroom door, which we unlocked before we fell asleep. Not safe to keep it locked. “Wake up!”

  Bailey groans and rubs her eyes. She’s sexy when she’s sleepy. “So early…”

  I struggle into a sitting position. “It’s okay, Bailey. I got this.”

  When we first moved in together, Bailey would ask me over and over if I was sure before I got up with Lily. Now she just blows an air kiss at me, rolls over, and goes back to sleep.

  “Come on, Noah,” Lily says impatiently. “Unikitty is on.”

  She hops out of the room. I can’t do the same. In the morning, the first thing I do is reach for the wheelchair by my bed. That’s the only way I’m going anywhere.

  When I got in my accident a decade ago, the surgeon acted like once I got my prosthetic legs, I’d eventually be just like I was before. Wrong. In retrospect, it was dumb to ever believe that. How the hell could I possibly be like I was before? After you’ve had both legs amputated above the knee, there’s no way you’re not going to rely pretty heavily on a wheelchair. I use it in the morning and the evening, and plenty of the time in-between.

  One thing I’m grateful for is nobody under this roof makes a big thing of it. I’ve had girlfriends who have, but Bailey’s not like that. When she sees me limping home after a hard shift in the ER, she’ll bring me my chair. Insist I get in it. It’s a relief.