Married to My Nemesis

"Three penalty shots! You're late!" A guy from my old class, redfaced and loud, whipping the whole room up. Every eye in the private dining room slammed onto me like spotlights.

I was wedged into a corner seat, and on my left, close enough to touch, sat the untouchable heartthrob of our class. Miles Lancaster. I pushed the glass away. "Sorry.

We're trying for a baby. I'm off alcohol." The whole room sucked in a breath. The guy's face went dark.

He turned and lifted the glass toward the silent man beside me. "Then our heartthrob has to show me some respect, right?" Miles didn't even lift his eyes.

He poured himself a glass of water. "Sorry." His voice was low. "My wife's trying for a baby. I'm off alcohol." Chapter 1 The group chat kept buzzing at me.

My cab crawled through red light after red light and pulled up to The Moreland Hotel just before eight.

The night rolled in clear for once, and between the weather and the new city lights, you could actually see stars strung across the sky.

The Moreland was one of the fanciest hotels in the city. Everyone walking through those doors was somebody, and the lot out front was walltowall luxury cars.

I stepped out and spotted it immediately. Miles Lancaster's flashy Maybach. Great. Just great. What was he doing at some high school reunion?

The whole thing was ridiculous to begin with. Tucker, the guy who organized it, used to be dead last in our class, and the only one who dropped out. But the man had luck.

Walked out of the school gates, ran into the right people, took his knocks, and now he was new money with a name in this city. So this reunion wasn't about old friends.

It was Tucker showing off and collecting applause. If overtime hadn't wrecked my dinner plans, and the group chat hadn't been blowing up my phone, I wouldn't have come. Still.

Why was Miles here? He never even talked in the group chat. Here to show off the new limitededition Patek Philippe on his wrist?

By the time I finished that thought, my fourinch heels were already clicking through the door of the private dining room. The room was loud and warm, everyone catching up at once.

Then I walked in, and the noise dipped. Every head turned my way. Tucker sprang up to greet me. "Look who it is!

Rose Sullivan, prettiest girl in our class, and she still knows how to make an entrance.

Last one through the door!" I opened my mouth to answer, and a woman's voice cut in, sour as old milk. "Oh, our lovely Rose. Little Miss HighandMighty since high school.

Good for you, honey. Some of us had to let the real world sand us down." Her friend jumped right in. "What's she got to be smug about?

The heartthrob didn't show up late." Those two had been joined at the hip since high school, and they'd never liked me. Plenty of snide little comments back then, too.

I just hadn't expected them to stay this childish. I wasn't even mad. There's a name for that behavior. Sour grapes. I didn't take the bait.

I scanned the room instead, and my eyes ran straight into his. Blazer sleeves half rolled, one hand resting on the table, index finger tapping out a lazy beat.

Good mood, apparently. Of course. His ex was getting dogpiled. Why wouldn't he enjoy the show? I'd come late, so there was exactly one empty seat left in the room.

Right next to Miles Lancaster. I scoffed, then took it, dragging my feet the whole three steps. Nobody picked up on the bad blood between us.

Someone piped up, joking. "Now that's what I call a matched set. Some things are just easy on the eyes." "All these years, and I've gone bald. Lancaster still looks like that.

Takes guts to sit next to the man." Chapter 2 Half the women in the room kept sliding their eyes toward Miles. None of them came over.

Because sure, Miles had his flashy side, but that face was the dangerous kind of pretty. The kind that ruins lives. And in high school he'd been practically worshipped.

The whole school treated him like some cold, untouchable genius who didn't live on the same planet as the rest of us. Look, but don't touch.

So hearts fluttered all over the room, from a safe distance. Nobody dared take the seat. Which left me. The poor sucker assigned to it by default.

He was all legs, too tall for the big round table, so he had to fold them off to one side. Every time I shifted, I brushed against him.

It was a muggy summer night, I was in a short skirt, and the heat of his leg came right through his suit pants. I inched away. More than once.

Somehow I kept ending up against his leg anyway. If he hadn't been scrolling his phone with a perfectly blank face, I'd have sworn he was doing it on purpose.

I gritted my teeth and kept my voice sweet. "Excuse me. Mr. Lancaster. Could you rein in your legs?" Miles set down his phone with infuriating grace and glanced at me sideways.

His voice came out low and smooth. "Sorry. Wasn't paying attention." The girls across the table practically melted.

I pressed my lips together and muttered, "Quit acting." Once everyone arrived, the food started rolling out. Tucker had spared no expense.

Fivestar hotel, every signature dish on the menu. The food was the only reason I'd come. The others talked. I kept my head down and ate, deeply happy.

Even happier, every dish I loved somehow ended its lap around the lazy Susan right in front of me. The buffet gods had chosen me.

Tucker worked the table, seat by seat, pushing drinks on everyone.

He was a big deal now, so even the ones who couldn't hold their liquor drank to his face, tossing in the usual lines about remember me when you're hiring.

Then he got to me. "Come on, a toast to our prettiest girl! But hold on. You were late. That's three penalty shots, isn't it?" What kind of bullshit rule was that?

I can't hold my liquor, and I'm an even worse drunk. So no. I turned him down nicely a few times, but Tucker was riding a buzz and wouldn't let it go. "What's this?

Too good to drink with me now? You looking down on me?" If that wasn't guilttripping, nothing was.

The man clearly wasn't going to quit, so I set down my fork and played my trump card. "Sorry. We're trying for a baby. I'm off alcohol." That did it.

Tucker backed off, looking heartbroken about the whole thing. "No way, our Rose got married? Talk about pearls before swine. Which swine snagged her, huh? What a waste.

But hey, for the sake of the little one, not another word from me." Then he turned around and lifted his glass to the swine in question. "So!

Does our legendary heartthrob show me some respect, or what?" Was there anyone this man wouldn't push a drink on? Miles looked like a monk. Lean, cool, above it all.

In reality, the man was shockingly good at certain things. Holding his liquor was one. As for the other… Not something I'm at liberty to discuss.

I sat back and waited for him to drink Tucker under the table. Instead, Miles shook his head. Slowly. And what came out of his mouth dropped every jaw at the table. "Sorry.

My wife's trying for a baby. She made me quit drinking." Chapter 3 The second his words landed, I swear I could hear hearts shattering all around the table. Tucker froze solid.

His hand came up, shaking, and pointed back and forth between the two of us. The disbelief in his eyes had a smell to it. Danger. Inside, I was cursing Miles on a loop.

What was he thinking? We were secretly married, we were this close to divorced, and there he sat, saying things that begged for a scandal. People aren't stupid.

Someone was going to sniff out the connection. I already had a cover story loaded and ready. Turns out I didn't need it. Because we'd found ourselves an actual fool.

Tucker's voice shook. "No way. What is going on with you two? Married? This young? You two were the smartest kids in our class.

What were you studying, marriage licenses?" That one line steered the entire room off course. Everyone started buzzing. "Seriously!

The rest of us announced our weddings in the group chat. How'd you two pull this off in total silence?" "Wonder which swine snagged the heartthrob, too.

Some people have all the luck." Someone leaned in close to me. "So, Rose. Any chance we get to see a picture of the husband?

Just to satisfy the curiosity." I gave a small smile. "Better not. I have a thing for ugly men. My husband's too hideous for public viewing.

I'd hate to scare you." The same person wouldn't quit, and leaned toward Miles next. "Then what about you? Mr. High Standards.

Show us the beauty who finally brought you down?" Miles hummed, thinking it over. "Better not. She's shy.

A stranger looks at her on the street and she blushes for an hour." Something lodged in my throat. Miles Lancaster. Buddy. There is a limit to the nonsense.

The topic had nowhere left to go after that. People were curious, but neither of us was giving them anything, so nobody dug to the bottom of it.

Tucker, shot down twice in a row, knocked back his drink in one gulp. Then his eyes landed on Miles's wrist. They lit up. "No way. Did you strike gold or something?

You're wearing a downtown condo on your wrist." Miles was the real deal, a son of genuine old money. But he kept it quiet.

In high school he wore clothes with no logos anywhere and rode a mountain bike to school. Almost nobody ever connected him to serious wealth.

Even I only learned later that every one of those plainlooking shirts carried a fourfigure price tag. Miles took a calm sip of water, his face wide open and honest. "It's fake.

Worth nothing." Wow. That delivery. A stranger would swear he'd grabbed it off a fleamarket table. The answer made Tucker's night. His whole body loosened up.

A man who comes to show off can't stomach anyone doing better than him. He clapped Miles on the shoulder, loud and generous. "Hey, no shame in it. A man shouldn't be vain.

One step at a time, you know? If things are rough, come work for me. I'll pay you five hundred more a month than you're making now. How about that?" Miles didn't so much as blink.

He lowered his eyes a little, and his voice came out clear and easy. "No need. I farm pigs now. Business is good." I blinked. Why did I get the feeling he'd just insulted me?

I had zero proof. Chapter 4 Even Tucker didn't know what to do with that one. He forced out a couple of laughs. "Hahaha. Good for you! Branching into new industries.

Supporting local agriculture." "Right," Miles said. "Though once you keep a pig, you learn things. Turns out she has no taste for pearls." That was it. I couldn't eat another bite.

Miles Lancaster, that smiling snake! Dragging me in front of everyone, sideways, where I couldn't even swing back! I grabbed my bag and stood. "Sorry, everyone.

My husband's the clingy type, and he's already blowing up my phone. See you all around." And the second I stood up, Miles rose right along with me. "Sorry, I need to head home too.

My wife has a wild imagination, and when she's mad, she takes forever to soothe." I leave, and suddenly he leaves? Clingy husband, my foot. The man was a certified copycat.

The gossip fired up behind us. "Hold on. What are the odds? You don't think those two are secretly a thing, do you?!" "Impossible!" Another voice answered, ironcertain. "Those two?

Never. You've got better odds of finding a winning lottery ticket on the sidewalk." "True." He sounded that sure, and it wasn't instinct.

It was because nobody, anywhere, would ever put the two of us together. Back then, our whole class knew one thing. Rose Sullivan and Miles Lancaster did not get along.

More accurately, I hated Miles. And Miles floated too far above it all to bother hating me back. Before high school, I was the star.

Top of my class, year after year, without breaking a sweat. Then I met Miles Lancaster. For the first time in my life, I learned what a gap felt like when it refused to close.

He took first. Every single exam. And he beat me by fifteen, twenty points every time. No matter how hard I ground, the closest I ever clawed back was three points. Maybe five.

It stung. It stung for a long time. There were nights I went home, buried my face in my blanket, and cried where no one could hear.

So the whole school could crush on Miles Lancaster all they wanted. I hated him anyway. Show me one eternal second place who doesn't hate the first.

When classmates teased me about tracking his scores so closely, asked if maybe I liked him, I crossed my heart and swore up and down. "Never.

I'd fall for a stray dog off the street before I fell for him." And Miles happened to be walking past. He heard every word. The problem was, I had no spine.

My willpower failed inspection. Duel after duel at the top of those score sheets, I got lost somewhere between his face and his brain. I defected. And I learned something.

Slapping your own face hurts. It really hurts. So I opened Google and hit the books. "How to win over the boy you like?" The first result back then said: "Have your own spark.

Stand out. Never lose yourself." A lightbulb went off. The girls who liked Miles could fill a football field.

If I lined up behind them like one more starstruck fan, I'd drown in the crowd. To stand out, do the opposite. So I kept my act. I hated him. I would fight him to the end.

Behind the scenes… that took some work. Take English class. The teacher asked us each to share a favorite poem.

My right hand shot up, and in front of the whole class, I recited Frost. "The woods are lovely, dark and deep, and miles to go before I sleep." That line lived in my diary for years.

Chapter 5 But no. Miles Lancaster was a block of wood. Nothing in his eyes but schoolwork. And apparently he'd decided, in complete seriousness, that I made a worthy rival.

Before big academic competitions he'd hand me his notes, unprompted, with a whole four words of encouragement. "Good luck this time." Hilarious. Did it help?

I wore those notes out overnight, and first place stayed a dot on the horizon.

When I returned the notebook, I looked up the heartcurve equation online and copied it onto the last page. In secret. Not that Miles would ever see it.

Then Miles got early acceptance, straight into a top university. I threw myself at the books and treated that school like the promised land. And I ground my way in.

Same university as Miles Lancaster. I figured college would be my big break. No familiar faces around, sleeves rolled up, finally free to chase my future husband in the open.

Then the competition arrived. And she was good. By the basketball court, the waterbottle scene I'd rehearsed in my head a hundred times got hijacked before it started.

The girl had long hair, bright lively eyes, and she came bouncing over with a bottle of water in hand.

She called him "Milo." Miles took the bottle like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The man barely spoke to strangers, but this time he opened the small talk himself. "What brings you here?" The girl's smile bloomed. "Do I need a reason to come see you?" The sunlight fell across the two of them just right.

Beside me, the prettiest girl from the department next door, who'd been gearing up for her own shot, shattered on the spot. She turned to her friend, face crumpling. "It's over.

My love story died before it started. Lancaster has a girlfriend. I'm ash inside." Thanks. Same. I decided to swear off love. I stopped tracking Miles on purpose.

Passed him on campus and turned my head like we'd never met. Then my scatterbrained academic advisor did me a favor.

Right before the faculty speech contest, the man arrived on site and realized his speech was still sitting in his office.

I sprinted it over, and backstage, I overheard one of the teachers chatting with Miles. "Miles, my boy.

A goodlooking young man like you, is there a girlfriend yet?" Miles's face stayed calm. He barely had to think. "No." A little light of hope shot up in my chest.

A man like Miles didn't lie about things like this. The teacher beamed and clapped his shoulder. "Wonderful! I have a relative, and her daughter's just your age…" Thanks.

Light's out. Of course. The most eligible bachelor on campus, and everyone wanted a bite of him. My advisor popped up behind me. "There you are! What are you hiding back here for?

My speech." I jumped, handed the pages over with both hands and my best manners, and missed every word of Miles's answer. Later, campus ran a worry swap drive.

Volunteers everywhere, hugging boxes, handing out slips of paper. A soft, sweetfaced girl stopped me. Chapter 6 Her smile was pure sugar. "Hi, pretty lady! Write down a worry!

Someone else will carry it away, and you'll never frown again!" Her heart was in the right place. But I only had one worry. I couldn't get Miles Lancaster. I sighed. "Forget it.

Nobody can carry mine away." The girl didn't give up. She held the box out under my nose. "Then take one instead?" Those dimples made it impossible to refuse.

I reached in and pulled out a slip, just to be polite. I opened it without a thought, and my whole body went still. It read, "I like someone.

But I think she kind of hates me." That handwriting. Miles Lancaster's handwriting. Everything clicked! So the girl that day wasn't his girlfriend. She was the one he liked.

Miles Lancaster, pining. Down bad, and hurting for it! Except… the way that girl acted, nothing about it said hate? Do men in love really lose their minds like that? Not the point.

The point was: Miles Lancaster, here I come. I'd melt him with love. Warm him. Patch that poor heart right up. A man that good? If she didn't want him, I'd take him.

The husbandchasing plan went fully operational. I joined his club. Chatted him up here and there. Manufactured runins on campus.

Brought him my hardest coursework… Miles and I got warmer by the day. Until the club dinner that night. I can't hold liquor, so I didn't touch a drop all evening.

The club president pushed. Again and again. I didn't budge. Because who knew what kind of drunk I was? One wild move in front of Miles and I'd never live it down.

The whole crew was deep in barbecue at a latenight joint when my rival showed up. Again.

The girl waved at Miles from down the street and came bouncing over like a happy little rabbit. The gossip caught fire around the table.

The club president led the charge. "Not cool, man. A girl this pretty and you never introduced us?" Miles gave a light smile. "This is Sabrina. My friend." "Friend, or girlfriend?

No skipping words, now." Before Miles could answer, Sabrina spoke up, cheeks pink. "Come on, you guys, stop teasing Milo.

He embarrasses so easily." Something heavy as iron dropped through my chest. I spat out the kebab I'd just bitten into. God. Since when was lamb this sour?

Miles followed Sabrina out