A Pretend Proposal: The Fiancée Fiasco / Faking It to Making It / The Wedding Must Go On

CHAPTER SEVEN

AS IF she needed reminding on that score. Quite frankly, Thomas was unlike anyone she’d ever met—personally or professionally. And that was saying a lot given all of the doors upon which she’d knocked during the past several months to raise funds for the endowment.

She still wasn’t quite sure how to act around him in part because their relationship was professional and personal at the same time. It didn’t help that she found him so appealing. But that was superficial. It was based on sexual chemistry, she reminded herself. Beyond his good looks and his love for his grandmother, what did she truly know about him? If she was to pull off her part as his fiancée—and that was her only motive here—she needed to know more about him.

Much more than that she found him too handsome and charming for her peace of mind.

Besides, she’d rather he be the one in the hot seat.

“You know, I just realized that while I’ve been telling you a lot about myself, I don’t know nearly enough about you except that you matriculated from Michigan and have the good sense to be a fan of Alfred Hitchcock.”

“What else do you want to know?”

Where to start? Favorite color? Favorite dessert? Where he went on his last vacation? How old he was when he stopped believing in Santa Claus? Benign topics, all, and definitely the sorts of things a fiancée should or would be expected to know.

But the question she heard herself ask was “When did your last relationship end?” Followed quickly by “You’re not involved with someone right now, are you?”

Last night, Thomas hadn’t kissed like a man who was stepping out on his girlfriend, but then their situation was hardly normal. The kiss had been for effect. It was intended to put them both at ease, not that the objective had been achieved as far as Elizabeth was concerned.

“I’m not seeing anyone.”

She let out a breath that she hadn’t been aware she was holding. “Good. I mean, it would be awkward otherwise. For her. And, well, for me. I’d hate to be the ‘other woman,’ even if only in theory.” She ordered herself to stop babbling and cleared her throat. “And as for my other question, what’s the answer to that?”

Thomas’s expression turned oddly introspective as he studied his wine. After taking a sip, he said, “I don’t know that I’d necessarily call it a relationship, though it was exclusive for as long as it lasted.” He looked up, his gaze locked with hers. “When I’m seeing someone, Elizabeth, I’m faithful.”

“We’re not really ‘seeing each other,’” she said before she could wonder if he even meant to apply monogamy to their situation. Hoping to lighten the moment, she added, “I mean, could it even be considered cheating if said cheating involved a fictitious fiancée?”

At his lifted brow, she figured she’d made things clear as mud with her attempt at humor.

“Fictitious or not, I won’t be dating during our … engagement.”

That should have been reassuring, except that it called to mind another question Elizabeth realized she hadn’t yet gotten around to asking. “How long will that be? You never actually said.”

He frowned. “I don’t know the exact length of time, but I’ll only need your, um, services—” He must have found that word as unsavory as she did. “That is, your cooperation for this weekend. Nana Jo just wants to meet my fiancée. And, given the distance between here and Charlevoix, it’s not like she’s going to be expecting us to drive up for Sunday dinner each week.”

“Oh. Good.” And that was good, she reminded herself, when she experienced a foolish twinge of disappointment.

“I won’t withhold my personal donation to Literacy Liaisons until our ‘breakup,’ if that’s what you’re worried about. The check will be on your desk the first business day after the holiday weekend.”

Waverly Enterprises’s check had been received not long after he’d left her office earlier in the day. Already, it had been deposited into the agency’s special bank account.

“I wasn’t worried.” She’d forgotten all about the check during the past couple of hours, but she would do well to remember that Thomas’s generous donation was the reason she was doing this. Even so, she nibbled her bottom lip and asked, “So, how long did it last?”

“What?”

“Your last relationship.”

“Oh.” He appeared to do some quick mental calculations. “I guess it was nearly two months.”

“Wow. A whole two months. And you managed to stay faithful the entire time.”

“Sarcasm. Hmm.” His expression turned bemused and he wagged a finger in her direction. “I wouldn’t have thought you capable of it.”

Elizabeth rarely resorted to sarcasm or to sarcastic humor. In fact, she found it a bit of a turnoff, one of the main reasons she didn’t watch many television sitcoms, which relied on it so heavily for their laughs.

“I apologize for the sarcasm.”

“No need.”

“There is,” she insisted. “My comment was rude”

Thomas’s smile was rueful. “But not completely unwarranted or off base. As I told you last night, I’m not interested in commitment. So, I tend to end relationships quickly with the women I date. I prefer for things not to get too …”

“Intimate?”

“Messy.”

“I see. And when was it that you ended things this last time?” she asked.

“Three weeks ago.”

“Three weeks ago.” Elizabeth resisted the urge to whistle through her teeth. She didn’t like the sound of that, though why it should matter she didn’t know. Still, there was no denying that it did. It made her feel only marginally better that he’d been the one to end it. No pining going on, apparently. But three weeks? The scent of the woman’s perfume was probably still lingering in his home. And on his linens.

“Is that a problem?” he asked.

“No. Why would it be?” Why, indeed?

“No hearts were broken, I can assure you,” he said.

She slowly turned the stem of her wineglass. Gaze affixed to the deep red liquid, she asked quietly, “Have you ever had your heart broken?”

“No. Not once, which has been my objective.” It was a curious thing to admit. Before she could question him on it, though, he said, “What about you?”

She thought about the guys she’d dated in the past. She wasn’t as prolific a dater as Thomas apparently was, but she’d enjoyed a couple of long-term relationships, including one that had lasted more than a year. Things had progressed at a normal pace, though they’d never gotten past the point of exchanging keys, much less making promises to spend a lifetime together. Her heart had been dinged up afterward, but broken? She’d thought so at the time, but now …

“No.”

“So, you’ve never been in love, either?”

“I guess not.” That came as a sad revelation. After all, Elizabeth was pushing thirty.

But Thomas looked pleased. “Good. It’s not worth it, you know.”

“How can you say that when you just admitted that you’ve never been in love yourself?”

“Let’s just say I know. I saw firsthand what it can do to people.” He shook his head. “No thanks. I don’t want to be that—”

“Vulnerable?”

“Foolish,” he clarified.

He saw love as foolish? Perhaps she should have expected that since here he was trying to pass off a woman he barely knew as his fiancée. Still, it seemed … sad.

Thinking back on her own relationships now, she said, “I think it would be nice to be deeply in love with someone.”

“In love? Yes. But you can’t stay there.” His tone was matter-of-fact.

“Why not? You don’t think love can last?” She had her parents’ example to prove otherwise. No marriage certificate bound them together, but their commitment was real.

But Thomas wasn’t disagreeing. Not exactly. “It lasts. Unfortunately, it lasts beyond the grave.”

“Should it have a time limit, an expiration date?”

“No. No.” He shook his head, looking both lost and resolute. “It shouldn’t, and it doesn’t end. It lasts forever. It’s a chronic condition, not a terminal one.”

“I’m not sure I understand your objection, then.”

“My dad loved my mother. Deeply.” His tone was barely above a whisper when he added, “Desperately.”

“And that’s bad?”

“Not when she was alive, it wasn’t.” Half of his mouth lifted briefly before his lips thinned into a straight line. “My parents and I were involved in an accident when I was eight. Our car skidded off the road in a rainstorm and wound up upside down in a water-filled ravine.”

His tone was flat, but his expression was haunted. So much so that it made Elizabeth ache for him. Ache for them all.

“Your mother didn’t make it,” Elizabeth guessed. Pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place. She didn’t like the picture that was emerging.

He shook his head slowly. “For my grandmother’s benefit, my father claimed that she died instantly. But I was there.”

Thomas said no more than that. He wasn’t trying to be evasive. He simply wasn’t capable of forcing the words past his lips and giving voice to a truth that had haunted him for more than two decades: Had the choice been left to his father, Hoyt would have saved his wife rather than his son.

But Thomas’s mother hadn’t given her husband the option. As murky water had gushed into the car through the broken windshield, and Hoyt had struggled to unbuckle her jammed seat belt, she’d batted his hands away and screamed, Don’t worry about me! Get Tommy out! Get Tommy out!

“Oh, Thomas. I’m so sorry.”

Elizabeth’s sincere sympathy wasn’t able to banish the hellish memories. Nothing was. He knew that from experience. But he couldn’t deny that he found her concern soothing, settling.

“It’s not something I like talking about it,” he admitted. Even with Nana Jo, he preferred to steer clear of the subject. It was just too damned painful, for her as well, he figured, since she’d lost her only child.

“I understand. Ordinarily, I would consider this none of my business, but, given our unique set of circumstances … how did your grandmother come to raise you if your father is still alive?”

“My father’s an alcoholic.” Another admission he rarely shared. “He was what I’d call a social drinker before the accident. Afterward.” Thomas set the wine he’d barely touched on the coffee table. “He could down a fifth of whiskey in a day and then stumble to the store for more. He tried rehab, more than once. But I don’t think his heart was in it. He was lost without my mother. He still is. And he’s still drinking. Of that much I’m sure, even though I rarely see him.”

Thomas glanced over, fully expecting to see pity in Elizabeth’s eyes. It was there, along with something else, something that made him almost yearn for the comfort he knew she wanted to give him.

“It’s hard when someone you love walks out of your life.”

“I had no choice in the matter,” Thomas heard himself say.

He swallowed thickly afterward. Even so, feelings welled up, helplessness chief among them. He’d had no say in his father’s emotional and physical defection, just as he’d had no say in surviving the accident. Get Tommy out! How ironic that his mother’s unconditional love had made him unlovable in his father’s eyes. At least that was the way Thomas saw it.

Elizabeth said nothing. Instead, she came over and sat next to him on the love seat, angled toward him. Their knees bumped. She laid one of her small hands overtop of his, which were clenched tightly together in front of him. The gesture was one of comfort. Because that was what he knew he would find, he pulled away and stood.

“You know, it’s getting late.”

“Oh. I guess it is.” She wasn’t quite successful in hiding her bafflement.

“Thanks for dinner.”

“You brought the Chinese,” she pointed out.

“The company, then.” He started for the door.

“You’re welcome.” But her smile was uncertain.

She followed him onto the porch. Outside, darkness was falling. Up and down the street, landscape lights were starting to click on. Elizabeth reached back into the house and flipped on the porch light, but it barely illuminated beyond the steps.

“Be careful getting to your car,” she said as he started down her walk.

“I’m good.” He waved and then made a liar of himself by tripping on the buckled pavement.

“Thomas—”

“I’m fine!”

“Good night,” she called.

Rather than echo the sentiment, he halted midstep, turned around and returned to her, stopping one crumbling cement step shy of the porch where she still stood.

“Did you forget something?”

In his haste to leave, he almost had.

“My jacket.” The engagement ring was in its pocket still. He would hand her the box and go. That way he’d be gone before he had to listen to her ooh and aah over it. She could put it on her own finger.

“It’s in the kitchen.”

He followed her back inside the tidy little home that still felt too welcoming for his peace of mind. But his gaze wasn’t drawn to the furnishings or kitschy bric-a-brac. It was on her back, sliding south even as he ordered it to return to a safe point between her shoulder blades. She might not have a lot in the way of curves, but what she had filled out the seat of her pants well enough to make his mouth water. A groan slipped out as need surged in. She turned. The view from the front was just as appealing.

“Did you say something?”

Tell her no, get your jacket and go, he ordered silently. But what came out was her name. He stepped closer, until a mere whisper of space separated them. Then his hands were in her hair and he was moving closer. The kiss started out light and gentle, just as it had the night before. With mouths meeting. Breath mingling. Passion still leashed, but straining to break free.

And no wonder. One taste of the woman wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot. He angled his head, delving deeper and giving himself over to need. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she kept up with him just fine. Her hands had gone from trapped safely between their bodies to his shoulders and now were fisted in his hair, letting him know he wasn’t the only one being carried away.

Stop!

His silent command went unheeded. Thomas wanted more and, gauging from her response, so did Elizabeth. It was mutual, consensual. Briefly, he considered his options. Her bedroom was just down the hall, but occupied at the moment with one very large and overprotective dog that Thomas could hear whining for freedom even over the blood rushing in his ears. The love seat was closer anyway. He backed toward it and lowered himself onto the curved arm. They could work their way around to the cushions in a minute. Right now, he preferred Elizabeth right where she was, standing between the V of his legs with her small, perfect breasts nearly level with his mouth.

Her hair was mussed from his fingers. Her lips full and inviting. Her gaze was wide. Expectant? Eager?

Go slow.

This silent command was easier to follow than the last one. He brought his mouth to her neck, nipping softly with his teeth as he worked his way lower. Elizabeth tilted her head to the side and he continued down. At her collarbone, he stopped, savored, even as the buttons on her blouse beckoned.

As his eager fingers fumbled with the top one, her breath sighed out as if she were luxuriating in the moment. Meanwhile, his pulse had picked up speed and the breath sawed from his lungs, hot and urgent.

Thomas was two buttons in when she decided to return the favor. Her fingers were much more nimble than his and made fast work of the buttons holding his shirt together. When she finished, she pushed it back onto his shoulders. The corners of that sexy mouth curved up. There was no mistaking the desire in her dark eyes. No mistaking it at all.

Curiously, it helped stopped him from doing something foolish. He couldn’t do this. They couldn’t do this. Sex would complicate things. No doubt, Elizabeth would read too much into the act, especially given the current role-playing that was going on. Physical need would turn into emotional need. She would expect more than he was able to give. It was best to nip this in the bud before she got hurt, Thomas decided, refusing to consider that the heart he was hoping to protect from harm very well might be his own.

He pulled his shirt back over his shoulders.

“This got a little out of hand, I’m afraid. I only meant to kiss you like I did last night. Sorry.”

Elizabeth stumbled back a couple steps, looking as if she’d been slapped. He regretted that, but it was better this way. For both of them. He needed her to act as if she loved him. Not to actually fall for him.

She reworked the buttons on her blouse, fastening them all the way to the throat. He hadn’t gotten a chance to see what was beneath the fabric, except for a tantalizing glimpse of pink lace. That, along with her wounded expression, would keep him awake tonight.

“We need to get used to doing that,” he managed to say in a matter-of-fact tone. It was a pitiful explanation for his behavior, but she nodded anyway.

He rose and buttoned his own shirt. Instead of tucking the tails into his trousers once again, he left them out as a cover for his arousal. He was nearly to the door when she stopped him with one quietly issued question.

“Do you think we will?”

He turned, studied her. The woman had him stirred up on so many levels. In the span of a couple dates that weren’t really dates at all, she had him sharing things and remembering things and, worst of all, wanting things that he’d long ago decided were off the table when it came to negotiating the terms of his future happiness.

And so it was that, just before he rushed out her door, he said with great feeling, “God, I hope so.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

ELIZABETH woke the following morning with a headache that throbbed long after she’d downed a couple of painkillers with her first cup of coffee.

It didn’t help that Howie and the pesky squirrel started their game of chase as soon as she opened the front door. Already, her neighbor from across the street had come calling. Mrs. Hildabrand had stood on Elizabeth’s porch, decked out in curlers and a worn plaid robe, complaining and threatening to make another nuisance report.

All that before seven o’clock and a second cup of coffee.

Elizabeth was sipping that second cup now while sitting in her quiet kitchen. Howie, suitably chastised, sprawled on the rug in front of the sink. She swore he was pouting. With the mug cupped in both hands, she sat on the chair Thomas had occupied the evening before. His herringbone jacket remained draped over the back of it. Though he’d returned for it, he’d still wound up forgetting it.

But he hadn’t forgotten to kiss her … and then some.

A sloppy mix of emotions churned inside of her at the memory. Curiously, embarrassment over her enthusiastic response wasn’t among them. Perhaps she would be embarrassed the next time she saw him, but right now she was still tingling all over and regretting that he’d stopped.

She tilted her head to one side and, when she caught the scent of his cologne, inhaled deeply. Potent stuff, that. It suited him. Everything about the man packed a punch. Just as every time she thought she had him figured out, he threw her for a loop. He’d come on to her last night like a man who was very much interested in more than a business deal or friendship. Then he’d stopped. He’d apologized!

She was still struggling to make sense of his parting words in response to her foolishly uttered question about whether or not they would ever get used to kissing one another.

God, I hope so!

He’d said it so emphatically, but what exactly did he mean? And why did the possibilities leave her both excited and leery? A glance at the clock reminded her she didn’t have time to figure it out now.

After showering, she stood clad in a towel and rummaged through her closet for something to wear to the office, dismissing one outfit after another until she’d worked her way through her entire wardrobe. Maybe Mel was right about her needing some new clothes. Eyeing the panorama of outfits, it struck Elizabeth that practically every article of clothing in her closet came in one of four colors: black, white, navy or tan. A bland and boring palate that also was abundantly safe. She didn’t need to worry about drawing attention to herself, whether negative or positive, garbed in these things. No one really noticed her, and that had suited Elizabeth just fine after growing up with her “out-there” parents.

She certainly hadn’t learned anything about fashion from her mother, except what to avoid. Delphine sewed her own clothes and accessories from colorful scraps of old fabric. Sometimes she even tried to sell her creations at local craft shows. She didn’t have many takers. The outfits were creative and economical, but hardly stylish. Even so, Delphine loved the attention her homemade clothes attracted—and they attracted plenty.

At first, holey blue jeans were patched in bold hues. Later, her mother recycled them into skirts, shorts and even purses. That wasn’t so bad, but polka-dotted bedsheets or mattress ticking turned up as tunics, bandanas and skirts. The winter Elizabeth turned thirteen her mother had turned green wool blankets from an army surplus store into long, shapeless coats for the entire family. It was impossible not to stand out while wearing pea-green bedding, which was why she’d started buying her own clothes as soon as she was able to squirrel away funds from a regular babysitting gig. That is, what the family didn’t require to keep a roof over their heads.

Pushing wet hair back from her face now, Elizabeth eyed her reflection in the full-length mirror. She’d gone from one extreme to the other, from standing out to blending in, but there was no help for it now. Besides, why should it matter to her? It didn’t matter to Thomas. Indeed, he’d picked her for the role of his make-believe fiancée based on her appearance alone. She looked like a “Beth,” or she had. And she’d been in the right place at the right time.

She would do well to remember that, despite his later claims about no longer judging a book by its cover.

Chin lifted in annoyance with herself as much as defiance, Elizabeth reached back into the closet and chose her oldest, most conservative black suit—the one Mel had dubbed Abbey-wear, because she claimed Elizabeth looked as if she was headed for a nunnery whenever she wore it.

She was slipping into her most comfortable pair of shoes—a low-heeled design in scuffed black—when her cell phone jangled. She glanced at the small screen. Despite her best efforts, her pulse went all wonky upon seeing the caller’s identity.

“Hello, Thomas.”

“Hi. Good morning. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

“Not at all. I’m just getting ready to leave for the office.” She gave herself a mental high five for managing to sound perfectly nonchalant and normal despite the kicked-up cadence of her pulse.

“Same here.”

“Are you calling about your jacket?” she asked. It was the reason they’d gone back inside her house last night.

“My … ah, right. My jacket. I left it in your kitchen, didn’t I?”

“Yes. I saw it on the back of the chair this morning.” And then she’d sat there sniffing his cologne like an idiot. “I’ll return it when we see each other again, unless you think you’ll need it sooner.”