Convenient Engagements: Fiance Wanted Fast! / The Blind-Date Proposal / A Whirlwind Engagement

Phoebe looked at it, stupidly reluctant to put hers into it, but she couldn’t think of a good reason to refuse, and it would only look rude if she ignored it. So instead she put her hand out, bracing herself against the cool strength of his grasp and the tingling warmth of his palm pressed against hers.

‘Right.’ Gib released her just as she began to think that it didn’t feel that bad after all. He was abruptly all business. ‘Tell me again exactly what it is you want me to do.’

‘I’m going to tell my mother that I’ve met someone special,’ said Phoebe, marvelling at how easily she had been swept along into the whole idea. Hadn’t she decided only a few minutes ago that she wanted nothing to do with it? Oh, well, she might as well go with the flow. Resisting the combined will of Bella, Kate and Gib would be just too exhausting.

‘If I know Mum, she’ll be straight on the phone to Penelope—that’s Ben’s mother—and you can bet your bottom dollar that an invitation to the wedding will be dropping through the door for you five minutes later.’

She hesitated. ‘The thing is, if my mother rings up in the meantime, and you answer the phone for some reason, you’ll have to be prepared to be cross-examined by her. Would you mind that?’

‘That’s what you’re paying me for,’ said Gib cheerfully.

Phoebe knew that she ought to be reassured by his down-to-earth approach, but somehow the fact that he was treating it as a job, just as she had insisted he should, was a bit disconcerting.

‘Yes … well …’ she said, somewhat at a loss. ‘Then, obviously, there’s the wedding itself. That’s when the real pretence comes in.’

‘The pretending to be in love with you?’

‘That, too, but I was thinking more of you pretending to have a proper job or something. After all, if I’m going to make up a lover, I might as well make up an incredibly successful one.’

‘Ah,’ said Gib, looking down at himself, his would-be regretful expression marred by the twitch of his lips. ‘That might be more of a problem,’ he sighed. ‘I can see why it would be good for you to have a wealthy and successful lover, but do you think I’d be able to carry off an image like that?’

Phoebe surveyed him with a critical eye. He was lounging on the arm of the sofa, wearing jeans and a battered leather jacket over a plain white T-shirt that stretched across his broad chest. Laughter lines fanned his eyes and creased his cheeks, and the blue, blue eyes danced. He looked vibrant and physical and—OK, Kate—attractive, and absolutely nothing like a businessman.

Her mouth turned down at the corners. ‘Maybe if you cut your hair,’ she suggested doubtfully, ‘and generally brush up a bit. A suit would make a difference, too. You’d better hire one before the wedding.’

‘It’s going to be a smart wedding, then?’ asked Gib, not unduly put out by her critical appraisal.

‘Yes,’ said Phoebe without enthusiasm. ‘The wedding party is taking over an entire castle. It’s been turned into a hotel, where all the rooms have panelling and four-poster beds, you know the kind of thing.’

‘Aren’t they getting married in a church?’

‘No, the ceremony is at the castle as well, so that everyone moves straight on to the reception in the gardens. And then close friends and family are staying on for dinner and dancing in the evening. This will be a more intimate affair, according to my mother, and they’ve booked all the rooms in the castle, so I’ve got to get through all of that and breakfast next morning, as if the wedding itself wasn’t going to be bad enough,’ she finished glumly.

Gib raised an eyebrow. ‘So we’ll be spending the night?’

‘I’ll have to, but we can think of some excuse for you. I’ll tell them you have to get back that evening because you’ve got a meeting the next day.’

‘On a Sunday?’

‘Not everyone has your relaxed attitude to work,’ Phoebe retorted. ‘It’s a well-known fact that all successful businessmen are workaholics! I don’t think anyone would be surprised to hear that you had a weekend meeting.’

‘Right, well, I’ll bow to your superior knowledge on that one,’ said Gib. ‘What sort of businessman am I supposed to be, anyway, in case anyone asks?’

‘We hadn’t got that far,’ she admitted. ‘What would you like to be?’

‘Perhaps I could say that I’m in … oh, I don’t know …’ He scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘What about banking?’

Phoebe looked doubtful. ‘You don’t think you should pretend to be something less … ambitious?’ she said carefully.

‘What do you mean?’ Gib pretended to be affronted. ‘You don’t think I look like a banker?’

‘Not really.’

‘Hey, I can put on a suit and poker up with the best of them!’ he reassured her, but Phoebe was unconvinced.

‘I don’t know that it’s such a good idea,’ she said. ‘Ben works for one of those big international tax consultancy firms, and the reception will be choc-a-bloc with City types. You know what men are like about sniffing out each other’s status. If you say you’re in banking they’re bound to ask who you work for, what kind of bonuses you earn and how many Ferraris you’ve got sitting in your garage, and what are you going to say then?’

‘I’ll say I’ve been working for some American bank,’ said Gib easily. ‘Relax, it’ll be fine.’

Phoebe wasn’t so sure, but she told herself that she could always tell her mother that he had come down with an acute case of food poisoning if necessary and go on her own as she’d planned.

‘When is this wedding?’ he asked, still in businesslike mode.

‘In three weeks.’

‘That’s fine then,’ he said. ‘I’ll have plenty of time to prepare my role.’

He seemed so casual about the whole thing, as if women asked him to pretend to be in love with them every day of the week. Phoebe chewed her thumb nervously.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind doing this?’ she asked, abruptly attacked by doubts.

‘Why would I mind?’ said Gib. ‘It’s a chance to earn some extra cash and drink champagne at someone else’s expense. It’ll be fun.’

It wasn’t Phoebe’s idea of fun. She felt tense at the mere thought of carrying off the deception. ‘Frankly, at the moment sticking pins in my eyeballs seems like more fun,’ she said.

‘Then don’t do it.’

Phoebe thought about turning up at the wedding on her own, and how awkward it would be for her family and for Ben’s. ‘No, I want to do it,’ she said, making up her mind. ‘It will make everyone happy if they see that I seem to have found someone else.’

‘Everyone except you,’ Gib pointed out.

She looked at the cat curled up on the sofa. ‘I’ve got used to not being happy since Ben left,’ she said bleakly.

There was a pause. ‘You’re still in love with him,’ said Gib, sounding oddly flat.

Phoebe kept her eyes on the cat. ‘Ben’s part of my life,’ she answered him after a moment. ‘We were toddlers together. I planned to marry him when I was four, and I never wanted anyone else. I suppose I took it for granted that he would always be there for me, and now I can’t get used to the fact that he isn’t.’

In spite of herself, her voice wobbled treacherously, and Gib saw her lift her chin to an unconsciously gallant tilt. ‘I know Ben didn’t want to hurt me but I’ve accepted the fact that he loves Lisa, not me. Now I just want him to be happy, and if that means pretending to be in love with someone else at his wedding, that’s what I’ll do.’

Most of the women Gib had known would have given in to bitterness or rage at their disappointed dreams, but not Phoebe. He wanted to tell her how brave he thought she was, but he was afraid that she would be mortified if she thought that he had glimpsed her distress.

‘If that’s what you want,’ he said, getting to his feet instead, ‘I’m happy to do my bit to help. I won’t let you down.’

Caught unawares by the sincerity in his voice, Phoebe glanced at him and saw that the blue eyes were warm with sympathy, almost as if he could see the painful lump of unshed tears in her throat. ‘Thank you,’ she said with difficulty.

‘Hey, no problem.’

Murmuring something about a shower, he left her alone with the cat.