My Fake Fiancée

“Just be yourself,” he said, “and if you’re unsure of anything, defer to me.”

“What have you told them about me?” Her hair swung against her jaw, sleek and sophisticated, and he noticed how long and elegant her neck was.

“Nothing. They didn’t even know your name until a couple of days ago. Oh, we went to the Caribbean in March. You got sunburned.”

“Foolish of me.”

“I might have told them you love skiing.”

“Foolish of you.”

“Yeah. I think we went to Vail in February.”

She turned to stare at him. “From Paris?”

“I didn’t know you were in Paris when we got engaged.” He threw his hands up in the air. “You know what I mean. We’ll wing it.”

“I’ll do my best,” she said.

Even with her in those ridiculous heels they made good time and before he was remotely prepared, they were standing outside the restaurant. He drew in a quick breath. “Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Okay.” He reached for her hand. “Hope you don’t mind. We should act like, you know …”

“Lovers,” she replied, wrapping her fingers around his. The clasp was perfect. Her hand felt surprisingly reassuring in his. Even if the word lovers, and the way she’d said it, had him conjuring up a vision of the two of them in bed, hot and sweaty and orgasmic. Which was not what he wanted to be thinking about when he saw his bosses.

They walked into the restaurant, an upscale French place, and were directed to the upper floor, where a private space had been reserved.

There weren’t many people there yet. Only the key ones. Piers and his wife, Helen. Piers’s brother, Lars, and his wife, Amelia, and several board members and their wives. Damien Macabee nodded to him affably, and David was already so rattled he barely thought about any awkwardness that might be attached to him coming to dinner with the man he planned to replace. Macabee’s wife also nodded and under her scrutiny he felt even more uncomfortable. But then, the woman was a judge, and he was always convinced she could see right through him.

Not only were he and Chelsea the youngest by a few decades, but bringing Chelsea into this room was like bringing a gorgeous parrot into a flock of drab pigeons.

For a second total silence fell over the assembled company. Piers recovered first. He walked forward with a welcoming smile on his face. “Well, David, good to see you. And please introduce me to your lovely lady.”

“Glad to, Piers. Piers Van Horne, this is my fiancée, Chelsea Hammond.” His tie was choking him again. He’d been engaged once and never, ever planned to put himself in the same position again, where a woman had the power to gut him. Not that this one did—obviously, he didn’t love her. Barely knew her, but still, introducing her as his fiancée left him feeling like he needed to down a bottle of Maalox.

She held out her hand and shook her host’s. “Thank you for inviting me,” she said.

“We’re so glad to finally meet you. We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“David’s told me a little about you, too.” But not nearly damned enough to prevent disaster, he was certain.

“Come and meet some of the other people we work with.”

He ushered her forward. “My wife, Helen. Helen, this is Chelsea.”

Helen was not what you’d call well-preserved. She’d let her hair go gray long before it was fashionable to do so, and always wore the same hairstyle, a simple bun at the back of her head. She was on the heavy side and wore clothes and shoes that were comfortable rather than stylish.

Helen and Chelsea shook hands and he couldn’t imagine two women in the world who could have less in common.

“Let’s get the women drinks, shall we?” Piers said. He hated to leave them, but what choice did he have. “Sure. Honey? What do you want to drink?”

“I’ll have my usual Pernod, if they have it,” she said. “White wine, if they don’t.”

Pernod. Why the hell couldn’t she drink something normal. Scotch or a martini or something.

“Pernod,” he heard Helen say and inwardly cringed. “I remember my brother used to drink that. He picked up the habit when he was living in France.”

“That’s how I started, too. I was living in Paris until recently.”

“Really? We took the children to visit Bob one Christmas. He was with IBM and it was a great treat for us all to go over there. Were you on holiday?”

“No. I studied at Le Cordon Bleu. I’m a chef.”

“Really? How interesting. Oh, how I envy you. I married so young I never …” And then they were out of earshot and he didn’t know what Helen had never done. At least the first five minutes of his ordeal were going better than he’d hoped.

He and Piers picked up the drinks and returned to the ladies, by which time the women were talking about pastry. Pastry!

David downed his scotch-and-soda. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but he definitely felt the need for some false courage if he was going to get through this night.

More board members began to arrive and if Chelsea still stuck out as the most glamorous and sexy woman at the party, he began to realize that she wasn’t the embarrassment he’d feared. She was still the same intelligent, well-read, curious person she’d always been. She also seemed to have grown out of her shyness.

By the time dinner was served, she’d charmed most of the board members and their spouses. She had the rare ability to converse on a wide range of subjects and seem as interested in talking about cooking and fashion as about politics and current events. The only time she seemed lost was when talk turned to sports.

He was beginning to think that maybe this night wasn’t going to be the disaster he’d imagined when they sat down to dinner. Given the number of people, they were arranged at a long table. He and Chelsea were seated side by side, and Piers and a couple of the senior board members were closest to them.

She ordered the day’s fresh fish and he ordered the same. It wasn’t planned, but it definitely made them look more of a couple, he decided.

When the first courses arrived, Amelia leaned forward and said, “I asked Lars where you and David met.” She shook her head. “Men are so hopeless. They work together every day, and do you know, he couldn’t tell me?”

David swallowed. He and Chelsea exchanged a glance. “You didn’t tell him anything?” she asked.

He shrugged. “It’s a guy thing. You tell them, honey.”

She really had the most amazing eyes. Sparkly, brown like rich chocolate cake, and the most incredible combination of innocence and mischief. “Well, the truth is, David and I have known each other since I was fourteen.”

“Really, were you high school sweethearts?”

She laughed, easily. “No. He was several years older than I was. The brother of my best friend. He didn’t even know I existed.” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “And I had a hopeless crush on him.”

Everyone laughed. She continued. “We moved away after I finished high school and I didn’t see David again for many years.”

He picked up the story. “Then we bumped into each other one day on the street, and I couldn’t believe how beautiful she was.”

Even though they were only acting a part, they’d both managed to tell the truth. He caught her quick glance and saw that she was flattered by his words.

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” Helen said. “When is the wedding?”