Fake: A Fake Fiance Romance

by Rush, Olivia

  I couldn’t even bear to think the word. A tinge of fear ran through my gut, but I did my best to put it aside. I wouldn’t know one way or another until Monday, or Tuesday at the latest, and there was no sense in getting stressed out about it before then.

  “Really well,” I said. “This house is so calm and peaceful I feel like I could’ve slept all day.”

  “You can thank Bryce for that,” said Barbara. “He’s put quite a bit of money into building this place up.”

  “More than he needed to,” said Steve, half-joking, half-serious.

  “I was happy to do it,” said Bryce. “If it were up to me, I’d be putting you both in a nice apartment near the bay.”

  “Nonsense,” said Barbara. “This is the home we’ve had for decades, and we’re not leaving it now.”

  “You could always keep it,” said Bryce. “Have an apartment in San Francisco or Portland and come here when you need to get away from it all.”

  Steve scoffed. “And be one of those hoity-toity people with two homes? Not a chance.”

  “Offer’s on the table,” said Bryce.

  Barbara turned to the stove, giving her attention to the eggs she was working on.

  “What do you kids have planned for today?” she asked. “And if you say ‘work,’ so help me…”

  “I was thinking of taking Chelsea around the area, showing her the town.”

  “That could be fun,” said Barbara.

  “And then we could all drive into Portland, if you’re OK with me buying you dinner.”

  “You don’t need to—” started Steve.

  But Barbara cut him off by placing her hand on his shoulder. “That would be lovely,” she said.

  “Then we’d both better be back tomorrow morning,” said Bryce. “I hate to do work over the weekend, but there’s no getting away from it.”

  Barbara turned her attention to me.

  “Have a seat, dear,” she said, sweeping her hand in front of the open chair at the farmer’s table. “I’m making some hash and eggs and there’s fresh coffee. How do you like it?”

  “Bla—” I started out. But then I had another bizarre craving. “Actually, do you have any molasses?”

  The three of them all raised their eyebrows in the same way.

  “Molasses?” asked Barbara. “Sure, sure.”

  She hurried over to the cupboards and moments later placed a steaming cup of coffee, a jar of molasses, and a spoon in front of me. I didn’t waste any time before putting in a few spoonfuls and taking a sip. It was rich and teeth-hurtingly sweet—just what I wanted. I could forego the booze just in case, but I’d enjoy my coffee until I knew for sure.

  “That’s an interesting combination,” said Bryce.

  “Oh, let the girl have her weird coffee,” said Barbara. “You remember how when you were little you’d eat pancakes with frosting on them? I can’t believe I let you do that.”

  Bryce laughed. “Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

  I sipped my coffee, letting the caffeine and sugar jolt me into alertness. Before too long, Barbara loaded the table up with two giant plates, one topped with cheesy scrambled eggs, another with hash browns. A third plate, one filled with sausage links, was next.

  I piled my plate high, setting into my food so quickly I couldn’t believe it. After what seemed like a few seconds, I had the plate nearly cleaned off.

  And I was ready for seconds.

  “Look at you go,” said Barbara. “Don’t be shy— there’s plenty.”

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” I said. “Just been so hungry.”

  “She’s like you when you were pregnant,” said Steve. “Eating everything in sight.”

  A chill ran up my spine, as if they knew. But there was no way.

  “That’s right,” said Barbara. “I didn’t carry any to term, but those first few weeks I was pregnant I ate like there was no tomorrow.”

  I glanced over to Bryce to see what he thought of the situation, but his attention was focused on his phone, a strange expression on his face.

  “Bryce, put that thing away at the table,” said Steve.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Work stuff.”

  He jammed his phone back into his pocket as though he’d just stolen it. It was weird.

  The four of us ate and drank coffee and talked, Barbara and Steve wanting to know all about me and my family and how I’d gotten into the business and everything else.

  “Damn shame about your company,” said Steve. “I’m an entrepreneur myself. Or was, until I had to sell off my landscaping business.”

  “That’s what happens when you don’t take care of your body,” said Barbara.

  “We’ve got Chelsea in a good spot now,” said Bryce. “And she’s really kicking ass.”

  “Language,” said Barbara, giving Bryce a soft tap on the hand.

  I smiled.

  When we were all done, Bryce and I helped clean up, and by the time everything was back in order, it was noon.

  “You ready to check out the town?” he asked.

  “Very ready,” I said. “I want to see the place that made the great Bryce Carver.”

  He grabbed his keys, and we headed out. Bryce opened the door to the zippy red sports car he’d rented, flashing me a smile as I slid in. He revved the engine once he was behind the steering wheel and we took off down the dirt path away from his parent’s home.

  “They’re good people, your parents,” I said as we drove steadily through the woods, the trees even more impressive in the light of day.

  “They are,” he said. “But my dad’s being a stubborn old man as usual.”

  “About what?” I asked.

  “The stroke. He’s treating it like he stubbed his toe or had a particularly bad case of indigestion, like it’s something he doesn’t need to worry about.” He shook his head. “Whatever,” he said. “He is who he is.”

  He was ready to dismiss the subject, but I could tell by the way his jaw clenched that he was more upset than he was letting on.

  “At least your mom seems to be taking care of him,” I said.

  “She’s good like that,” he said. “But he needs to take responsibility for his own health. He’s going to smoke and drink himself right back into the hospital if he’s not careful.”

  Bryce waved his hand through the air. “Anyway,” he said. “This is White Roads, population nine hundred.”

  I looked around the car, noticing how desolate everything was. A few run-down houses were here and there among the trees, but there wasn’t any rhyme or reason to how they were laid out. Every now and then I spotted someone in ratty clothes walking along the side of the long road we drove down, off to god knows where.

  “It‘s—”

  “Don’t say nice,” he said. “Because it’s not.”

  “At least the scenery is beautiful.”

  “Can’t argue with you there,” he said. “But this town used to be something. It was an industrial city at one point, a place where the thousands of people who used to live here could have good, prosperous lives. But it all got pulled out from under them when the manufacturing went overseas.”

  “Sad,” I said. “It really is.

  We weaved on through the narrow streets of the town for another few minutes, eventually coming to the downtown area, which was nothing more than a handful of shops—a gas station, some general stores, and a diner or two—situated around a four-way intersection.

  “Let’s stop for some coffee,” said Bryce.

  I nodded in agreement, and Bryce pulled into the parking lot of one of the diners. Only a single waitress and cook were inside, along with a pair of men in worn, faded clothing seated at the counter. The waitress led us to a booth and Bryce ordered coffee.

  “Please don’t tell me you’re going to do the molasses thing again,” he said. “That was making my teeth hurt just watching you.”

  “I think I’ll do it black this time,” I said with a smile.
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  The waitress arrived and poured us both two steaming mugs.

  “I hope this trip is giving you a little insight into why I’m running my business the way I am.”

  I crinkled my brow, at first confused. Then it hit me: This was the reason that Bryce was so fixed on providing low-income housing for the less fortunate of San Francisco.

  “I get it now,” I said. “Here I was thinking you were just a philanthropist.”

  He shook his head. “I am a man who’s been lucky enough to have what it takes to make his fortune on his own,” he said. “But not everyone has that ability, or the means if they do. Sometimes all it takes is just a little hand up to make the difference between rising up or staying mired in poverty. I was lucky enough to have my parents, but not everyone can be so lucky.” He stopped, his eyes drifting out to the run-down city center. “Anyway,” he said. “Enough of that. I’m not trying to spin a sob story here. I just wanted you to know where I was coming from about the division you’re in charge of.”

  I reached over and took his hand, squeezing it tight. “Thanks for bringing me here,” I said. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

  “My pleasure,” he said. “Thank you for being a part of it.”

  Seated in that cheap booth in that old diner, the two of us locked eyes with one another. There was something different about the way I looked at him and him at me—it wasn’t the raw, out-of-control sexuality I’d been feeling toward him. It was something different, something deeper.

  “Anyway,” he said, breaking the gaze. “I didn’t want to simply take you on a White Roads poverty tour. There’s some fantastic nature around these parts that you don’t see in San Francisco.”

  “Sounds lovely,” I said.

  We finished the pot of coffee and were off, back in the sports car. Bryce took a different road out of town. The smattering of houses disappeared, giving way to nothing but nature around us, the only sign of human presence the unpaved road we drove up.

  Soon we arrived at flat bluff. Bryce parked and killed the engine.

  “Come on,” he said. “Drive’s a pain in the ass, but the view makes it worth it.”

  He came around, opened the door, and held out his hand to me. As silly as I found it at times, I loved how gentlemanly he could be.

  My hand in his, Bryce led me through the woods until we reached a clearing.

  I gasped at what I saw.

  The bluff overlooked a sweeping view of a pine and fir-frosted valley, the blanket of trees as green as a sheet of crushed emerald, the landscape sloping off into the horizon. A cerulean blue river curved through the trees, still and majestic from this high up. The sky was brilliant and clear.

  “It’s something, huh?” he asked, slipping his arm around my waist. “And I can’t think of anyone I’d rather share it with.”

  I pulled him close. I felt the same way.

  Chapter 34

  Chelsea

  The rest of the day was as peaceful and relaxing as I could’ve hoped, with the potential of pregnancy gnawing away at the back of my mind whenever my thoughts had a chance to wander.

  Still, nature and being away from the city worked in tandem to calm me down, and most of the symptoms I’d been dealing with stayed in check. I’d even managed to convince myself that it really was nothing more than stress after all.

  After a little more driving through the beautiful scenery, Bryce took me back to the house. Once there, the four of us relaxed and drank tea and chatted, spending the afternoon doing nothing in particular—a very nice change of pace for me and Bryce both.

  Once the early evening rolled around, the four of us climbed into Bryce’s father’s SUV—he insisted on driving—and headed into Portland. The city was alive with Saturday night vitality, and once Steve had parked, we walked, both couples arm-in-arm, through the wide boulevards of downtown.

  Dinner was lovely, the four of us getting along like old friends as we enjoyed a great meal at what had to be one of the nicest brewpubs in the city. However, during the meal I noticed that Bryce received more strange texts from…someone, his face scrunching up upon reading them in the same way it did at breakfast.

  And halfway through the meal he actually got up to take a call.

  “Who was that?” I asked when he sat back down.

  “Ah, no one,” he said. “Just someone who doesn’t know better than to call me on a Saturday night during dinner.”

  The rest of the dinner went by uneventfully, and we finished off the evening in the city with a quick stop at a local ice cream parlor.

  On the way back, I was actually happy that Steve was driving—it allowed me and Bryce curl up in the back, my head resting on his shoulder as I drifted between the sleeping and waking worlds. I was out by the time we got back home, the rich food and the ice cream having done me in.

  Bryce woke me up for long enough to get me inside and into the bedroom. Once there, he shimmied me out of my clothes. As I stood there in my bra and panties, a sudden burst of energy took hold of me, and I decided that I suddenly wanted to do something else other than go right to bed.

  “Want to tuck me in?” I asked, my coy smile not leaving any hint as to what I was talking about.

  A brief expression of consideration flashed on Bryce’s face.

  “Sounds enticing, but my mom and dad are waiting for me downstairs. Last thing I’d want is for them to come looking for me.”

  “Oh, boo,” I said.

  Then I felt weak in the knees, the fatigue catching up with me again. My eyelids went heavy, and I let them shut as I stood in front of Bryce. I let my head loll forward, coming to a rest on Bryce’s solid chest.

  “OK,” he said. “That means bedtime. Here, hold on.”

  He ducked down and pulled something out of his bag. I opened my eyes to see that it was a thick, lambswool cable knit sweater.

  “Arms up.”

  I complied, and he dropped the sweater over my body. It was warm and thick and toasty and, best of all, smelled like Bryce. He lifted me off my feet—it was such a turn-on how effortlessly he could scoop me up off my feet.

  He slipped me under the covers and pulled them over my body, stopping them just below my chin.

  “Night, darling,” he said.

  Then he kissed me softly, turned off the light, and left. The taste of him lingered on my lips as I drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  The next morning I awoke to nausea like I’d never felt before in my life. I burst out of bed and rushed to the bathroom, making sure to shut the door carefully and slowly behind me, as not to wake up Bryce. Once over the toilet I let it rip, puking up whatever was still in my gut from last night.

  Once I’d voided my belly, I collapsed into a heap on the floor, giving my body a chance to recover. As I did, I listened carefully for any hint that Bryce had heard me. Luckily there wasn’t one.

  Back in the bedroom, I arrived just in time to see him gently rouse awake.

  “Morning,” he said. “You already up?”

  “That a surprise?” I asked.

  “I guess not,” he said. “Just expected you to sleep in a little longer, I guess.”

  I plopped onto the bed next to him, my stomach feeling better. But anxiety over my situation replaced the nausea.

  “What’s the plan today?” I asked.

  “Breakfast with the family and then back to San Francisco. Why, you have a better idea?”

  “No,” I said. “Just been enjoying the peace and quiet, is all.”

  He leaned in and kissed me softly.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’m starving ,and I managed to talk my mom into making pancakes this morning.”

  We headed down to the kitchen where, sure enough, Barbara was in the process of making a pancake breakfast, the smell of cooking batter mixing with the slight trace of sweet syrup scent in the air. My mouth began to water.

  The four of us ate, enjoying our pancakes and coffee. Once we were done, Bryce and I both shower
ed and got our things together, ready for our trip back to California. Before too long we had the car packed, Barbara and Steve watching us from the porch.

  “Chelsea, it was so nice to meet you,” said Barbara, throwing her arms around me and pulling me in for a tight hug. “I couldn’t be happier that you’re marrying my boy.”

  “He picked a good one,” said Steve, giving me a polite kiss on the cheek.

  “Thank you so much for having me,” I said. “I can’t wait to come back and see you both again.”

  After we said our goodbyes, Bryce got into the car and drove off, waving to Steve and Barbara as we did. Three hours later, after a drive to the airport, the flight home, and the drive back, we were at the apartment. I collapsed onto the couch as soon as we stepped in, exhausted from all the traveling.

  Bryce sat down next to me, taking me into his arms. For a time neither of us said anything, the two of us instead watching the sun dip down lower into the sky.

  “How’d I do?” I asked.

  “Well, you didn’t get wasted, you didn’t cry at my dad saying he thought astrology was for airheads, and you didn’t spend the majority of the trip trying to refresh Twitter on your phone. So, at the very least, you did better than Felicity.”

  I chuckled. “OK, so I didn’t hit rock bottom. But do you think they liked me?”

  “I know they did. You really impressed them, and me too. Now I just have to meet your parents.”

  “We’d have to pull them off the beach to make that happen,” I said.

  The rest of the day passed uneventfully, with both Bryce and I preparing for the week of work ahead. We ordered some Mexican for takeout and were in bed at an early hour.

  The next morning my eyes shot open, my first thought that today was the day I’d find out I’d was pregnant or not. Probably find out, I reminded myself—they did say it might take until Tuesday. I wanted to call the doctor’s right then, to see if by some chance they had the lab results ready. But I thought better of it, not wanting to slip into total hysteria.

  Bryce and I got ready for work and were in the office by eight. I had plenty to keep me busy, and I was glad for that—the idea of whittling the hours away waiting for the doctor to call, checking the phone over and over again like some lovestruck college girl hoping her boyfriend would text her, didn’t seem at all appealing.