I open my mouth and close it again, leaning against the counter across from her. Taking a deep breath, I choose my words carefully.
“You don’t seem like you want this. To… to marry me. Or pretend to marry me, I mean.”
“Tell me about your parents,” she replies suddenly. “Why did you ask me to do this? Why can’t you just talk to them?”
We stare at each other for a moment, and a bitter snort escapes me. I shake my head.
“Where do I start?”
“At the beginning.”
I grin, nodding my head toward the couch in the living room. She follows me, and I sit down on one end of the three-seater while she sits at the far end, tucking one leg underneath her and resting her chin on her other knee. She’s curled herself into a tiny ball, with her long, red hair falling like a curtain over her shoulder.
Even with a bright red nose and sadness in her eyes, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. All I want to do is reach over and wrap my arms around her. I want her to tell me why she’s so sad, why she decided to accept my proposal. I want to know what she’s thinking and what she’s scared of.
But I can’t ask her anything. She’s staring at me, waiting for me to speak. So I do what she said: I start at the beginning.
“My parents started a company when they were in their twenties. My mother borrowed a bunch of money from her father, who ran an import-export business, and my father was a clever, ambitious young man. They built the company up to what it is now. They supply all kinds of materials for huge construction projects on the entire eastern seaboard.”
I take a sip of my beer, glancing over at Naomi. Her eyes are glued on my face, as if she’s listening to the things I’m saying and the things I’m not saying, all at once.
“I’m an only child. I found out a couple years ago that my mom miscarried a bunch of times, and finally they had me when they were almost forty. I was their golden child.”
“I’m an only child, too,” Naomi says softly. I look at her, nodding. “Sorry,” she continues. “Go on.”
“Well, they handed me the world. I went to the best schools. They wanted me to study business and come and work for them. They wanted me to get married and do what they had done—make something of myself and become the next generation of Westbrook ‘power couples’. But then, I fell in love with football. To their credit, my parents embraced it. Maybe they saw it as an opportunity to be a different kind of ‘power couple’. I had the best coaches, trainers—everything. By the time I went to college, I was already being scouted by NFL teams.”
I take another sip of beer, trying to ignore the pang in my chest.
“Then your knee happened,” Naomi finishes for me.
I nod, not wanting to meet her eye. If I look at her, the mist in my eyes might turn to real tears. “My knee happened. I was dating this girl, and she left me the next day, as soon as the doctor told me I’d never play football again.”
“Max…”
I shake my head, swallowing past the lump that’s re-appeared in my throat.
“It’s fine. I graduated, my parents gave me a good job, and now I’m working my way up their company. I have everything. They’ve given me everything.”
“Have you told them you don’t want to get married?”
I snort. “Yeah, I’ve told them. They don’t get it. All they see is their society, where the women have their own power circles and the men have theirs. Single people don’t make it.”
I turn and look at Naomi again. She’s unfolded her legs and is leaning against the couch’s arm, resting her cheek against her closed fist. Her other hand is playing with the beer label, and she’s staring out the windows at the twinkling lights of the New York skyline.
“So why’d you say yes?” I ask. “Last night, you said you didn’t believe in marriage.”
Naomi flinches, as if my words hurt her physically. My heart squeezes.
She takes a deep breath and then shrugs. “I got some bad news, and two hundred and fifty grand would solve a lot of problems.”
She looks at me and I see the depth of pain in her eyes. I want to go to her, to wrap my arms around her and bury my nose in her hair. I want to kiss her forehead and rub her spine and tell her it’ll all be okay. I want to give her as much money as she needs to fix whatever problems she has.
But I don’t do any of that. I just nod.
“Okay,” I say.
Naomi relaxes, as if she was worried I would pry. A small smile appears on her face, and she starts chuckling. She shakes her head, laughing a little bit harder.
“What?” I say, chuckling confusedly.
“I don’t know,” she laughs. “This is so ridiculous.”
I grin. “I know.”
She laughs, brushing her hair over her shoulder and shaking her head some more. She scratches the back of her head and looks out the window, deep in thought. She takes a long drink of beer, and then turns to me, pointing the bottle toward me.
“But I’m not going to sleep with you just because we’re engaged. That’s where I draw the line. That would be too complicated.”
I grin. “Deal. You might have to kiss me in public to make it convincing, though.”
A blush spreads over her cheeks, and heat blooms between my legs. Fuck, she’s gorgeous. She turns toward me, scooting closer on the couch.
I move closer to her as well, until there’s only a foot of space between us. She turns toward me, leaning forward and crawling her fingers toward me. She licks her lips and my heart thumps. Her eyes are shining with something, and I can’t think about anything except how good it would feel to kiss her.
I lean toward her, my heart hammering against my ribcage. I smell the sweet floral scent that follows her everywhere, and feel the heat of her body. Her face is just inches from mine, and my heart is beating so fast that I think it might explode.
We’re only inches apart, and I can feel her soft breath washing over my skin. Her eyes are wide and bright, and her lips are so fucking inviting.
This is what I’ve been dreaming of. This is the exact moment that I’ve been hoping for for almost a week. I inch closer, and then—
Knock! Knock! Knock!
We jump apart at the sound of banging on the door.
“Max! Open up!” My mother’s voice floats through the closed door, and Naomi’s eyes widen. My stomach drops as I jump to my feet.
“Who is that?!” Naomi hisses, staring at the door.
I take a deep breath, following her gaze. “That is my mother.”
12
Naomi
“Your mother is here?!” I whisper as my eyes widen. I glance toward the door again and back at Max. “Why is your mother here?”
“Max, open up!” A gruff voice comes through the door.
“And your father is here too?!”
“Oh my god,” Max says, running his hands through his dark hair. He blows air out of his mouth as concern etches all over his face. “I’m so sorry. They said they were coming to the city, I didn’t think they meant today.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?!”
“I’m so sorry.”
I would laugh if I wasn’t so mortified. I look down at my grey tee-shirt and ripped jeans. I’m not wearing any makeup, and I know my hair could use a brush.
And now, I have to meet one of the richest couples in New York City, and I have to pretend to be engaged to their son?
I thought my day was bad before. I woke up with a hangover, and then got Max’s bizarre proposal. When my mom told me that she had breast cancer, I thought that was as bad as it got.
I was wrong.
It just got worse. I watch Max rub his hands over his face. His forearms ripple with tension as he combs his hair back through his fingers, staring at the door as if he was afraid of what was on the other side.
I stand up and put my hands on his biceps, feeling the hard muscle under his skin as he drops his hands.
“I’m sorry,”
he whispers. “I had no idea.”
“It’s okay,” I lie, forcing myself to smile. “Do I look okay?”
His eyes soften and he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “You look perfect.”
My heart squeezes and I swallow. I don’t know what all these emotions are. I don’t know how to deal with the alternating waves of desire and fear and nervousness that attack me every time I take a breath. All I can do is just follow Max toward the door, wringing my hands in front of me as he turns the doorknob.
“Hey, Mom,” he says and leans down to lay a kiss on her cheek. When he stands back up, I get the first glimpse of my soon-to-be fake mother-in-law.
She looks like a Stepford Wife mixed with a First Lady. Her hair is dyed a sandy blonde color, tied back in an ultra-neat bun at the base of her neck. She’s wearing a perfectly pressed navy pantsuit, with an expensive-looking bag slung over her forearm. Her hands are manicured, with an array of sparkling rings displayed on her digits.
But it’s her face that draws my attention. She has Max’s eyes—bright and blue and deep and unreadable. They’re focused on me, inspecting every inch of me as she steps through the door. Her heels click on the hardwood floor as she opens her arms toward me. She takes my hands in hers, squeezing them gently as she holds them out, blatantly looking me up and down.
“I’m sorry to barge in like this,” she says, not looking sorry at all. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Max?”
Max shuffles to my side, putting an arm around my shoulders. Thankfully, his mother releases me and I put my arm around his waist. It feels stiff and uncomfortable. I can’t imagine we look like a happy couple.
“Mom, Dad, this is Naomi. Naomi, this is my mom, Carol, and my dad, Rudy.”
“Nice to meet you,” I croak.
“Lovely to meet you, dear,” Carol croons. Her eyes are still watching me like a hawk, and Max’s hand tightens across my shoulders.
I try to speak, but nothing comes out. I clear my throat and nod to the kitchen. “Can I get you anything? Water? Beer? Coffee?”
“Coffee sounds good,” Rudy says, shuffling toward the living room after he shakes my hand. “Thanks, Naomi.”
I breathe a sigh of relief when I watch them walk toward the couch. That relief quickly turns to panic when I enter the kitchen.
I don’t know where anything is!
I’m supposed to be marrying Max, and I have no idea how to make coffee at his house. Where are the filters? Where are the coffee grounds? Where are the mugs?
Where is the freaking coffee machine?! He’d better not have one of those stupid percolators. I don’t think I can handle that right now.
My heart starts hammering in my chest as I glance around. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see his coffee machine with a little basket of pods next to it—single serving coffee. At least I won’t have to worry about filters and coffee grounds.
I look through the basket and then call to them over my shoulder. “You guys want ‘Intenso’, ‘Luongo Forte’ or, uh, decaf?” Why don’t these pods have normal freaking names?!
“I’ll have decaf, dear,” his mother says, watching me from the couch. “And Rudy will have the same.”
“Max?” Should I be calling him babe? Honey? Baby? I barely even know the guy! Am I being weird right now? Can they see how much I’m panicking? I turn toward them and wince when my hip hits the marble countertop of the island. I force a smile, and I’m pretty sure it just looks like my face is contorting weirdly.
“I’m good,” Max says, shuffling some magazines and tidying a blanket that was strewn across the couch. He looks as stressed as I feel.
“Okay,” I say under my breath. Now for mugs. Logically, they would be right above the coffee machine.
Nope.
Maybe the next cupboard over?
Nope.
I cough, trying to clear the lump in my throat as I open a third cupboard.
Still nothing.
I can feel Max’s mom’s eyes on my back. My heart is hammering. Where is Max? Why isn’t he helping me? I never knew making a cup of coffee could induce so much panic. I’m looking through every single cupboard in this godforsaken kitchen looking for a mug to make coffee for my fake fiancé’s mother, and she’ll figure out that I’ve never been here before, and the whole gig will be up.
We won’t pretend to be engaged, I won’t get any money, and I won’t be able to pay for my mom’s treatment.
All because the stupid freaking mugs aren’t where they are supposed to be, which is above the freaking coffee machine. What kind of monster stores the mugs on the other end of the kitchen?! I would never marry someone like that.
This is a disaster.
Finally, I open a wide drawer under the coffee machine and see the mugs neatly lined up. I sigh so loudly, I’m pretty sure they all hear me.
“Having trouble finding something?” Carol says. I glance over and see her eyebrow arched over her piercing blue eyes.
I laugh nervously. “I always do that. My kitchen at home has the mugs up top.” I gesture awkwardly to the cabinets as a blush spreads from my cheeks to my neck. I scratch the back of my head, trying to smile.
“Ah,” she says, nodding. Her eyes don’t leave me. Max mouths ‘sorry’, and comes toward me.
With him beside me, I start to relax. He puts his hand on the small of my back and shows me how to work the machine.
“Everything will be fine,” he whispers in my ear. “Thank you for doing this.”
“I think the price just went up to three hundred grand. It’s the price for surprise visits from in-laws. I need at least 48 hours notice from now on.”
The corner of his lip twitches, and his chin dips down. “That seems fair,” he chuckles. The machine rumbles to life and black coffee starts spluttering into the cup. I take a deep breath.
Max leans over and kisses my temple, sliding his hand over to my hip and pulling me into him. I close my eyes for a moment, inhaling his scent and letting the comfort of his touch wash over me.
“I’ll get rid of them as soon as I can,” he whispers as we make another cup of coffee.
I nod. It can’t be soon enough.
13
Max
“So, how did you two meet?” My dad asks, sipping his decaf coffee. I glance at Naomi and try to smile. In a perfect world, we would have come up with a story and rehearsed it. I would have prepared her. I would have told her about my parents—what to expect, what to say, what not to say.
But now?
None of that. I can’t give her any warning. She looks like a deer in headlights, but she’s doing fairly well.
So, when my dad asks me where we met, I just tell the truth.
“Naomi is my physical therapist,” I explain. “I started going to her a few months ago, and I guess we just sort of clicked.”
“How does your boss feel about the relationship?” He says, turning to Naomi.
Naomi shrugs, smiling. “She was surprised, but she’s okay with it.”
There’s an awkward silence and I clear my throat.
“I wasn’t expecting you guys here so soon.”
“Well, we had to meet the woman who stole our son’s heart,” my mother says, turning her hawk-like eyes toward Naomi. I wish she wouldn’t do that. I reach over and put my hand on Naomi’s knee, feeling her tremble slightly. She must be so stressed.
Hell, I’m stressed, and I’m their son!
“I’m not used to the whole tabloid thing,” Naomi says. “That was a bit of a shock this morning.”
My mother waves a hand and leans back in her chair. “You’ll get used to it. If you lead a boring-enough life, they’ll leave you alone.”
“They haven’t left Max alone,” Naomi grins. “Maybe your life will finally be boring enough now.”
“It doesn’t feel boring,” I reply. Naomi’s eyes flash, and her grin widens. My shoulders relax slightly and I squeeze the hand on her thigh. She interlaces her fingers in mine, leaning back o
n the couch.
“How was the drive?” Naomi asks, and then frowns. “You… you drove here, right?” She tenses.
“Yes, of course, honey,” my mother says. “How else would we get here? There are hardly any flights from Sands Point to the city. Well,” she muses, staring out the window. “I guess you could take a sea plane.” She looks at Naomi again, smiling that thousand-megawatt smile of hers. “The drive was fine. We missed the traffic, so it was all smooth sailing. We’ve been meaning to come to the city for a while now, so this was the perfect opportunity.”
“Right.”
There’s a tense moment, and then my father starts asking me about work. I relax as we start talking about familiar, neutral territory, and Naomi’s tenseness dissipates. She leans into me, squeezing my hand.
Is it bad that I like this?
As awkward and horrifying as it was to have my parents walk in, I actually like sitting here, holding her hand. It feels almost natural.
Well, as natural as it could feel, under the circumstances.
After an hour of idle chit-chat, Naomi takes a deep breath.
“It’s been lovely to meet you, but I have to work early tomorrow morning. I’m going to have to leave you guys to catch up without me.”
Smooth.
She shoots me a glance as if to say, ‘you’re on your own’, and I can’t help but grin.
My father gets the hint, though, and he stands up. “We’ll be on our way, won’t we, Carol.”
“Of course.”
“Rudy, Carol,” Naomi says, giving them both a kiss. We say our goodbyes, leading them back through the front door. As soon as the door closes, Naomi turns to me with wide eyes.
“You bastard,” she says. “That was my worst nightmare!”
She’s laughing now, and I can’t help but join in. She leans against the kitchen counter, putting her hand against her forehead and laughing while she shakes her head. We laugh, leaning against the kitchen counter and letting out all the stress of the past hour. Tears are streaming down her face, and her emerald eyes are shining more than I’ve ever seen them.
Mr. Right: The Complete Fake Engagement Series Page 6