His Fake Girlfriend

by Amber Nox

  Instinctively, I lean into Jake, seeking protection, maybe? I’m not sure, but he delivers what I need and his arm goes around my shoulders. I don’t know why, but I feel the need to assert my relationship with him—my fake relationship.

  Shrewd eyes watch the gesture and I feel like he’s stripping back all our pretence. I thought the mother would be the problem, but now, I’m starting to think they’re both going to be a nightmare. I’m going to have my work cut out for me.

  6

  Scarlett

  We head towards the house, Jake helping his father with his bags, while his mother links her arm through mine, walking us a little ahead of the men. To outsiders, it might seem like a friendly gesture. It feels like the start of an inquisition to me.

  I’m proved right when Juliet says, “Jake hasn’t told me much about you, darling.”

  I shift my shoulders, recalling quickly the details from Evelyn’s file. “There’s not much to know.”

  “I’m absolutely certain that is not true.”

  “Really, it is. I met your son and we fell head over heels for each other. It’s been a bit of a whirlwind really.”

  I feel the weight of her gaze on me. “You just met him and loved him?”

  “He’s a very easy man to love,” I tell her.

  She relaxes slightly at this. “Yes, he is. He’s always been, which is why I’m surprised he hasn’t settled down before now. Jacob has a big heart and a lot to give.”

  “He does,” I agree.

  “What about you, Evelyn. Where are you from? Who are your parents? Did you go to university?”

  “Stop interrogating Evelyn, Mum.” Jake sounds irritated by his mother’s behaviour. For me, this is part and parcel of the job.

  Selling the lie is the most important part. If no one believes it, then no amount of acting will change that. I have to seem like the perfect partner for a man I only met this morning. It should be impossible, but it’s not. I’m used to pulling these types of ruses. I can do it with my eyes closed. The length of time I’m in Jacob’s service might be my only downfall, but I’m confident we can pull this off—as long as he sticks to the script too.

  “It’s fine, Jake,” I assure him over my shoulder to where he’s walking behind with his father and some of their luggage. “Your mother is just interested in the woman who has her son’s attention.”

  “Finally,” Juliet adds.

  He groans. “Can we dispense with the guilt trip, please?”

  “Oh, hush.” Juliet waves a dismissive hand in his direction. “I’m trying to get to know Evelyn. You can keep your nose out.”

  The levity in her tone tells me she’s joking, but I suspect she’s only half joking. She really does want to vet me. And why wouldn’t she? Her son is sitting on a million pound fortune—potentially more. I have no idea how much the business is worth, or how it will be split if anything happens to Juliet and Robert, but I imagine Jake stands to inherit a lot. I would be wary of any stranger coming into their son’s life, particularly one he hadn’t mentioned before.

  I glance over my shoulder and give him a look that I hope communicates I’m okay. He eyes me then glances away with a huff.

  When we step into the kitchen, Juliet unlinks with me so we can fit through the door. I watch as she moves towards the breakfast bar and slides onto one of the stools, her eyes going around the room. I can see she’s remembering memories of another time in her gaze as she scans, and I wonder how hard it was for her to leave here for Australia.

  Robert moves back to the door, presumably to gather more luggage from the car. Jake looks hesitant to leave me alone with his mother, even if it is only for a few minutes, but I give him a nod and he hesitantly heads after his father.

  “Would you like a drink?” I ask her.

  “A coffee would be divine. I haven’t had a decent cup since we left Victoria.”

  “The same for Robert?”

  “Yes, he’ll drink anything caffeinated.”

  I move to the machine and put a pod in from the dispenser on the counter. Then, remembering where the mugs are kept after my nosey around earlier, I pull out four cups, in case Jake wants one too. I can feel her watching me move around the kitchen that I look so at home in, and I wonder what she’s thinking.

  After a moment, she says, “So, Evelyn, what do you think about the vineyard?”

  “It’s stunning. The views are spectacular and the house itself is beautiful.” I place the mugs on the counter and turn back to Juliet while I wait for the machine to do its thing.

  “Did Jake tell you his father and I built this place from the ground up?”

  “He did, yes.”

  “Every stone here was built with blood, sweat and a good amount of tears.”

  I know what she’s trying to say—rather bluntly. I consider letting it go, but I need to nip this behaviour in the bud straight away if Jake and I have any chance of surviving this fortnight. Besides, Evelyn would be affronted at the underlying tone of Juliet’s words, so it requires a response.

  I straighten my spine and lift my chin slightly.

  “I’m not looking to steal your son’s inheritance, if that’s what you’re worried about. I have my own money.”

  I do. A lot of it, as well. Although I’m not sure Juliet would approve of how I made it. I don’t have close to what Jake probably has, but I’m more than comfortable.

  Juliet recoils. “I wasn’t presuming you were, darling. Oh, I’m making a mess of this. I just want to—”

  “Protect your son,” I interrupt. “Of course you do. What mother wouldn't?”

  Mine for a start, but I get the impression Juliet is nothing like my mum.

  Relief crosses her face. “I’m glad you understand. I worry about Jacob. He’s not like my other children. He’s so hard-headed, so closed off. I never have a clue what is going on with him. I don’t want him alone. I want him happy.”

  I lean across the breakfast bar and take her hand in mine, squeezing it. “He is happy. He was happy before too. You raised a man who is able to take care of himself—whether that’s with someone or alone. I don’t think you need to worry about Jake. He’s very capable and resourceful.”

  “I don’t doubt that.” She squeezes back and I let her go as Jake and his father step back into the kitchen.

  His eyes come to mine, questioning if I’m okay. I give him a smile that I hope indicates I am.

  “Coffee, sweetheart?” I ask him.

  I see a slight stiffening of his shoulders—possibly at the endearment—before he says, “That would be lovely, thank you.”

  “So, I thought we could go out and have dinner this evening,” Robert says as he places his bags at his feet. “Is that little pub still in business in Bodmin—the one we used to go to all the time when you were kids?”

  “Yeah, it’s still there.”

  I hand Jake his mug, and as I do, our fingers scrape over each other’s. When I raise my eyes to his I see a little uncertainty there. I give him a smile I hope is reassuring.

  We drink our coffees while Juliet regales us with stories about their vineyard in Australia. Jake keeps his hand pressed to my thigh as we talk and the heat and weight of it means I’m hyperaware of him sitting next to me. It’s not unusual for a stranger to touch me in this way, but I’ve never felt the small sparks of electricity that I do with Jacob. I don’t understand it, and honestly, it scares me a little.

  I try to focus on Juliet and what she’s saying, and while it sounds amazing, all I can think about is Jacob Hansen’s hand on my leg and how I wish he’d move it higher.

  These are not thoughts I should be having about a client, but him touching me has me feeling things I’ve never felt before.

  I have to shut it down, and fast. Before I get myself into a mindset I can’t afford to be in—one that makes me believe there is a chance of anything happening between us.

  7

  Scarlett

  The pub we head to is a quaint Cornish c
ountry place with lots of natural wood and a huge hearth in the middle of the room—although, given the balmy weather, it’s not lit. Juliet picks a table in the window, and I’m seated next to Jake.

  Trying to put a realistic face on the play we’re delivering, I reach for his hand on the tabletop and take it in mine. His fingers take a moment to curl around mine, but they do. If we’re going to pull this off, he needs to be more relaxed. We need to look like a couple, and he can’t be flinching every time we touch.

  I give him a squeeze, hoping this will communicate that he needs to calm himself and he does after a moment.

  At least until the meals arrive. Then, yet another interrogation begins.

  “So, how did you two meet?” Juliet asks around a forkful of food.

  Both of us start to talk at the same time. I laugh. “You can tell it if you want to, sweetheart.”

  Jake smiles and the gesture removes some of the tightness from his face. It makes him look lighter, freer. It suits him better than the constant scowl he’s had plastered on all night.

  “No, you can tell it, honey.”

  He doesn’t slip on the word, rolling the endearment off the tongue with more ease than previously. Good. This is progress. The ruse only works if he’s playing the role, too.

  I duck my head, letting my coyness play out for a moment. Then I give them the story we planned between us of how we met at an event where Jake was trying to sell his wine to big commercial retailers. It’s a lie, but I feel Jake’s hand relax in mine as I deliver it word-perfect.

  “Oh, how romantic,” Juliet says. “Don’t you think that’s romantic, Robert?”

  She seems to be thawing a little, but Robert doesn’t appear to be. He also looks like he disagrees completely with his wife. He mutters a “Yes, dear,” anyway.

  I thought the mother was going to be the tough one to crack, but Robert is making his displeasure clear with every passing minute we’re together. I wonder about the dynamic between father and son.

  As if sensing my discomfort, it’s Jake this time who squeezes my hand. It’s a small gesture, and it’s one I shouldn’t need, but I do. I feel infinitely more relaxed with him at my side, and I don’t understand it. This is not how I work. I’m a one-man-band.

  “So, what were you doing at the event?” Robert asks me.

  Inwardly, his question has all my synapses snapping to alert. Outwardly, I maintain my easy facade. “I was there with a friend.”

  This answer doesn’t seem to appease him. “And you just got talking and hit it straight off?”

  “No,” Jake interrupts. “There was a period of dating. What’s with the inquisition? You’ve both been nothing but rude to Evelyn since you got here.”

  Robert holds his hands up in supplication. “There’s no inquisition. I’m just curious about my son supposedly being head over heels with a woman we knew nothing about until this week.”

  Yes, I can see why he’d be suspicious, but his tone seems to grate on Jake’s nerves.

  “How about because it’s none of your business?”

  “Jake!” Juliet exclaims, her hand going to her chest. “Really? Is that any way to talk to your father?”

  “Stop interrogating Evelyn then. I invited you into my home and into my life. At least have the decency not to make someone who is important to me feel unwelcome.”

  He gets to his feet and holds his hand out to me. “Come on, love.”

  I take it and let him pull me up, my mind whirling. I wanted him to sell us, but I didn’t expect him to sell us this much by defending my honour against his parents’ attack. I’m impressed, because his reaction is precisely what I would expect from a real partner.

  He all but drags me outside and into the cooler night air, raking his fingers through his hair as he releases me finally and paces the small pavement outside the main doors of the pub.

  “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

  I place my hand on his arm. “He’s just looking out for you. Don’t be too hard on him.”

  “He’s trying to meddle. To be honest, I thought it was my mother who would be the problem. I didn’t expect it to be Dad.”

  Since I thought this too, I merely nod.

  “You’re lucky they care.”

  “Don’t misunderstand caring for interfering, Evelyn. They’ve been this way my entire life. They’re never happy unless they’re sticking their noses in.”

  Before I can respond, the door of the pub opens and both Hansens step outside.

  Jake stiffens, but his father’s posture seems more conciliatory.

  “I’m sorry,” Robert says to me and his son. “I didn’t mean to cause offence.”

  Jake doesn’t seem like he’s going to apologise, so I nudge him in the ribs—an action that draws a small lip quirk from his mother.

  “Fine,” Jake grumbles. “Let’s just forget it happened.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” I say, attempting to diffuse some of the tension. It’s choking the air around us and this is not what the fortnight needs to be about. We’re supposed to be smoothing things over with his parents, not setting them on fire.

  We get a taxi back to the vineyard. Once we’re back inside the house, Jake shows his parents to the room they’re to use while they’re staying. I wait in the kitchen, sipping a glass of freshly poured pinot blanc. It’s delicious and I understand how his family business became so successful.

  When he steps back into the room, he looks a little frazzled.

  “I’m sorry about my father this evening.”

  I wave it off as he moves to the counter and grabs a wine glass from the rack. He pours himself a generous measure.

  “Please, you have nothing to apologise for. He’s bound to be overprotective, Jake. The man loves you.”

  He snorts. “They forget I’m not a little boy anymore and that my life isn’t theirs to mess around with.”

  “I suspect you’ll always be their little boy—even if you’re a grown-up.”

  I watch the column of his throat as he takes a sip of wine, a little distracted by the movement of his Adam’s apple. I have to tear my gaze away when he places the glass on the counter once more.

  I clear my throat, then ask, “This is why you needed my help?”

  “I should stand up to them. I should, but it’s easier to perpetuate the lie.”

  “Why is your mother so intent on you marrying anyway? This isn’t the fifteen hundreds.”

  “My father wants to keep the business in the family. He worries that my not having children will prevent that. There’s a lot of people who would like to get their hands on the vineyard. It’s a lucrative business. My mother just worries about me being alone.”

  My lips quirk. “It’s a little sweet, really.”

  “I’m a grown man. I don’t need to have my parents’ blessing to live my life how I choose.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  Which doesn’t explain why he’s seeking it—at least not to me. He seems to read this in my face, because he says, “You’re wondering why I’d employ your services if I don’t care about needing my parents’ blessing, right?”

  I take a sip of wine. “A little, yes.”

  “They visit twice a year. It’s easier to maintain this charade for that time than to fight with my mother.”

  “You’re a grown up. You could tell her to stop.”

  His brows arch. “You think I haven’t tried? My mother doesn’t know how to walk away and I don’t want to spend one of her few visits per year arguing with her.”

  That I can understand. I let out a breath as I twist the stem of the wine glass between my fingers. “You’re a good son, Jacob.”

  He snorts. “I doubt my mother would see any of this as being a good anything.”

  He’s probably right.

  “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go to bed. I’m tired.”

  I know he doesn’t mean together, since we already had that discussion, but still, a
tingle moves through my stomach. I’ve never had to sleep in the same place as a client. Even on weekend jobs, I either went home or had my own space in their place. Here, that won’t be possible without raising suspicion.

  I wait while he locks down the house and then I follow him up the stairs, my legs feeling a little leaden. He opens the bedroom door for me and gestures for me to enter first. Ever the gentleman. When he shuts the door behind us, I feel like it’s the mark of something beginning.

  I walk to the bed and sink onto the edge, pulling my wedges off.

  Jake moves to one of the doors on the far side of the room and pulls it open.

  “Everything on the left side is yours.”

  I push up and move across the room barefoot and step into a huge walk-in closet. There are rows and rows of clothes and shoes.

  “Did you pick these?” I ask, my mouth twitching. I can’t imagine him being one for shopping adventures.

  I’m proved right when he rubs the back of his neck. “I hired a personal shopper.”

  I pull a few things from the rail to study them. “She did well.”

  And she did. The clothes are stunning. There’s a mix of every day and evening wear, and more than a fortnight’s worth.

  After a little rummaging around, I find nightwear and my mouth pulls into a line. I was expecting linen pyjamas. Instead, there’s a small, lacy looking negligee—appropriate bed wear if we truly were together, but not so appropriate for a man I just met.

  Heat rises in my cheeks a little. “Did you tell her we were dating?”

  “Of course. I had to say something, didn’t I? I’d look a plonker buying women’s clothing otherwise.”

  I groan. “It’s fine. I’ll manage.” I hold the scrap of lace and silk against me and watch his eyes flare.

  “Evelyn, I’m sorry. When I specified nightwear… well, I didn’t think she’d pick this.”

  He’s bumbling and it’s odd to see him so out of sorts. “It’s fine,” I assure him.

  “But—”

  “It’s just a garment, Jake. I’ll go and get changed.”