by Jae
That wasn’t exactly unexpected. “What did you say?”
Lana chuckled. “I told her that I had ways to get you off the computer in a hurry.”
Her words, paired with her low, sexy voice, nearly made Claire swerve into the other lane. She gripped the wheel more tightly. “Jesus, don’t say things like that when I’m driving.”
Next to her, Lana was breathing too fast and white-knuckling the middle console. “I’ll shut up now.”
“No, no, you can talk, just don’t…” Don’t what? Don’t use that sexy voice? Maybe not talking really was a good idea. She needed to focus inward and get her chaotic emotions back into some semblance of order—and not only where Abby was concerned.
Chapter 12
On Tuesday the next week, Claire sat at her center island. The kitchen had undergone an amazing transformation, but she wasn’t sure if it had become heaven or hell. While her mind said hell, her grumbling stomach and her nose said heaven.
The scent of fresh mint, ginger, garlic, and roasting cashews wafted through the room.
Watching Lana cook wasn’t exactly a hardship either. She was poetry in motion, frying shrimp in a pan and chopping the lettuce, the herbs, and a cucumber without missing a beat.
Splashes of sesame oil and lime juice spattered over the counter as she whisked the almond butter dressing.
Claire winced. This was where hell was coming in. She bit her lip and forced herself to remain seated, even though every cell in her body itched to clean up the mess.
“Here.” Lana poured a glass of white wine and set it down in front of her before returning to her cooking. “To soothe your nerves.”
Was she that transparent, or had Lana gotten to know her so well in the six or seven weeks they’d lived together?
Claire took a sip of wine and licked her lips. Mmm. A dry Riesling. Great choice. “How did you know what wine goes well with the shrimp?”
Lana turned the shrimp in the pan, somehow managing to get oil over the backsplash. “I asked Chef Google.”
Wow. Lana had gone to great length to prepare a healthy low-carb dinner and pick out the right wine for her.
“You know, I don’t expect you to do this.” She gestured at the Thai shrimp salad in the making and the fridge, which was full of the groceries Lana had bought today. “It’s not a requirement in the contract.”
“I know. But cooking is my go-to activity when I’m stressed, like cleaning is yours.”
“Cleaning isn’t anything like that to me,” Claire protested. “It’s merely a necessity.”
“Oh yeah?” Lana turned and leaned against the stove. “So you coming home today and cleaning the bathrooms in your power suit, even though the cleaning lady was just here, doesn’t have anything to do with you being stressed because we’re flying to New York the day after tomorrow?”
Claire snapped her mouth shut. “Maybe a little. This is it: my one big chance to secure this publishing deal once and for all. If the editor sees through our charade or we manage to fuck it up some other way, I’m toast. I’ve talked about my book and the deal with Wishing Tree Publishing so much that I’d totally lose face if this doesn’t go through.”
“Great,” Lana muttered. “Now I’m even more nervous. If you’re not careful, you’ll raise my stress levels so much that I’ll be forced to make you a brownie sundae or some other high-calorie dessert.”
Claire laughed and held out both hands in protest, even though her stomach gurgled at the mention of a brownie sundae. “Oh no, please don’t.”
Lana playfully raised the spatula she held. “Then you’d better—”
The ringing of Claire’s cell phone interrupted her midsentence.
“Want to bet it’s work-related? You really should consider shutting that thing off every once in a while.” Lana shook the spatula, making drops of oil splash onto the kitchen floor.
Claire winced and picked up her phone. For once, Lana was wrong about the call being work-related.
The word Mom flashed across the display.
Her stress level shot through the roof. She’d just talked to her mother two days ago during their weekly Sunday phone call, so getting another call from her was unusual. Had something happened?
She swiped her finger across the screen to accept the call and lifted the phone to her ear. “Mom?”
“Hello, darling. How are you?”
Claire hesitated. “Um, I’m fine. How are you and Dad? Is everything okay?”
“We’re actually a little upset at the moment,” her mother answered.
A growl rose up Claire’s chest. “What has she done now?”
“Um, who?”
“Steph, of course!” Who else was the number one source of upset emotions in her family?
“Your sister hasn’t done anything,” her mother said stiffly. “But is there by any chance something you want to tell us?”
Claire gulped and gripped the edge of the island with her free hand. What on earth was going on? She couldn’t have done anything to upset her parents. She’d called them at eleven thirty on the dot on Sunday, had reported everything was going well at the center and with her book deal, and hadn’t had any contact with her parents since.
A spike of fear drove through her. They couldn’t have found out about my fake new relationship, could they? Her gaze darted to Lana, who apparently had picked up that something was wrong, because she’d turned off the stove and came over to her.
“Um, could you be a little more specific?” Claire asked. No way would she confess anything without making sure her mother really knew and wasn’t just fishing.
“Is there any news regarding your relationship status that you want to share? Is that specific enough?”
Oh God! They knew. Claire gave Lana a panicked glance that made Lana grip her arms with both hands as if trying to prevent her from falling off the stool.
“How…?” Claire croaked out.
“How did we find out? Sadly, not from you,” her mother said. “Your father ran into Darlene’s husband on the golf course.”
Darlene. Dammit. Claire covered her face with her free hand. Maybe Darlene should have named her painting Triumph of Gossip.
“I don’t understand why you didn’t tell us, Claire. You talked about what you were planning to have for lunch on Sunday, but you didn’t think to tell us about your new girlfriend?”
“Oh, Mom. I didn’t mean to make you feel excluded.” It had been hard enough telling her parents about Abby breaking off their engagement. Her parents hadn’t said it, but she knew they viewed it as a failure. She hadn’t intended to tell them about Lana because now they would think she’d failed again when she and Lana went their separate ways.
Their entire lives, her sister Stephanie had been the one who made every mistake in the book—getting caught smoking weed in school, dropping out of college to become a stand-up comedian, getting involved with a string of men and women their parents didn’t approve of—while Claire had always been the perfect daughter.
How could she explain this sudden deviation from her spotless track record?
“It’s… It’s complicated.”
Her mother pointedly cleared her throat. “Since when are we allowing such lame deflections in our family?”
Claire pressed her hand on her mouth and groaned into her palm.
“What can possibly be so complicated about your relationship?” her mother asked.
You’ve got no idea.
“Is it because she’s obese?” her mother asked.
If Claire hadn’t still had her hand pressed to her mouth, her jaw would have gaped open. “What the…? She’s not…” She cut herself off and glanced up at Lana, not wanting to repeat that word in front of her.
“Well, I wouldn’t know because I’ve never met her,” her mother said pointedly. “Not that
I’d care one way or another. I’m just repeating what Darlene said.”
Claire’s vision went as red as the paint on Triumph of Nature. “Darlene doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Lana is beautiful, kind, and genuine, and she goes through life with positivity and a sense of humor that Darlene can only wish she possessed!” Her cheeks went hot, and she ducked her head, overly aware that Lana was listening to every word she said.
“Lana,” her mother said. “So that’s her name.”
How typical. Darlene had commented on Lana’s figure but hadn’t even remembered her name. Claire mentally removed all of the art openings Darlene was involved in from her calendar.
“Yes,” she ground out through gritted teeth. “That’s her name.”
“Well, then tell Lana that we’re expecting her—and you, of course—for dinner on Thursday. Your father and I want to get to know her.”
Oh shit. How could she get out of this mess? She threw Lana a panicked look, but of course there wasn’t anything Lana could do.
“What’s going on?” Lana whispered.
“The apocalypse,” Claire whispered back. “I’ll tell you in a minute.” To her mother, she said, “We can’t, Mom. We’re flying to New York on Thursday, remember?”
“We? So Lana is accompanying you?” Surprise colored her mother’s tone. Maybe there was even a hint of criticism.
Did she think Lana would fly to New York on Claire’s dime and then go shopping while Claire met with Ms. Huge? Admittedly, with some of Claire’s former girlfriends, she wouldn’t have been far off, but if her mother knew Lana, she’d be aware of how ridiculous that thought was.
“The publisher specifically said they want to meet her.” What they had really said, of course, was that they wanted to meet her fiancée, but Claire would rather devour two high-calorie sundaes than admit the entire ruse to her mother.
“Oh. It’s very nice of her to support you like this,” her mother said. “If Thursday won’t work, let’s have dinner tomorrow.”
Tomorrow? Claire’s mind raced, trying to come up with an excuse. “But…but…that’s too short notice.”
Her mother tsked. “Short notice? It’s not like you need to prepare a speech or anything. You’re just having dinner with your family and your girlfriend.”
There was no just about it for Claire.
“So?” her mother prompted when Claire remained silent. “How about around seven? I should be home from the university by then.”
Claire knew excuses wouldn’t work. If she told her mother Lana was still working at that time, that would only lead to questions about what she did for a living, and Claire wanted to ask Lana about what she should say first. “Seven sounds good.”
“Great. I’ll see you then—you and Lana.”
When her mother ended the call, Claire put the phone away, bent over the kitchen island, and pressed her cheek to the cool surface. A long groan escaped her.
“Claire?” Lana softly touched her back and rubbed it, easing the tension in her muscles a fraction. “Is everything okay?”
“No.” Claire covered her head with her arms. “Nothing is okay. My parents found out about us, and now they want to have dinner with us tomorrow.”
Lana sank onto the stool next to her, grabbed Claire’s wine glass, and emptied it in one big gulp.
Claire got up to get a second glass and the bottle. They’d need it.
Lana fiddled with the chocolates and the bottle of wine on her lap, and this time, it wasn’t just being in a car that made her nervous. In the past, she had usually looked forward to meeting her girlfriend’s family, and they had always ended up liking her.
But today was different. This relationship wasn’t real. She was playing a role, so how could she win over Claire’s family if she wasn’t entirely herself? Plus if Claire’s passionate defense of her on the phone was any indication, Claire’s parents were skeptical of her new relationship, to say the least.
She had a bad feeling about this. Her stomach twisted itself into knots.
Claire didn’t seem to fare any better. She hadn’t stopped drumming her fingers on the steering wheel since they’d left for her parents’ house in Beverly Hills.
“So, what can I expect?” Lana asked when she couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “The modern version of the Spanish Inquisition?”
“Oh no. No torture. My parents have much subtler methods.”
Lana wondered what that meant but decided she didn’t want to find out. That would probably make her even more nervous. “You and your parents…are you close?”
At a baseball field, Claire made a left turn from Olympic Boulevard onto a quiet, tree-lined street. “Kind of.”
“How can you be kind of close? You either are, or you aren’t.”
Claire seemed to think about it for a second. “I guess we are.”
“Then it’s no wonder that they read you the riot act for not telling them about your new relationship.” Her sister Avery had done the same when she’d found out.
“Yeah.” Claire sighed. “That got their mental hamster wheels going. By now, they probably came up with a hundred different explanations for why I didn’t want them to know.”
Lana grimaced. So Claire’s parents would watch her like hawks the entire evening, wondering what was wrong with her. “I guess we’ll have to be extra convincing tonight.”
Would that include more kissing? She raised her hand to her lips and traced them with her fingertips, then snatched her hand away when she realized what she was doing.
No kissing, she firmly told herself. If her parents were as formal as Claire, PDAs over dinner wasn’t their modus operandi anyway.
“Um, about that… We have to be really careful.”
“Careful?” Lana asked.
“Yes. There’s something I should probably tell you about my parents before you meet them. They are…”
“Ax murderers?” Lana threw in to lighten the mood.
“Worse,” Claire muttered. “Psychologists.”
Lana stared at her. “Your parents are psychologists too? Both of them?”
“Yes. My mother mostly teaches at USC, and my father is an organizational psychologist, working with big, international companies.”
Lana slumped against the back of the seat. “Poor you,” escaped her before she could censor herself. “That must have been hell growing up.”
“Oh no, not at all.” Claire firmly shook her head. “We always had the most stimulating conversations at the dinner table.”
Stimulating conversations? In Lana’s opinion, that wasn’t what a child needed most from her parents. Jesus, I’m about to have dinner with three psychologists. I think I’d prefer the ax murderers over that. But Claire already seemed nervous enough, so she didn’t voice that thought. “I guess it won’t be so bad.” Was she trying to convince Claire or herself? She forced a smile. “After all, this isn’t the first time I’ve had dinner with a psychologist.”
“Having Thai shrimp salad with me is different, trust me,” Claire said.
“Um, I wasn’t referring to you.” It escaped her without thought, and of course Claire immediately picked up on it.
“Oh?” She turned left onto Wilshire Boulevard, stopped at a red light, and glanced at Lana. “Don’t tell me you were once dating a psychologist?”
“No!”
“Hey, don’t sound so appalled. Psychologists can make great partners, you know?” Claire let out a sigh. “Unless they’re workaholics like me.”
Lana almost reached across the middle console to pat her leg but stopped herself at the last second. Save the acting for later, when her parents are watching! “I wouldn’t know.” Psychologists were firmly on her do-not-date list. “I never dated one—my mother did.”
Again, it slipped out. God, she was becoming a little too relax
ed around Claire, telling her more about herself than she had ever planned to. Somehow, this had stopped feeling like a simple business arrangement a while ago and started to feel more like a friendship.
The light turned green, and Claire steered the car across the intersection. “From your dislike of psychologists, I guess it didn’t work out?”
“Depends on who you ask,” Lana said. “My mother would insist that they’re happy together, but I think she’s deluding herself—and the APS’s ethics committee probably wouldn’t list their relationship as a big success either.”
“APS?” Claire asked.
“That’s the American Psychologists’ Society, isn’t it?”
“It’s APA—American Psychological Association. Wait! You don’t mean…? Your mother is dating her therapist?”
Now that she’d said this much, she might as well tell Claire everything. “She actually married him, but that was after her therapy was wrapped up.”
“Wow. I don’t know what to say.” Claire wrinkled her nose as if smelling something foul. “That’s a big no-no for any therapist.”
“I know. But apparently, he didn’t care, and she wouldn’t listen.”
“Wow,” Claire said again. She was silent for a while. Once she turned onto a palm-lined avenue with luxurious mansions and stately one-family homes, she asked, “Is that why you no longer talk to her?”
“That’s part of it, but it’s more her misogynist attitude in general.”
“Misogynist?” Claire arched her brows.
“Maybe that’s the wrong word. Men-centric might describe it better. My mother has really old-fashioned views of society. It’s like women have no worth of their own, unless they are somehow connected to a man. She couldn’t stomach being single for more than a week or two, and once she was in a relationship, she clung to it, no matter what, trying everything to make it work.”
“Including devouring self-help books on relationships,” Claire said.
Lana nodded. “Tons of them. She also shelled out thousands of dollars for improve-your-relationship workshops and listened to audiotapes pretty much twenty-four/seven. If you wanted to talk to her, you had to hide those damn things—well, come to think of it, perhaps it was just me. She always had time to listen to my brother. God, she spoiled him rotten. You’d think he was a prince or something.”