Santiago's Convenient Fiancée

by Annie O'Neil

  She shifted uncomfortably, eyes skidding everywhere around the room but on him.

  “I guess it’s the part about it being a charade that I’m not really comfortable with, you know? That it’s fake.”

  “I don’t know about you, but what just happened didn’t feel so fake to me.”

  “I know! That’s exactly my point!”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “It’s just that...” Saoirse only just stopped herself from tracing a heart shape onto his chest.

  It’d be too easy to fall in love.

  “Maybe it’s so close to the other wedding—you know, the Irish one—that I’ve got some guilt or...”

  Saoirse trailed off, not sounding convinced by her own argument. Santi had little doubt she was over her ex and from the kisses she’d just been giving him? No, it wasn’t guilt.

  “I just feel a bit duplicitous. It’s a shame it’s not—you know...”

  “The real thing?” He finished for her.

  “Yes.” She nodded glumly. “It would have been nice if our—the marriage was for real.”

  He nodded. He knew what she meant. But setting things right with his brothers was his priority. And so far coming back to Miami was the only step he’d taken in that direction. Getting married for real before he was square with his brothers simply wasn’t going to happen.

  “It would have been nice, but unless a messed-up ex-Marine is your thing...” He ignored the sharp glance she gave him. One filled with questions. Questions he wasn’t ready to answer.

  There was no point in going into details. The fact he couldn’t, with any sort of clean conscience, give his heart to her was the main thing they had going for them. She’d see soon enough. Friends was great. More than that? Not worth the trouble. There’d be another guy, another day... He just needed to see that smile of hers again. It lit him up, more than he liked, but that would be his cross to bear, not hers.

  “Murph, c’mere. Sit down.” He patted her stool in a show of It’s-okay,-I won’t-bite and waited for her to climb back up, arms crossed, a leery expression playing across her features.

  “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  She tilted her head to the side, pretending to size him up. “As much as a girl can be with a man who insists on scrunching saline bags between his shoulder and chin can be.”

  “It’s how we always did it out in the field. And it’s not like I have a hook on my head.”

  “We could install one,” She hiccup-laughed, then smiled, visibly pleased he was playing along. As full of bravado as she was, he’d already learned Saoirse needed a bit of silly in her day to soften the edges of a life that hadn’t been altogether kind to her, and he was more than happy to oblige.

  “We could install a clip on your work cap. I’ll call you Mr. Saline Head,” she said, almost shyly.

  “And you thought I was the mad one.” Santi laughed, pleased to hear her giggling along with him. How quickly it had come to pass, he thought, that a smiling Saoirse was all the sunshine he needed.

  “C’mon.” He clapped his hands together and gave them a quick rub. “I meant what I said. I am completely happy to do this for you. The marriage thing. I know there’ll be times where it will be tough. Days where we probably want to see the backside of each other—but that lends the whole thing a bit more authenticity, right?”

  “I happen to have a very nice backside, thank you very much.”

  “I know.”

  Her cheeks colored as she realized just how recently his hands had been cupping said backside. Just as quickly she feigned a shocked gasp. “You won’t be letting the cat out of the bag, will you? About the blubbing and the feelings and everything? I’ve got a tough-girl image to keep up at work.”

  “No, ma’am.” He stood, clicked his heels together and gave a quick salute. “As long as you keep it close to your chest I’ve got a weak spot for...” You.

  “Carnitas and zebra hides?” Saoirse suggested.

  “Got it in one.” He winked.

  Emergency averted. Time to get back on course. Business only. Doing the right thing by someone. Soon. Soon, he’d do the same for his brothers. But that was going to take some staring-into-the-eyes-of-the-firing-squad courage. He didn’t deserve their forgiveness. He didn’t deserve their love. You had to earn that sort of thing and his bank balance in that department was more than likely running on empty.

  “Right, Murph.” He stood and gave her a brotherly shoulder hug with a play growl. “Let’s see about getting this barbecue up and running before your pals come back, otherwise it’s raw burgers and E. coli all around.”

  “On it.” Saoirse hopped off her stool and headed toward the refrigerator, abruptly screeching to a halt. “Valentino?”

  “Yes, Murphy?” he replied formally.

  “You are a good friend.”

  Friend. He saw the invisible partition being placed between them and instantly wished it gone. Friend. Didn’t seem to sit right somehow.

  Well, too bad for him. He’d made his bed and now it was time to lie in it. In the spare room.

  “Not everyone would make this big a commitment for nothing. Especially given...you know.” She made a kissy face and a yucky face in quick succession, gave a little decisive nod and started humming as she yanked open the fridge door and started noodling around inside for the hamburger fixings.

  He was glad she couldn’t see the sad smile he knew was hitting his face about now. He wanted, more than anything, to be a good friend to Saoirse. He could just as easily see himself wanting a whole lot more. She was a singular woman who deserved to be loved. Love he couldn’t give right now. Until he started tackling the promises he’d made to himself on the blood-soaked battlefields, he was no good to anyone. No one at all.

  * * *

  “Right.” James eyed them as he would a jury. First Santi, from whom he received a curt nod. Then Saoirse, who had to stop herself from giggling.

  “Are the waters muddy or clear on how this whole thing works?”

  “Clear!” they said in unison, hands raising as if they had a body between them and were about to deliver an AED shock. Their eyes hooked at the “jinx” and they both dissolved into uncontrolled laughter.

  “You’re right, babe.” James leaned over and gave his wife a kiss on the cheek. “They are a cute couple. You two won’t have any problems. I see setups come through all the time and I can tell you’re the genuine article.”

  Saoirse blinked a minute, trying to register his words. Santi seemed entirely unaffected by them and started peppering James with the best way to clean a barbecue grill.

  The genuine article?

  Saoirse looked across at Amanda, a veritable halo glowing around her she looked so happy. “You didn’t tell him?” Saoirse mouthed.

  Amanda shook her head, her grin widening as she did, then tipped her head in the direction of the kitchen.

  “Why didn’t you tell him this was fake?” Saoirse whispered when they reached the cool of the kitchen.

  “No-brainer! I’m not getting my husband involved in something I think is shady.” Amanda looked appalled. “Besides...” she smirked “...James sees exactly what I see.”

  “And what would that be? Exactly?” Saoirse’s tone was filled with a bit more attitude than she’d intended.

  “A spark. Lots of them,” Amanda replied, giving the counter a swipe with a sponge as she did. “I’ve been watching you two ever since you met and, frankly, I’m surprised he hadn’t already moved in.”

  “What? Are you crazy?”

  “No,” Amanda answered plainly. “There’s a whole lotta me thinks the lady doth protest too much going on here. C’mon, Murph. You totally have the hots for that guy and, if I’m not mistaken, he wouldn’t mind a little slice of Murphy pie either.”


  Saoirse glared at her friend. It was her only line of defense. Then blushed.

  “Sare-shae! You naughty little so-and-so!”

  “It’s Murphy,” Saoirse hiss-whispered, making a keep-your-voice-down hand gesture.

  Amanda leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed her arms. “When are you going to stop this?”

  “What?” She knew what Amanda was talking about, but decided rubbing at a nonexistent stain in the deep ceramic sink was more fruitful than playing along.

  “Acting like you don’t care. I’ve been trying to set you up for months and this is the first time you’ve bitten. Hook, line and sinker. And all of this pally-buddy stuff?”

  “What pally-buddy stuff?” she snapped back defensively.

  “Duh!” Amanda began raising a finger per point. “The spats. The arm punches. The high fives. The pretending you totally don’t secretly love it every time he gives you knuckle-rubs because it gives you a chance to take a deep, lovely inhalation of his gorgeous cinnamon man scent. I could go on but I’m running out of fingers. Suffice it to say, Murph, you’re fooling no one.”

  Saoirse opened her mouth to protest but nothing came out.

  “Murph...the way you behave with Santi is the equivalent of shoving a boy in the playground because what you really want to do is kiss him. Admit it.”

  Saoirse squirmed under her friend’s penetrating gaze.

  “Okay, fine.” She caved. “I kissed him.”

  “I knew I was right!” Amanda shouted, before remembering she was meant to be speaking under a cloak of secrecy, then stage-whispered, “I’m always right,” as if it erased the jubilant cry heard half the way to Brazil.

  “What did you know, hon?” James called from the patio.

  Saoirse pressed her hands together in prayer position and shook her head. No-no-no. Please don’t tell.

  “That Murph and Santi were hoping to get married on St. Patrick’s Day.” She hooked her arm through Saoirse’s and steered her back out into the tiny garden, beaming as if she were announcing her own nuptials. “Isn’t that cute? With Murphy being Irish and all?”

  * * *

  “Adorable,” Santi replied, eyes more narrow than wide with Amanda’s unexpected news flash.

  There was a date?

  If he’d thought moving into Saoirse’s had been a reality check, a bona fide wedding date really punched it home.

  He was going to have to make good with his brothers before then. Introducing them to his green-card bride without a bit of rift-fixing? Wasn’t going to happen.

  He did a mental scan through the year’s calendar... St. Patrick’s Day was about ten weeks away, by his calculations. Not a long engagement. Then again, his parents had met at a dance and had been engaged by the end of it, so by their terms?

  Ten weeks had been a lifetime. A lifetime the two of them hadn’t been able to share.

  He cleared his throat. It was time to get the ball rolling.

  Ten weeks was his new deadline to get things right with his brothers. He was sure they already thought he was nuts and adding this to his catalog of ill-advised life choices wasn’t going to change the portrait.

  “Well, then!” He watched as Saoirse put on her best hostess face. “Now that we’re all caught up on each other’s news, who’s up for going along to the track with me for a bit of pony car racing?”

  He, it appeared, wasn’t the only one feeling the heat.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “HIGH FIVE!” SANTI held up his hand as she beamed at his obvious pride over his bride-to-be’s panache at the wheel. She’d seriously messed it up today. The good-way kind of messing things up. Not her usual actual messing things up.

  “C’mon!” He prodded when she didn’t meet his hand. “High five!”

  “Nah.” She pulled off her helmet, shaking her pixie cut back into place. “We need a secret handshake. High fives are old-school.”

  “I like your style, Murph.” He nodded appreciatively before raising a finger of objection. “I get to pick it, though. Seeing as you shanghaied our wedding date.”

  “That was a week ago. Aren’t you over it yet?” Saoirse teased, then gave a resigned shrug. “Amanda’s a force of nature. I was powerless to resist. And I’m afraid the date is within the timeline we need to follow if the goal is to keep me in the country.” She tugged her fingers through her hair and tossed her helmet into the seat of her old beater. Signing up for race car driving was one of the best things she’d done since moving here. Amazing the amount of stress you could release by careening around a chicane without touching the brake pedal.

  “Don’t worry, mija. The timeline is fine. The goal is still the same.” Santi came around to her side of the car and without so much as a how-do-you-do tugged down the zip on her race jumpsuit in one fluid move.

  He may as well have slipped his hands inside the suit and caressed her bare skin for the impact it had. Her skin soared directly into hypersensitivity mode, little tingly shots of electricity bringing parts of her back to life she’d thought were long dormant. Her heart was skipping beats like it was going out of style. As she looked up into those gold-flecked eyes of his, she realized he was probably watching her pupils dilate, betraying her body’s response to his proximity. From a distance he was difficult enough to block out. Here? Not more than a few inches apart? Oh, for the love of a cashmere sweater... His stubble looked...soft.

  So much for all that hard-won concentration.

  “You’re not going to try to dye the champagne green or anything, are you?” Santi’s eyes twinkled as he looked down at her.

  “Obviously! It’s an Irish tradition.” She took a couple of steps back from him, feeling a serious need to regain a semblance of control.

  Champagne? How seriously was he taking this thing? “If you’re planning on inviting family, we can always have it on Cinco de Mayo or something. It’d be pushing things a bit from the paperwork end of things for me, but if we applied for a fiancée visa or I got an extension on—”

  “No, no. St. Patrick’s Day is fine.”

  Today would be fine.

  “And it’ll be just you and me,” he added. No family. Not yet anyway.

  “Against the world?” she added, her brow crinkling in a mirror image of his own, he suspected.

  Family.

  How could such a small word be so...loaded?

  Santi took a couple of steps back himself. He wasn’t the only one feeling the perfection of proximity. Or the danger.

  He’d realized it an hour ago, watching her driving around the track, face lit up like it was Christmas morning as she’d deftly swerved and veered her way around the course, him in the passenger seat wondering who had made this woman so courageous and real. He was not a passenger-seat kind of guy—and yet? Here he was, happy to go along for the ride.

  They clicked. On so many levels they clicked and day by day it was growing harder to pretend he was just a nice guy doing a nice girl a favor. Never mind the fact that sleeping in the spare room was just an exercise in torture. Even more so now that he was finally accepting that everything he was feeling for Saoirse was adding up to one thing: love. And there was nothing brotherly about it.

  Fast? Hell, yeah. But with a woman like this? Suffice it to say, if he’d been born in his father’s day, he would’ve asked her to marry him by the end of the first dance.

  Not that he had a clue what Saoirse was feeling. She didn’t do anything slow and steady—or halfway, from what he could gather. Not after what she had been through. It was now-or-never time. For everything.

  Was it the same for falling in love?

  His initial offer might’ve been all nonchalant and devil-may-care but now? Now he’d marry her to keep her in the country and give himself a fighting chance to see if she felt the
same way he did.

  He looked away and up to the sky, where some cloud cover was threatening to mask the morning sun.

  Who knew? Maybe this was what genuine arranged marriages were like. Someone saw they were a good potential match, made it, and then it was up to the couple to make good on the potential. Or maybe he was just thinking too damn much about everything because Saoirse made him horny and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. Love wasn’t only patient and kind. Love was a pain in the butt.

  “At the risk of doing the nagging-wife thing a bit early...” Saoirse went on tiptoe to catch his attention, then looked away when she knew she had it, “Are you actually ever going to call your brothers?”

  He had a little set-to with his hackles before answering as neutrally as he could. Like he’d said...pain in the butt.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll call.” Or drop by. And leg it off to the Keys for a long-overdue ride to try and get my head straight.

  “Because it’s weird going into the ER and panicking I’m going to see them.”

  “Don’t worry about it. They’re not ER kind of guys and generally not Seaside guys. They’re at Buena Vista more often than not.” From what he’d heard, anyway. His brothers had cut some serious pathways into each of their surgical specialties. He felt proud. From-a-distance pride.

  “That was a freakish one-off, but don’t worry. I’ll tell them about you. Us.” Her eye roll was too big to miss.

  All right! It was a fib. He meant to. And yet each day that passed made the next one harder. Especially when he knew all he needed to do was pick up the phone and get on with it. Make peace to find peace.

  He turned to see Saoirse give a little wiggle as she shrugged her shoulders out of her race suit, revealing a skimpy tank top skidding along the sides of her breasts. No need for imagination.

  “¡Caracoles!”

  “What was that?” Saoirse threw him a wary look.

  “Nada.”

  The opposite of nothing was more like it.