Pretend It's Love

by Stefanie London

  “Right.” She swallowed.

  How would she survive the night sleeping in the same bed as Paul? If she managed to keep her hands off him—which was unlikely—she wouldn’t get a wink of sleep. If she gave in to the magnetic pull then there was a high chance of her being completely unable to keep her wits about her at the wedding.

  That’s what he did to her. One look, one touch, was all she needed to forget why she was here. Forget why she stayed away from relationships. Forget how much she’d let people hurt her in the past. Hell, if he kissed her hard enough she’d probably forget her own name.

  But her father’s visit had reminded her why the happily-ever-after endings of Hollywood movies were a sham.

  “I can sleep on the couch,” he said, snapping her attention back to the present. “You take the bed. I couldn’t exactly ask for a room with two beds.”

  “No one would believe you were the waiting kind,” she said attempting to lighten the mood, but a dark shadow passed over his face. “Not after the way you kissed me at your parents’ place.”

  He nodded. “That was a hell of a kiss.”

  Talking about that would not help her state of mind, either.

  “What do we need to do for the rehearsal dinner?” Libby grabbed her suitcase and lifted it onto the bed so she could unpack.

  “Nothing. I have to give a speech, but you can just enjoy the wine and be your lovely self.” He dropped down onto the bed and watched as she meticulously removed the items from her suitcase.

  The tissue surrounding her wedding outfit crunched as she lifted it out and unwrapped it. The black silk gleamed. It was so glossy it appeared wet in the dying light. For a moment she regretted not going with the safe option.

  Hunger flared in Paul’s face, his eyes fixated on her as she unfolded the silk to show its full glory. “I have a feeling I’m going to like that dress.”

  Libby said nothing as she reached for a hanger, slipping the shoulders over it and setting it up to hang from the wardrobe door so any creases could fall out. She placed her shoes down on the floor next to it.

  “Is everything okay?” He narrowed his eyes at her as she continued to unpack.

  For a moment she contemplated spilling it all, telling Paul about her father and the seeds of doubt he’d planted in her mind. But Paul wouldn’t understand—his family was so warm and welcoming and kind. They loved one another too much to do the damage her father had done to her—well, except for Sadie and the other woman at the bridal shower.

  Besides, she’d resolved her desire to stay relationship-free. She liked Paul. Too much. That was precisely why she needed to put some barriers in place.

  “I’m fine. It’s been a long week. I spent a lot of time meeting with restaurants.” She forced a bright smile. “The press release I put out with a quote from your brother has done good things. Business is picking up again.”

  “That’s great news.” Paul nodded. “You should be really proud of yourself.”

  The words—intended to help, she was sure—turned in her stomach like sour milk. Should she be proud? What had her father said…cheap toxic cordial?

  “I am,” she said, hoping the words sounded truer than they felt. “I’m grateful to both you and Des for helping me.”

  “I don’t mind lending a hand, Tiger.” He walked over to where his jacket hung over the back of a chair and stuck his hand into one of the pockets. “Especially not now that we’re engaged.”

  She opened her mouth to fire off a comeback but the words evaporated on her tongue as he held out a small velvet box.

  “I guess I should do this properly.” He dropped down to one knee. “Libby Harris, will you do me the honor of pretending to marry me?”

  A ring sparkled amongst the plush velvet cushions of the box. The ring wasn’t traditional in any way. Teardrop diamonds criss-crossed the band like leaves in a wreath. Between the diamonds small rubies gleamed like berries.

  While Libby froze, Paul stood and clasped her hand, sliding the ring onto her finger. Her whole body sparked like she was the center of an electrical storm. The room shifted around her as blood rushed to her head.

  For a moment she could see the future. Waking up in the morning to Paul’s hands on her body, his lips whispering in her ear the words she’d longed to hear all her life: I love you, you belong. Except she, like her mother, had heard those words before. How long would it be before he got bored, before he strayed? Before she wasn’t good enough anymore?

  “The ring belongs to my family,” he said, running the pad of his thumb across her knuckles. “But it reminded me of you for some reason.”

  She wanted to believe him, but words meant nothing. Promises meant nothing. Her parents had told her they loved her as a child, but when was the last time she’d heard those words without them being attached to manipulation?

  Paul steeled himself against the shock on Libby’s face. Her hazel eyes widened as she gaped at the ring on her hand. The ring he’d slipped on as reverently as if it had actually meant something.

  What the hell are you doing? Stop treating this like a real engagement. You’re freaking her out!

  “Are we really doing this?” she asked, her eyes never moving from the band on her finger.

  It fit perfectly. Somehow he’d known it would.

  “As predicted, Mum told every living relative and most of our neighbors that I popped the question.”

  Libby cringed. “I still can’t believe I did that.”

  “Believe it. I’ve been fending off calls all week.” He took a step back and dragged his eyes away from her hand.

  “And after the wedding?” She looked up, her face pale. Drawn.

  He shrugged. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  Her head bobbed slowly. Her hand remained outstretched as though she wasn’t ready to accept that the ring was part of her. The message couldn’t have been clearer than if she’d carved it into a wall with a knife.

  This relationship is as fake now as it was on day one.

  “Paul…”

  He forced his shoulders down and his breath to come out evenly. “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry I’ve messed everything up.”

  “It’s fine. We’ll deal with it.” He waved her concern away and lifted his jacket from the chair, shrugging it on, one arm at a time. “I’ll see you at dinner. Okay?”

  She nodded at the ground.

  Paul left the hotel room so quickly it must have looked as though a ghost had chased him out. He followed the line of the hallway, finding his family already gathered in the reception area where they were waiting to make their way as a group to the wedding chapel.

  “Nervous?” he asked Gracie, who beamed up at him with a smile that could have lit an entire city.

  “Not even a little bit.” Her dark eyes sparkled.

  Gracie’s older sister stood next to her and held her hand. “This is such a special day. I’m so happy for you both.”

  “Don’t start crying.” Gracie swatted her. “You’ll set me off.”

  Paul gave his soon-to-be sister-in-law a quick hug and went off in search of his mother. She had already started walking toward the chapel, and Paul fell into step beside her.

  “Did you give her the ring?” she asked, looking up at him, her dark eyes filled with unstoppable excitement. “Where is she?”

  “She doesn’t need to be here for the rehearsal. You’ll see her at dinner.” They approached the chapel door, and Paul held it open for the others.

  “I’m so proud of my boys,” his mother said, shuffling past him.

  “You just want grandkids,” he called out after her and she laughed, nodding.

  Yep, he’d dug himself a hole the size of a continent. A hole that would be awfully dark and lonely without Libby.

  Chapter Thirteen

  By the time the rehearsal concluded, Paul was itching to make a break for it. He needed food and space, not necessarily in that order.

  Gracie’s
mother discussed something intently with the wedding planner while the bridal party and his parents stood around waiting. Her foot tapped a maddening beat against the floor as Gracie tried to smooth down the tension between the two women.

  “If I ever get hitched I’m eloping to Vegas,” Noah said, nodding toward the women. “No mother-in-law allowed.”

  “You want to get married?” Paul regarded his friend closely.

  Noah shrugged and rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “I’m talking hypothetically. It’ll never happen. Now you, on the other hand. You said weddings were stupid.”

  “Not you, too. Seriously, did she tell everyone?” He shook his head. “Besides, I believe I said tiny food was stupid.”

  “So it’ll be burgers and fries at the union of Paul Chapman and Libby…?”

  “Harris.” He swallowed past a lump in his throat. “Libby Harris.”

  “I’m happy for you man. She’s smart…well, except for her decision to date you.” He slapped Paul on the back. “I had a chat with her when she came in to help Des set up for the tasting. Not sure how you managed to snag such a great girl.”

  “I have no idea.” He shook his head.

  They filtered out of the chapel and made their way to the restaurant. Libby was nowhere in sight, but her name was written in looping cursive on the place card next to his seat at the table. He looked at the empty chair.

  “Were you worried I wouldn’t show?” She materialized beside him as if conjured straight from his deepest, darkest desires.

  Her hair was swept on top of her head, a few strands falling out to delicately frame her face. She’d changed out of jeans into a sleek black skirt and a silky emerald green top.

  “Why do you say that?”

  She shrugged and slipped her hand into his. The ring brushed against him as he interlaced his fingers with hers. “You were staring at the empty spot.”

  “Just wondering if they’d let me have your meal if you didn’t show. I’m starving.” He brushed him thumb over the ring, feeling the ridges of the setting as if memorizing them.

  “No way. I’m going to eat every last bite.”

  Libby stepped closer to him as his mother rushed over proclaiming that she just had to see how the ring looked on her. Her grip tightened, her arm pressing into his side. For now, they were in this together.

  He had twenty-four hours to decide what to do.

  Having Paul’s family fuss over her was a strange sensation. For some reason it reminded Libby of the time she’d been “invited” into the cool crowd at boarding school only to later find out it had all been a joke. She remembered crying over the lost sense of belonging, fleeting as it had been.

  Only this time she knew it was a sham up front.

  She toyed with the ring, twisting it around her finger until she was sure she’d worn a groove into her skin. The more people fussed, the closer she’d pressed against Paul. His arm around her was the only thing stopping her from running away, her promise to him the only thing holding her together.

  Watching the two families laugh and celebrate was a surreal experience. They included her, brought her into the conversation, explained the jokes, and allowed her a peek into the thing she’d never have. A real family.

  How would she ever be able to give this up?

  Even Gracie’s mother, who had a reputation as a bit of a control freak, seemed relaxed and was having a lively discussion with Paul’s father. If Libby’s father attended an event like this he would spend most of the evening complaining about the food and acting too important to partake in the conversation.

  The very thought of her father made Libby’s throat clench. Why couldn’t he love her the way she was? Why couldn’t he be proud of her?

  The waiters arrived at the table carrying dessert in an alternate drop. Chocolate mousse with raspberries and a heavenly slice of baked cheesecake. Too bad her appetite had been whittled away by the bad taste left in her mouth from that afternoon.

  “Don’t you like mousse?” Paul touched her leg under the table. “We can swap if you like. I’m not fussy when it comes to dessert.”

  She shook her head. “I love mousse.”

  “Then why are you looking at it like it’s the spawn of the devil?”

  “Dad came to see me today,” she blurted out, unable to carry the weight of that burden by herself.

  “Ahh.” Paul put his fork down and turned to her. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I know there’s no point rehashing it—he’ll never change.” She toyed with the ornate desert spoon, scooping out a miniscule amount and letting herself have a taste. “But he makes me so…so…”

  “Speechless?” he offered with a gentle squeeze of his hand.

  Despite herself, Libby smiled. “Ashamed.”

  “Why ashamed?”

  “Nothing I do is good enough. He never fails to make me feel like I’m this big.” She gestured with a small space between her fingers. “I’m like a failed experiment that he’s desperately trying to get back on track. I wish he’d leave me be.”

  “No you don’t.” Paul’s dark eyes cut through her, seeing the truth that she tried so hard to keep hidden.

  The little girl who’d only ever wanted to be loved by her family.

  “You want him to accept you,” he continued. “That’s why it hurts when he speaks to you like that. If you really wanted him to leave you be then you’d simply avoid him.”

  She blinked. “Well, look at you, Sigmund Freud.”

  “Not just a pretty face.” He winked and slung an arm around her shoulder, the tips of his fingers tracing a pattern at the edge of her sleeve. “I know a thing or two about difficult families.”

  “You don’t know how lucky you are. At least your parents love you.”

  “I’m sure yours do, too. If your father really thought you were a failure do you think he’d keep trying?”

  “Well…no,” she admitted. She’d seen her father cut ties with people he’d deemed not worth his time, and he’d done it without a backward glance. “But he’s trying to make me fit into his life plan.”

  “Yeah, because he thinks he knows what’s best.”

  She huffed. “He doesn’t. He said I’m wasting my life.”

  “Have you ever sat him down and explained why you want to work for yourself? What it means to you?”

  Of course she hadn’t, she’d decided to “stick it to the man” by putting her studies on hold without telling him and then she’d gone and done her own thing. She’d always done her own thing…that’s what you did if you were alone.

  She valued her independence even if it was borne out of loneliness.

  “I take that as a no.” Paul pressed his cheek to the top of her head.

  She turned, her face tucked in to the crook of his neck, the scent of aftershave on his skin kicking up memories of them together, of his hands on her. Of the way he made her feel wanted, desired. Whole.

  “You think I should talk to him?”

  He nodded. “It’s worth a shot. What’s the worst that can happen? He still doesn’t agree with you, and you’re no worse off than you are now.”

  She swallowed, already dreading the conversation. But Paul was right, her sudden rebellion must have come as a huge surprise to her father since she’d been so obedient her whole life. She hadn’t taken him through her business plan or told him her long-term goals. He didn’t know about the charity she hoped to set up once her business was stable, nor the volunteer work she’d signed up for at the local community center.

  Her business might not seem as important as his career as a surgeon. In reality, it probably wasn’t. She wasn’t saving lives, but she would make a difference to the women she worked with, the ones she’d eventually employ when the company grew. The ones she’d teach and nurture in her volunteer work.

  “Thank you,” she said, sitting up and dunking her spoon into the mousse.

  A warm smile spread across his lips. “You’re very welcome. I’m glad to see
the appetite is back.”

  She nodded. “This is amazing.”

  Beside her, Paul shifted in his seat. He pulled a set of white index cards out of his jacket pocket and tapped them against his thigh, bouncing his leg in a steady rhythm.

  “Is it speech time now?” she asked, trying to peek at his scratchy handwriting.

  He pressed the cards between his hands, hiding the words from her. “Almost.”

  “I thought best man speeches were only a duty for the big day.”

  He looked at her from the corner of his eye. “I’m giving a speech then, too, but this is something just for the immediate family. Don’t worry, I’ll be wheeling out all the embarrassing tales of Des’s childhood tomorrow.”

  “How far back did you have to go to get any dirt on him?”

  Paul crinkled his nose. “Too far. He’s always been the more serious brother. But there is a story about a disastrous tattooing incident.”

  She took a sip of her champagne, grateful for the diversion from her inner turmoil. “Do tell.”

  “You’ll have to wait till tomorrow like everyone else. You don’t get privileges just ’cause I put a ring on it.” He leaned in and nipped at her earlobe before planting a kiss on her cheek.

  Libby caught Des and his mother watching them, their heads turning back to each other when she caught their eye. Leone looked so happy she might spontaneously combust. Had Paul kissed her because she was looking? Libby couldn’t tell what was real and what was for show anymore.

  Swallowing her unease, she smiled at Paul just as a blissfully happy fiancée would…or at least how she imagined one would. “What’s this speech about?”

  “You’ll see.” His face turned serious, the playful sparkle in his eyes replaced by an unreadable blankness. “Listen carefully, though.”

  What on earth was that supposed to mean? Before she could ask, Paul stood and held the cards loosely in one hand. He looked powerful and handsome in his suit, the cut making his broad shoulders look even more imposing and his slim waist even more defined. Though with a body like his you could dress him in a paper bag, and he’d still look incredible.

  “My brother has asked me to say a few words tonight,” Paul started. “But first I’d like to raise a toast to Des and Gracie. May tomorrow be everything you hoped for and more.”