Pretending with the Playboy

by Tracey Livesay

  Tired of wasting mental energy on LoLo and not wanting to ponder his aunt’s condition until he saw her, Carter pulled out his iPad and reviewed documents on several upcoming projects. Forty tension-filled minutes later, they drove between the stone and brick entrance pillars of his childhood home and pulled to a stop.

  Home was an inadequate word to describe over twenty-three thousand square feet of concrete, steel, and brick featuring intricate hand-carved architectural details, decorative fountains, grand terraces, and stunning views of Lake Michigan. Mansion? Palace? Compound?

  As if recognizing the locale, a memory detached itself from his subconscious and floated to the fore: standing in the circular drive, watching the brake lights illuminate briefly, before fading as the car turned the corner…his aunt sliding an arm around his waist, a little squeeze.

  “Don’t worry, Carter. You have me and I’m not going anywhere.”

  A sense of urgency assailed him. Not waiting for the driver, Carter leapt from the car and rushed up the tumbled limestone stairs. The twelve-foot wrought-iron doors opened and the soft eyes and warm smile of his family’s cook welcomed him home.

  “Maria!”

  He enfolded her in his arms, the scents of cinnamon and chocolate the domestic air freshener of his youth. He inhaled deeply.

  “Oh, Mr. Carter. It’s been too long.”

  “You haven’t aged a day since I left. Do I smell your wonderful caramel apple tarts?”

  “Miss Lauren called ahead to let us know you were coming.”

  “You’re an angel. We’ll talk later, but first I need to see my aunt.”

  “Of course. I’ll send a tray up to her suite.”

  He squeezed her hands and then crossed the black and white checkered marble floors. A tall, bearded man he didn’t recognize stood at the base of the hand-carved wooden staircase.

  “Dr. Tye, I’m glad you’re here. Have you already examined Dorothy for the day?” LoLo asked, brushing past him to shake the man’s hand.

  “I just finished,” Dr. Tye said. “I stepped out to make a phone call.”

  LoLo turned and gestured in his direction. “This is Carter Richardson, Dorothy’s nephew. Dr. Tye,” she added to Carter, “is Dorothy’s oncologist. If you two will excuse me, I’m going to let her know we’re home.”

  He watched her retreating figure. As she ascended the stairs, her hips swayed like an erotic pendulum and his breath quickened. Damn. She made climbing the stairs as hot as a burlesque routine. As if sensing his regard, she met his gaze. They stared at each other for a long moment and his heart galloped in his chest. This wasn’t good. LoLo was a no-no. She craved stability and was tied to his family, two reasons to call a halt to his runaway libido. He broke contact first, shifting his regard back to the doctor. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her continue down the hall and out of his view.

  “I’ve heard so much about you,” Dr. Tye said, holding out a slim, elegant hand.

  Carter shook it and smiled ruefully. “I wish I could say the same. Can we talk for a moment?”

  “Of course.”

  “Where are we now?”

  “We performed the hysterectomy. Afterward, we’d usually prescribe several rounds of chemotherapy.”

  “But?” he prompted, picking up on the doctor’s unspoken clue.

  “It can be contraindicated with this type of cancer and at her advanced age.”

  “Is it her best option?”

  “Absolutely. The chemotherapy would destroy most of the remaining cancerous cells. But it’s an arduous process and the chemicals would ravage her body.”

  “And without the chemo?”

  Dr. Tye shook his head. “There’s no cure for cancer.”

  He exhaled, hope escaping as if he’d held it hostage. He clenched his jaw. “LoLo said there was an option for an experimental treatment?”

  “LoLo?” Dr. Tye’s face clouded then cleared. “Oh, Lauren. Right.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve procured a spot for Dorothy in a clinical trial outside of Boston. It’s based on the concept of MBCR, Mindfulness Based Cancer Recovery. It won’t cure her, but it’s produced excellent results retarding the growth of cancerous cells. That would translate into extra time, with a better quality of life.”

  “How much time?”

  “Recent results have shown anywhere from two to six years.”

  Hope, once again, expanded in his chest. “When would she start?”

  “In a couple of months. Until then, she needs to get a lot of rest, and above all else, stay calm. There is a protein marker in the blood that when elevated signifies the presence of ovarian cancer. In order for the clinical trial to have a chance of working, they require the participants to have a low level when the trial starts. Right now, Dorothy is just below that level. Studies have suggested a link between extreme stress and the rate of cancerous cell growth, which would boost the level of that protein marker in her blood serum. The last thing we want is to foster an environment that promotes cancer cells metastasizing.” He stopped and stared at Carter. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Like it was engraved on his cerebral cortex. No stress. Nothing to upset or anger Dorothy that would cause that protein level count to rise above the clinical trial minimum.

  Thanking the doctor, he headed up the stairs to Dorothy’s room. The setting sun shone through the grand foyer’s thirty-foot-high windows, the beams creating a luminous path down the long hallway leading to the doors that stood closed at the other end.

  Suddenly, each step forward required greater effort than the last, as if anxiety conjured up ten-pound weights for each ankle and momentum multiplied the strain. By the time his fingers gripped the antique metal doorknob, he felt as if he’d pushed a half-ton boulder up a mountain. Still, he powered on, turning the knob and entering the room.

  Shock was an invisible wall that halted his progress.

  Propped up in a king-sized bed, on the far side of a large room, was an alarming husk of the woman he remembered. Her once pearl white hair, tarnished to a dingy yellow, dangled in limp strands around a face that had withered to cheekbones, nose, and chin. His gaze sought out LoLo, who sat next to her on the bed.

  Oh my God. What happened to her?

  “Carter,” Dorothy said, “You came home.” Her voice was rough, the words shaped and abraded by sickness. Her brown eyes, receded and ringed with dark circles, filled with tears.

  He wove his way across the room, past the writing desk, the fireplace, and the conversational grouping of wingback chairs, to reach Dorothy’s side. He perched on the edge of the light blue blanket, grasped her fingers, and struggled not to flinch at the skeletal thinness of her hand.

  “Don’t worry, Carter. You have me and I’m not going anywhere.”

  With a touch more delicate than he ever believed he could manage, he turned her hand over and laid his cheek upon her palm.

  “I’m sorry, Aunt Dorothy.”

  “There’s no need to apologize.”

  “But you’ve been trying to call me and I—”

  “It doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”

  He almost wished she’d berated him. Her easy acceptance only amplified the pain and guilt residing in his heart. He tried to lighten the mood.

  “You didn’t have to go to these extremes to get me to visit. A good bourbon and a dozen of Maria’s apple tarts would have worked just as well.”

  “I don’t believe in bribery.”

  That was the Dorothy Richardson he knew. She might look like she was almost gone, but his aunt was still in there.

  “You’ve got everyone around here fooled. Canc—this illness won’t get the best of you. You’re too stubborn for modern diseases. It would take typhus or the bubonic plague to get you to take a sick day.”

  “Carter, this isn’t the time—” LoLo began.

  “She’s not some wilting flower,” he told her. “Stop treating her as if she’s already gone.”

  Dorothy touched
his hand. “Lauren told me your friend chartered a plane for you.”

  “Marcus is very generous,” he said.

  “He got married last year, right?”

  “Yes, to Pamela Harrington.” Carter couldn’t prevent his smile. “He’s one lucky bast— um, guy.”

  “Because she’s beautiful?” LoLo sniffed. “Marcus Pearson struck me as the type of man who would require a little more in a wife.”

  Carter frowned, annoyed that LoLo had spent any time pondering the type of man Marcus was. “Since you don’t know Pamela, you have no basis to determine the qualities she may or may not possess.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know her, but I know you.”

  What in the hell did she mean by that? He would have pursued it further, but he looked down and noticed Dorothy’s furrowed brow. Shit.

  “I saw their pictures online,” Dorothy said. “They make a striking couple. Did you know her mother and I attended the same college?”

  Carter nodded. “I remember you knew her, but I couldn’t recall the exact connection.”

  “How are they doing? Is he happy?”

  “If his diminished time in the office is any indication, I would say yes.”

  “He’s spending less time at work?”

  “Before Pamela, Marcus was in the office about seventeen hours a day. Now, we’re lucky if we get him for a solid ten.”

  Dorothy nodded. “That’s what happens when you have someone waiting for you at home.” She squeezed his hand. “That’s what you need.”

  Unbelievable. Even dealing with an extreme illness, his aunt couldn’t let a conversation end without a pitch for matrimony. “Not this again.”

  “I love you. Can’t I be worried about your welfare?”

  “My social life, not my welfare. There’s a difference.”

  “Your parents are dead, you have no siblings, and you’ve lost touch with your extended family. I don’t want you to be alone,” Dorothy insisted, so vehemently that she started coughing, a hacking sound painful to witness.

  His heart seized. He stood by, frustrated, while LoLo poured her a glass of water. She held it for Dorothy, as the older woman sipped it down, offering a smile of gratitude as the attack ceased. LoLo took a napkin and wiped the corners of his aunt’s mouth, then sat back. His eyes met hers again, another silent share of information. This time, she looked away first.

  Outside Dorothy’s room, the sharp click of heels on the hardwood floors, in concert with a heavier tread, indicated new arrivals.

  “He’s really here?”

  Carter recognized the deep pitch threaded with pleading undertones as belonging to his father’s cousin, Edworth.

  “So the wind finally blew him back to Chi-caw-go.”

  The nasal, upper crust tones of Edworth’s wife, Allison.

  The door opened and they posed in the doorway, a cover shot for American WASP.

  “Still a hero’s welcome, even when you’re three weeks late,” Allison chided.

  Allison Rothchild Richardson came from an old Chicago family. She wielded her blue blood like a corrupt cop wielded his badge: to command authority, instill fear, and maintain hierarchy.

  LoLo exhaled loudly. “This isn’t helping Dorothy,” she said to Allison.

  Allison’s chest jutted forward, her mouth tightening. “I won’t be spoken to like that by the hired help, Edworth.”

  Edworth ignored her, unhappiness a dark cloud that hovered around him. “Does your presence mean you’re coming home?” he asked Carter.

  Carter could never come back to stay. He had needed to make a name for himself, outside of his family’s influence. It’s the reason he’d worked so hard at PE to become the top in his field. He shook his head. “This isn’t my home. It hasn’t been for a long time.”

  “We’ve managed fine in your absence,” Allison proclaimed. “Edworth works closely with Dorothy. RichCorp is thriving and your trust account is growing. We don’t need you.”

  Dorothy’s eyebrows drew together. “You’re not staying?”

  Another thing he didn’t want to discuss. He patted her hand. “I just got here.”

  She gripped his arm. “You can’t leave, Carter. Please tell me you’re staying.”

  “Dorothy, calm down,” LoLo said.

  “If he doesn’t want to be here, respect his wishes,” Allison said. “Let him go back to DC. We’re not going to beg him to stay.”

  “Don’t leave. You can’t,” Dorothy cried, her eyes widening as her breathing increased.

  The strength of Dorothy’s emotions seemed disproportionate to the issue. With Dr. Tye’s words rebounding in his head, he cupped his aunt’s cheek. “Hey, hey. My schedule is clear. I’m not going anywhere.”

  She reached up and pressed her hand against his. “I need you to be here, Carter. I want my family around me when my time comes.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “I’m being realistic.”

  He shook his head, pulling away from her. “Stop it.”

  She clutched his arm, her strength surprising. “I thought I would have more time—”

  “Dorothy, please. Remember what Dr. Tye said about remaining calm,” LoLo pleaded.

  Dorothy never looked away from him. “What about afterward, when I’m gone? Will you stay here?”

  “When you leave for the clinical trial in Boston?” he asked.

  “No, when I die!”

  LoLo pointed at Edworth. “Get Dr. Tye. Now.”

  Edworth left.

  Allison sighed. “Really, this is ridiculous—”

  “If you go back,” Dorothy continued, “you’ll be alone!”

  “I’m not alone,” he said automatically.

  “Yes you are! And it weighs on me that you won’t have anyone to take care of you.”

  “Dorothy. You’ve got to stop. This isn’t good for you,” LoLo said. She stood, her gaze darting between him and Dorothy.

  “I’m not a kid anymore. I can take care of myself,” he said.

  “That’s not what I’m talking about,” Dorothy countered. “We all need somebody to love. Aren’t you tired of being by yourself?”

  “Believe me, I have more than my fair share of company,” he joked, hoping he could charm a smile from her.

  It didn’t work.

  “Those women don’t know you, Carter! They don’t care about you.”

  “But that’s the way I want it,” he said.

  A shiver of unease ran down his back. Through his growing fear, he forced himself to give her the easy smile that always got him out of trouble, like the time he crashed her car when he was sixteen.

  “I want you happy, like your friend.”

  He turned his head slightly. His friend? Marcus? Happy like…Marcus.

  “If I knew you had someone, I could take it easy,” she said, wheezing as her body struggled for air. “I could—”

  “I have someone,” he announced.

  A gasp, an inhalation and a “say what now?” followed his revelation, but he ignored them, his mind kneading and shaping an idea into a plan. Marcus and Pamela were happy now, but their marriage began as a charade. Maybe he could steal a scene from their rom-com.

  Dorothy’s eyes widened. “A girlfriend?” she forced out.

  He began to nod when she shook her head and another bout of coughing wracked her thin frame.

  Would he have to go further? Link between stress and cancer growth…

  “No, not my girlfriend. My fiancée.”

  “You’re getting married?” Dorothy stared at him, her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed.

  “I was going to tell you later, after you started the clinical trial. I didn’t want to overly excite you.”

  Dorothy grabbed his hand. “Do I know her?”

  “We’ll talk about the details later. Now, you need to relax. Focus on this treatment. Get well.”

  “I want to meet her.” Determination reinforced her words and stripped voice.

  Cart
er glared at LoLo and her head jerked back the tiniest fraction, her eyes wide and confused. If he could go back in time, he would turn over, bury his head under the pillow, and ignore the goddamned pounding. Between the unwelcome wakeup call, delivering the bad news about Dorothy, and this inconvenient desire for her he couldn’t shake, she’d been a pain in his ass from the moment she’d shown up on his doorstep. And not the good kind.

  Dorothy looked from him to LoLo and back again. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks were flushed, and her chest rose and fell as she labored to breathe. She squeezed his hand.

  “You mean…”

  Shit. He looked back at LoLo, who was doing her impersonation of the Home Alone kid, minus the hands. He would do whatever it took to keep his aunt calm and stress-free, and LoLo was the only other person he knew who loved Dorothy as much as he did, maybe more.

  Decision made, he took a deep breath and nodded. “That’s right, Aunt Dorothy. LoLo and I are getting married.”

  Chapter Four

  Lauren laughed.

  Not the ladylike titter Allison trilled at social functions, nor the refined chuckle that Dorothy emitted, but a laugh like the first time she’d watched the movie Bridesmaids: loudly and with great abandon.

  Engaged to Richie Rich? A preposterous idea. She pressed her hands to her face, her cheeks smarting from the laughter. No one in their right mind would ever believe the scion of one of the most prominent Chicago families, and a well-known playboy, would willingly tie himself to…her.

  Opening her eyes, she faced the fierce scrutiny of three intense gazes. Her hand flew to the base of her throat where her pulse fluttered against her fingers.

  He’d been joking, right?

  But as she looked at Carter, she knew he wasn’t attempting to lighten the mood. His eyes compressed to slits, telegraphing his intent and demanding her acquiescence.

  “You can’t be serious?” Allison’s screech of denial was jarring.

  Maybe the world was ending? First, she got Carter to Chicago, second, she managed to not kill him en route, and third, she agreed with Allison on an important issue?