by Carolyn Zane
Ty pulled his head up out of his hands just in time to see Denny Delmonico arrive at their table. Uncle Denny. Roxanne’s Uncle Denny. Owner-of-Connstarr Uncle Denny. Damn.
“Mr. Delmonico! Good to see you, sir.” Smiling, Ty scrambled to stand and grasp the proffered hand.
The short, plump, balding man pumped Ty’s hand enthusiastically as his twinkling eyes swept the table. “The pleasure is all mine, son. And please, call me Denny,” he instructed in his loud, jolly voice. “This must be your lovely wife. Roxanne told me you were recently married.” He reached over and clasped Emily’s hand in a warm greeting.
“Looks like she’ll have no trouble keeping you in line,” he exclaimed jovially, referring to the bruise under his eye.
“Yes, sir.” Ty shot a bemused look at the red-faced Emily.
“You are a lucky son of a gun, Ty, old boy,” Uncle Denny said, his eyes straying to Helga. “Hoarding three such beautiful women all to yourself should be a crime!”
Quickly snatching off her hairdresser’s cape and tossing it onto the floor, Helga preened under the male attention and held her hand out to Uncle Denny, who took it and pressed it to his lips.
Tyler was too stunned to remember his manners. His heart was racing a mile a second. They weren’t ready! They hadn’t rehearsed! What the hell was he going to do now? Uncle Denny was actually kissing this loose cannon’s hand. Good Lord, he thought, clutching at his collar and gasping for air, he was having a stroke.
“And you are?” Uncle Denny seemed not to notice Ty’s discomfiture or lack of manners as he gazed into Helga’s mischievous eyes.
“His mom,” she said, and grinned devilishly at Ty.
Ty blanched.
“Sweetheart, are you all right?” Emily asked, wifely concern written all over her carefully made-up face. “You seem a little pale.” She reached out to grasp Ty’s arm as he sank back down into his seat.
“Fine, honey, just fine,” he muttered.
Denny frowned at Ty. “You haven’t been working too hard, have you son?” Turning his attention back to Helga, he said, “You must be real proud of your boy.”
“Well, I like to think he wouldn’t be where he is today without me.” Helga winked flirtatiously up at Denny. “We haven’t ordered yet, Denny, old boy, so why don’t you sit on down with us and take a load off?”
Much to Ty’s chagrin, Uncle Denny didn’t need to be asked twice.
“Why—” he chuckled at Helga’s delightful turn of phrase “—don’t mind if I do.”
For Ty, the entire meal passed in a haze. Luckily for him, Denny kept the conversational ball rolling with Helga and Carmen, while Emily cast an occasional worried glance in his direction. He still couldn’t believe what was happening.
Helga’s ribald laughter and bawdy jokes would have been the death of him, if Denny hadn’t seemed completely charmed by her incredible lack of social grace. Thank heaven for Emily.
For even though Denny managed to put her on the spot more than once, she fielded his questions with an inborn sense of grace. If her answers were less than logical, well, that wasn’t her fault. Maybe, sometime between now and Monday night, he could get her alone and they could work on getting their “marriage” story straight. His eyes strayed back to Emily, who was looking suddenly flustered.
“I don’t know... I guess that would be all right,” she hedged.
Emily’s uncertain voice snapped Tyler out of his reverie and back into the conversation at hand. What were they talking about? He shrugged helplessly at her, looking for clues to the topic.
Seeming to take his body language as noncommittal, Emily made an executive decision.
“I know Carmen would be thrilled. And I’m sure if... Mother Helga would like to attend, we’d all love to. Wouldn’t we, hon?”
What? Love to what? Tyler’s panic-stricken eyes were practically boring her in two with their intensity, as he tried to figure out what Mother Helga and Carmen would love to do with Uncle Denny. He smiled bravely and tried to exude that good, old Connstarr corporate confidence.
“Ah, I guess so.” Whatever. If it made the owner of the company happy, then sure, hell, he’d go along with it.
“That’s great!” Uncle Denny beamed, joyfully pounding the table till the china rattled. “I just know you’ll have a great time.”
Helga snorted with glee. “Are you kidding, Denny, old boy? I’ll have you know, I bleed Dodger blue!” Yanking her napkin from around her throat, she wiped at the glob of salad dressing on her chin.
“You’re a Dodgers fan?” Uncle Denny’s eyes misted slightly. “My dear, I had a feeling you were a woman after my own heart.”
Punching the red-faced Denny affectionately in the arm, Helga said, “Fan? I practically lived at that stadium. Well, actually, I lived under the blea—”
Tyler tossed his wineglass into the middle of the table in an effort to shut Helga up. “Oh, I’m so sorry! How clumsy of me,” he apologized, and shot Emily a glance that could wither the centerpiece on the table. Now not only was Emily going to the first big client meeting in his new position this coming Monday, but Helga and Carmen, too? They would never be able to pull this escapade off in front of Roxanne. Let alone a savvy client.
“You knucklehead,” Helga huffed, and tossed her napkin over the river of wine that channeled its way across the table. “He always was a clumsy child,” she said, assuming the role of martyred mother with gusto.
Emily smiled sympathetically at Ty. “Cheer up, hon. It could happen to anyone.”
No. Not anyone. Just him. This could only happen to him.
* * *
Emily giggled. “You have to admit, it was pretty funny when your mother tried to show Uncle Denny her tattoo.”
Ty groaned. “She’s not my mother. My mother would roll over in her grave if she were dead. We were never rich, but we were proud.”
Studying Ty from where she sat across from him on the living room couch, she realized just how little she still knew about this mysterious man. He was an enigma. With his dark, brooding good looks and his snapping emerald eyes, it was hard to tell what he was thinking. Emily had a feeling that he was the type whose trust was hard-won. Something about the combination of cool aloofness he displayed in public and his desperate need for her help fascinated Emily. She’d never met anyone like him.
“Stop laughing,” he groused. “Why couldn’t she have said she was your mother?” Exhaling noisily, he walked over to the wet bar to get them each a couple of soft drinks.
“Because she likes you.”
“Ha.” Ty muttered a few unsavory opinions under his breath. “She likes to see me sweat.” Crossing the room, he handed her a can of soda, and flopped tiredly on the couch across from her.
Helga and Carmen, exhausted from their big day of shopping and dining out, had turned in early, leaving Emily and Ty to spend the evening alone together. Sharing sandwiches in the living room had been Ty’s idea, and that suited Emily fine. She was still full from their late-afternoon lunch with Uncle Denny.
“I think you handled the situation very well,” she complimented in an effort to relieve some of the lines in his haggard expression.
“Mmm-hmm. Sure. If you call arguing with my mother about finishing all the food on my plate ‘very well,’ then I guess I did a swell job.” Ty shook his head in disgust.
“She was just getting into her role. She really wants to help Carmen. And in some weird way, I think she wants to help you.” Emily frowned thoughtfully. “Plus, you have to remember, it drives her crazy to see people throw away perfectly good food.”
“Is that why she plowed through the leftovers on Uncle Denny’s plate?”
“He didn’t seem to mind.” Emily laughed. “I think he’s taken with her.”
“I think he’s taken leave of his senses.”
“Just be thankful she didn’t lick her plate clean. She taught Carmen that charming habit.”
“Oh, good grief.”
Emily smiled at the pained expression on his face. “Come on, Ty. Admit it. She did just fine. Especially considering we weren’t expecting to meet anyone from your company for at least another week.”
“Yeah.” Ty nodded grudgingly. “When she wasn’t sending me into cardiac arrest, I guess she was fine.” Propping his arms on his knees, he reached for a sandwich and took a healthy bite. After a moment he swallowed and said, “We have a lot of work to do this next week. All of us. But, most especially, you and me.”
“Us? Why?”
“Because we’re the married ones. High school sweethearts and all that. We have to know everything about each other, or Roxanne will eat us for breakfast.” Taking a swig of his drink, a pensive expression crossed his face. “I think we should all rehearse the family thing on the weekends, mornings and early evenings. Then, after Mom and the kid hit the rack, you and I will stay up and practice our thing.”
Emily felt a surge of dread mixed with anticipation snake its way between her shoulder blades and slither down her spine. Just what did he mean when he said “practice our thing”? Dying of curiosity, but afraid to ask, she nodded and managed to ask, “Oh?”
“Sure,” Ty mumbled around bites of his sandwich. “You know, we should make up some stuff about our past and call each other honey and sweetheart and, you know, hold hands and whatever it is that newlyweds do.” He awkwardly averted his eyes from hers for a moment. “Not that you need that much work. I mean, you were really great in the restaurant today. I think Uncle Denny was impressed.”
Picking up her sandwich, Emily took a large bite so that she wouldn’t have to respond to what he’d just said. Her heart tapped a sporadic rhythm in her breast as she tried valiantly to swallow what must have been a delicious sandwich, although it tasted like cardboard to her. What exactly was it that newlyweds did? What did he think they did? Just how much practice did they need? Her gaze strayed to his masculine, chiseled lips, and her stomach tightened with nervous expectation.
In an effort to rein in her emotions, she forced her thoughts to her research. She had to stay on target, she told herself sternly. The plight of the homeless was her main concern here.
“So, what do you think? I think we should start now. The sooner we get into character, the better chance we have of getting Roxanne off my back.”
“Uh, sure.” Emily tried to swallow the last cardboard bite. “Um...well...where should we begin?”
“Well, honey.” He grinned easily at her. “I’ll go get my high school yearbook, and fill you in on some of the pertinent background info.”
“Okay, uh, honey.” How awkward that one little word felt, when Uncle Denny wasn’t around to impress. She felt the heat steal up her neck to her cheeks.
As Ty left the room to hunt up his annual, Emily tried to remember again why she’d agreed to this ridiculous charade, and how it related to what she was in L.A. for in the first place. It was then she remembered the pleasure on Carmen’s face when Ty had bought her the baby doll with the eyes that blink, today at the mall. Yes. It was worth it. Every wacky hoop she had to jump through. For that one moment alone, it was worth it.
* * *
“Oh, honey. You’re kidding!” Emily cried, pointing to the photo of Tyler as a junior varsity football player, whose soulful dark eyes stared at her from the depths of his gaunt little face. “That’s you?”
Tyler smiled nostalgically. “That’s me, all right, honey. All fifty pounds.”
It was well after midnight, and they were both sprawled out on the living room floor, studying the array of photo albums and yearbooks spread out around them. At first the endearments had seemed very stilted to Emily as she’d struggled to refer to her latest employer as honey and sweetheart. But the more they practiced, the easier it became, until soon it almost seemed second nature.
“You were so cute, darling,” she gushed, affecting adoration.
Tyler howled with laughter. “You’re good. I can almost believe you think the scarecrow in that picture is cute!” Reaching out, he affectionately ruffled her new, short hairdo.
“Well, he is!” Emily batted her eyes coquettishly at him. “My little cutie pie.” Speaking baby talk, she patted the picture with wifely affection.
“Ha! Knock it off, sweetheart. You’re embarrassing me.” Ty ducked his head under his arm, pretending to be shy as his body shook with laughter.
His carefree mood was contagious.
“Oh, now, honey... There’s no need to be shy!” Emily tried to pry his arm off his head. “It’s just me, the little woman. The one who knows all your secrets,” she teased, giggling as Ty buried his head farther under his arm. Reaching down along his rib cage, she prodded his ribs with her fingertips, till he had to come up for air.
He tried to feign petulance over his laughter as he slapped the photo album closed and dragged it under his belly. “I’m not gonna show you any more pictures, if you’re gonna laugh at me, honey!” He pouted.
“Who’s laughing?” She giggled, and dived for the photo album.
“Yeah, right,” he panted, pulling her hands out from under him and pinning her down on the floor beside him. “I’d like to see a picture of you when you hit adolescence.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “I was a fairy princess, honey. You know that,” she gasped, trying to wrest her arms from his firm grasp and abscond with the book, still hidden under his strong body.
Laughing, Ty reached under his belly and sent the album sailing across the living room floor as she attempted to tickle and burrow her way into the pictures of his past.
“Oh, no, you don’t, Cinderella,” he grunted. Grabbing her arms, he held them over her head with one hand, and plunged the other into her soft, silky hair. “It’s not fair,” he complained, his face only inches from hers. “You know everything about me, and I don’t know anything about you. Maybe...” His breathing became somewhat ragged. “Maybe you are some kind of character out of a fairy tale. Is that it? Are you here to grant me a wish?” His eyes grew dark as they roamed her face, trying to discover what they could about her silent past.
Emily knew that the nature of their friendly wrestling match had taken a sudden, serious turn, and she stilled as he hovered above her, her heart palpitating irregularly. She wished she could read his mind as his fathomless gaze raked over her with an intensity that left her feeling somehow scalded.
“Because if that’s the case, I wish...” He lowered his mouth slightly at an angle over hers. “I wish...” he whispered, his lips brushing hers lightly. “I...” His words were lost as his mouth found hers.
She wanted to fight it. She wanted to deny that his soft, sweet, electrifying kiss had any effect at all on her analytical, research-oriented mind. She wanted to remain cool, detached, uninvolved in this phase of her study. But, try as she might, she couldn’t.
An involuntary moan, whispered soft in her throat, must have answered any doubts Ty might have had, because he released her arms from where he’d captured them over her head and, pulling her closer still, deepened the kiss.
She marveled at the almost unbearably exquisite sensations he evoked as his mouth explored hers. Drawing her fingers up to where their lips met, she traced the stubble up along his jaw and into his thick, brown hair, exploring its texture like a woman starved. It wasn’t until that moment that Emily realized she’d been homeless all her life. Drifting. Incomplete. Because the moment Tyler’s mouth settled over hers, Emily knew she had come home. For the first time in her life. And even though she felt a passion—dangerously close to flaring out of control—lurking beneath the gentle touch of his mouth, she believed with all her heart, at that moment, that she’d found safe harbor with Ty.
“Emily!” The tiny voice barely penetrated her foggy mind. “Emily. ¿Donde est?” Carmen’s tearful voice reached her from the top of the stairs.
Reluctantly, and with obvious frustration, Ty pulled his mouth from hers and allowed her to sit up.
“Just a minute, sweetheart,” sh
e called to the frightened child. “I’ll be right there. Okay?”
“Okay,” the young girl sniffed as her pajama-clad feet scuffed across the hardwood floor toward her room.
Flustered, Emily glanced at Ty, and straightened the new clothes he’d bought her that afternoon. “She has a problem with nightmares, so I should go.”
“Of course.” Standing, Ty held his hand out and pulled her to her feet. He looked suddenly boyish and vulnerable, his eyes darting uncertainly to the floor and then back to hers. “Thanks for practicing the newlywed thing with me tonight,” he said offhandedly, as though the intimate moment they had just shared was all part of the act. “I think it went pretty well, for...you know, our first try.”
Obviously the moment had far more of an impact on her than it had on him, Emily reflected, feeling foolish at having gotten so carried away with the part she was playing. “Sure. No problem. Tomorrow we’ll practice the family thing.”
“Right. I have the day planned out for tomorrow,” he told her, suddenly all-business. “If you, and the two of them, could be downstairs and in casual clothes by 8:00 a.m., that would be perfect.”
“Eight it is.” She nodded, imitating his demeanor. “Well, then—” she turned to leave the living room, flustered by his sudden change in temperature “—good night.”
“Good night,” he echoed. As she started up the stairs he corrected himself. “I mean, good night, honey.”
Glancing down at him, she saw him grin as he headed back toward the living room.
Saturday, July 23.
Dear Diary:
Today I was able to observe Helga and Carmen as they were integrated into society. I was truly amazed at how well they both did, all things considered. Perhaps this could be another angle to contemplate for my thesis? Integrating the homeless. Hmm. I’ll have to give it a lot of thought.
I, on the other hand, am not faring as well as my two compatriots. My main problem seems to be remembering why I’m here. I need to refocus, regroup, get back on track.
Tomorrow is a new day. After a good night’s sleep, I’m sure I’ll be able to concentrate, without distraction, on my project.