“You’re awful,” Greer said. “I’m recording this conversation, and if Kiki and I were ever in a mud wrestling fight, I would take her in the first thirty seconds.”
“Baloney,” he said as she pushed past him and sat down.
He was right. She was full of baloney. She wasn’t recording the conversation, and she didn’t like mud. She’d mince around and try to avoid tangling with Kiki. But she could threaten. She could also be the bigger person, ignore Pierre, stay in the contest, and hope to win fair and square. Another option would be to walk away from the contest entirely, but for two reasons she wouldn’t: one, Royal Bliss was still as beautiful as ever, and she wanted it, especially now that she was “really–not really” engaged until she and Ford decided otherwise. And two, she wasn’t sure if Pierre was lying. Maybe he really was going to mess with Two Love Lane if she won.
A frisson of fear ran through her. A brat like Pierre might not be worthy of her attention, but she would be required to expend energy on him anyway because she had no idea how unpredictable and destructive he might turn out to be. She reassured herself that if she needed to battle him, the man had no idea what a force she was when she teamed up with Macy, Ella, and Miss Thing.
So with all that on her mind, she was pretty much in a daze when Henny asked her three questions about Ford during La Di Da Bridal’s version of The Newlywed Game: (1) Name his favorite TV show, (2) where did you two first make love, and (3) what is his most irritating habit?
Greer guessed: (1) Game of Thrones, (2) we haven’t made love yet, and (3) he, um, snores.
Everyone went Oooooo at the second answer.
“What do you expect?” Greer said to the audience. “We only met yesterday, remember?”
At that, a lot of random pieces of advice were yelled out by the audience as to where they should first do the nasty. The most popular one was on the beach.
The correct answers Ford provided were: (1) Breaking Bad, (2) we haven’t yet, but I’d love to do it on the beach, and (3) I’m a sore loser when I play chess.
Everyone shouted all kinds of support about the beach answer, the most prevalent being, “Wear suntan lotion on your butt!” and a couple of women even yelled, “I’ll do you on the beach, Ford!”
“What good was getting engaged?” Greer whispered in his ear. “We’re still losing.”
“We got one right—we haven’t had sex yet,” he said while the catcalls continued.
“Okay,” she said, “but couldn’t you like Game of Thrones like everyone else? And so many guys snore. Plus, you’re telling everyone about a beach fantasy? There’s sand.”
“I don’t snore, we’d be on a blanket on the beach, and I’ve never seen Game of Thrones,” he said. “Count me among the few nerds who haven’t. I’m an Office fan, the American version. I still can’t believe Steve Carell never won an Emmy. The guy’s brilliant.”
“I wish you’d told me all this before now,” she said. “Not that we’ve had time.” She felt bad whining when he’d been so nice to agree to play the games with her.
“Well, if we ever play again, you’ll know,” he said.
“We’ll never play again.” It made her sad somehow. “This is our one chance. My favorite color is red, and my favorite food is sausage pizza,” is all she could whisper in his ear because it was time for the bride next to her to guess things about her partner, and Kiki came up waving her microphone.
Serena only got two out of three questions right for Wesley. She felt his most irritating habit was whistling. Wesley thought it was his tendency to catalog his cereals in Tupperware. Greer felt guilty and slightly pervy wanting to know where they’d first made love: it was in Wesley’s office. She couldn’t believe he’d been that daring! Or Serena! Serena giggled hard and turned bright red when she answered that one. And Wesley’s favorite TV show was, surprise, surprise, Game of Thrones.
In the end, it turned out that Greer and Ford tied for last place. Lisa came in first with her partner answering on FaceTime. Serena and Wesley came in second.
“No points for us,” said Greer as she and Ford walked down the steps of the stage into the crowd again. “Do you think we can still win?”
“Sure,” he said. “We’ll get in a groove soon enough.”
Her heart swelled. “Thanks for trying to help.”
“I told you I’d have your back,” he said. “You’re posing for me, and I’m helping out here.”
A small part of her was disappointed he didn’t say he wanted to propose marriage to her because she made him feel so happy, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. But the bigger, logical part of her was thinking that she knew nothing about him. For all she knew, he could be a serial killer on the loose. She doubted that. But she’d better stay on guard.
They ran into their posse. What would they think about the engagement? It was obviously not real. But for some reason, Greer still felt giddy. It was understood by the world that she and Ford were together. She’d accepted his proposal, and she was wearing his ring, after all. They’d also kissed in front of a huge crowd and discussed the fact that they hadn’t had sex—yet—the presumption being that they would soon, and probably on the beach.
Except for the beach part, the idea of sleeping with him made her swoon … she was ready. She was so beyond ready!
She drifted a few feet away—he was caught up talking to Wesley and Serena—into the cocoon of her friends.
“You look perfect together,” Miss Thing whispered in her ear.
“Thanks,” Greer whispered back, “but he’s just helping me stay in the contest, of course.”
Miss Thing pulled back and gave her a stern look. “Honey, no man marches up on the stage like that and proposes—out of the blue—without feeling something in his heart. My only question is what do you feel in your heart?”
“It’s too soon to tell,” said Greer. “And he’s only here in the United States a short while.”
“I knew with my guy the very first time I laid eyes on him,” said Miss Thing. “Keep doing crazy things, sweetie. You’re getting so good at it!”
Greer was swept up by all her other friends, too.
“Oh, my God,” Jill said again. “Go consummate this fake engagement right now, sistah. I just wish I had your new bedroom ready.” She gave Greer a giant wink.
Greer tried to look excited. “I can’t wait for the new bedroom,” she lied.
“You’re so in charge,” Ella said, looking her up and down. “Getting engaged without looking at algorithms and statistics? Or even knowing your man? Where’s that Greer?”
Greer gave her a nervous smile. “Still here. As practical as ever. I think.”
Ella laughed. “And a lot less predictable. I like that.”
She passed her off to Macy, who was with Deacon now. They were holding hands. Deacon hugged her first. “Don’t worry. I’m keeping an eye on this Ford guy for you. I’m going to sidle my way over there to meet him now. He may be a short-term relationship, but he’d better take it seriously.”
She laughed. “Thank you, Deacon.”
Then Macy was on her. She held both her hands. “Something is happening,” she told Greer. “I don’t care that this is a fake relationship. It felt so real to everyone in the audience, including me. Do you feel like a rock rolling down a steep hill? You just keep going faster and faster? And the landscape keeps changing, and you can’t slow down?”
Greer nodded. “Exactly like that.”
Macy looked thoughtful for a moment. “Do you want to stop? Or keep rolling?”
“Keep rolling,” said Greer.
Macy sucked in a breath. “I’m getting goose bumps.” She looked down at her arm.
Greer looked at her arm, too. “So am I.”
“I’ll be right here if you ever need to talk.” Macy’s tone was solemn. “Day or night.”
Greer almost got tears in her eyes. “I’ll remember that.”
And then Ford arrived back at her side, an
d they said good-bye to her friends and entered the rest of the crowd, where random people congratulated them over and over. One inebriated woman told Greer she was a phony and selfish and should be disqualified for trying to be a partnerless bride and then having a fake groom, but Ford quietly blocked her with his body and they moved on, his hand on her back.
“Trolls suck,” he said.
“They do.” She felt so protected.
“Think you can come over tonight to pose?” he asked. “It’s only ten.”
“I can stay until midnight,” she said. “I have a new client coming in tomorrow at nine.”
“I can get you back before you turn into a pumpkin.”
“Okay.” She paused. “I have no idea if Scotland Yard might be conducting a manhunt for you right now. I know nothing about you, really.”
They were still pushing through the crowd. “Tell you what,” he said. “You want to talk to my mother?”
“Sure,” she said.
“Fine.” He pulled out his phone.
She saw the word Mum.
Awww.
She put her ear next to his. She liked how that felt. The part of his head behind his temple was so warm and his hair really soft. He smelled good, too, like that bay rum cologne and virile man.
“Hello, Mum?” His voice was bright.
Greer heard a loud English voice. “Darling, how are you?
“Great, Mum. I’ve got an American friend here named Greer—I’m going to paint her portrait for the Manchester art show. Would love for you to chat with her.”
“Of course, darling. Put her on.”
He handed the phone to Greer. “H-Hello?” Greer felt so nervous talking to a stranger across the ocean. She turned a little bit away from Ford.
“Hello, Greer. This is Ford’s mother speaking. I’d like to reassure you he’s a dear boy who’s all about his art. I’m sure if he’s painting you, you’re a lovely woman.”
“Um, thank you.”
“When he was eight years old, he cut all the pink roses off our neighbor’s prize rose bush, put them in a vase, painted them as a gorgeous still life, brought me the painting as a gift, and threw the roses in the rubbish bin. That’s how sweet he is—and dedicated to his art.”
Greer couldn’t help laughing.
“What?” Ford asked. “What’s she saying?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Smith,” Greer said. “I feel as if I know him better now.”
“You’re welcome, Greer, and do be gentle with him. Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s much more sensitive than he lets on.”
“Okay,” Greer said.
“Now tell him I can’t talk. I just took the corgis out, and I’m gasping for tea.” And she hung up.
“So?” Ford asked.
“She just took the corgis out, and she’s gasping for tea, so she can’t talk. She sounds like the Queen. Her Majesty likes corgis, too, and probably gasps for tea.”
He grinned. “All English people do. Even on sweltering afternoons.”
“What’s sweltering?”
“High seventies Fahrenheit.”
“Hah.”
“My mum is much more approachable than the Queen,” he said.
“She was.” Greer grinned, thinking of him throwing out the roses and keeping the painting. “I liked her. Is your father as nice?”
“He’s an absolute bear but a somewhat tamed one, thanks to Mum,” he said. They were finally outside. “She knows enough to let him roar occasionally, knock over tables, and dive into rubbish bins. Metaphorically, of course. He’s never raised his voice, and his manners are excellent.”
“Your family sounds interesting. Who else is there?”
“My sister Anne. She’s a writer, mother, and wife.”
“What kind of writer?”
“Historical romances.”
“Really?”
“She does very well for herself. She hits the New York Times list regularly. Her pen name is Anne Roth.”
“I’ve heard of her!” Greer laughed. “How fun.”
“You’d like her. She’s very opinionated.”
“I’m sure I would.”
“She’s also my manager.”
“Wow, she wears a lot of hats.”
“She’s extremely competent, and we’re very close.” They were at the curb. “I’ve also got a brother. Rupert. He’s five years older.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s in between jobs right now. He’s brilliant, and he’s funny. But he hasn’t found his niche yet.” He paused. “The truth is, he’s an alcoholic who won’t get help. He might have other substance abuse issues going on as well. We’re not sure. He makes it very difficult for us to help him. He turns us away.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, me, too. It’s sad.”
She held his hand. “I like how you love. It’s not easy, but you do it anyway.”
“It’s not all hearts and flowers, is it?”
She shook her head.
“Are you feeling good about going for a quick sketch session?” He seemed to want to change the subject.
“Sure.” She shivered just a little. It wasn’t cold in the least. Nerves had struck again.
The cab came a few minutes later, and they were on their way to the studio.
Ford held her hand and looked steadily at her. “Nothing to fear,” he said.
“All right,” she said back, and broke her gaze away. She focused on the buildings sweeping past, but she couldn’t help wondering who he was trying to convince.
There was something to fear. She saw it in his eyes. The question was, what was he afraid of?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
At the studio in the old cigar factory, Ford poured two glasses of champagne and tried very hard not to think about his brother. Rupert was always in the back of his mind. He lived in fear of getting a phone call from home that something had happened to him. He’d try, instead, to concentrate on the fact that Greer, a woman he was extremely attracted to, was with him and willing to sit for a portrait he knew would be exquisite.
From the moment they’d entered the building, he’d sensed her shyness mixed with excitement and was touched by it.
He handed her a flute of champagne. “Cheers,” he said.
They touched glass rims, and she took a sip. “Mmmm,” she said, shimmering and curvy in her evening gown.
A beat of comfortable silence passed.
“How into this are you?” he asked her.
Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“This portrait sitting can take a variety of forms. I want to work with you however I can get you. So I’ll present you the options, and we will go with what suits you best.”
“All right,” she said.
“We can do this with you fully clothed, half-clothed, or nude,” he said simply.
She froze. “Oh.”
He chuckled. “No need to be anxious. We’ll go where you want to go.”
“But you’re the artist.”
“Who’d have an empty canvas without you. Your feelings matter.”
She released a breath. “Which option do you prefer?”
He shook his head. “I’d rather not choose. I’d like to follow your whim.”
She thought for a few seconds. “Would one of those three choices help you more than the others … at that show in Manchester?”
“Kind of you to ask,” he said. “Yes, actually. Nude portraits always cause a bit more buzz, I think.”
She bit her lip. “I told Miss Thing I’m going to be more bold.” She looked up at him from beneath fringed lashes. “How many women get to be painted nude? In the prime of their lives?”
“Not many, I should think,” he said.
“Then let’s do it.” She drained her glass. “Another, please.” She held it out.
He refilled it. “Nude it is, then.”
She laughed. “Oh, my goodness,” she whispered, and looked at him over the
rim, her eyes soft with worry.
“There’s nothing to fear,” he assured her.
She shot him a teasing smile. “I’m only doing this because I spoke to your mother. I know you’re a real artist.”
“Of course I am.” He certainly wasn’t going to subject her to having to strip in front of him. So he gave her instructions for disrobing behind the screen in the corner where he kept a stack of canvases and a couple of black robes hanging on a coatrack. “You can hang your dress there,” he said. “I’ll set up in the meantime. Take your time.”
In short order, she appeared in front of him again in the smaller black silk robe. The ivory chaise lounge with its plump silk pillows and a small table where he’d placed her champagne awaited her.
“Ready to begin?” he asked.
She nodded and slowly slipped off the robe. She tossed it on the table and stood before him in all her naked glory. The light was artificial, casting shadows beneath her chin, below her breasts, and a thin sliver at the top of her thigh. Her glass of champagne, with its bubbles rising steadily to the surface, was a suitable complement to her elegance, her stillness.
“You’re beautiful,” he said in his professional artist’s voice. “I’m honored to have you pose for me.”
“Thank you.” She shot him a slightly scared smile, backed up a step—he noted she was obviously self-conscious about exposing her backside to him—and sat on the chaise lounge. She kept her knees together and folded her hands in her lap.
“Right,” he said. “Lean back in any position you choose, then make a quarter-turn toward me. I want to spend a few minutes doing a full-body sketch, but whenever you want to warm up or cover up for any reason, grab the robe.”
“Will do,” she said in a quiet voice. She did what he asked, turning slightly toward him.
Her beauty took his breath away. “Excellent,” he said, maintaining his positive, almost professorial manner, and began to sketch. She kept her eyes on his easel. He saw curiosity there. Her left arm was draped over her belly, his signet ring on her middle finger.
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