by Vanessa Vale
Deciding to not read into it, I pivoted and pushed open the swinging door and bumped into Mike who was coming into the kitchen with the platter of caribou dogs. He scrambled to keep his hold on the leftovers. “There's nothing we can do but run with it,” he said.
I picked up the bowl of pickles and the coleslaw off the table. “If Goldie knows, my mother is going to find out,” I hissed, returning to the kitchen, leaving him behind to pick up glasses. Did he have any idea the seriousness of an engagement? No man would introduce a girlfriend—let alone his fiancée—to his mother unless it was the real deal. Except for Mike.
I could imagine marrying Mike. I hadn't imagined any other candidate. I'd known him forever, we got along and my mother probably knew I'd had a thing for him in high school. Not that I'd done a thing with him in high school. Graduation night, but that was it. That didn't mean I wanted to fake everyone out.
I opened the fridge door to get the pickle jar so I could refill it with the leftovers. Jean-Luc or Marc boxed me in, cool air at my back, solid, brawny Frenchman too close for comfort. He took the jar from me, ran a finger gently down my cheek. Goose bumps spread across my skin, but I wasn't sure if it was from the cold or the touch of the hot man. He gave me a quick grin, and then turned away. Was that the same guy as my last trip to the kitchen or was this the other one?
I swallowed, overwhelmed by the intensity in his gaze and his lingering scent. Soap or aftershave. Wow. They were a potent duo. What was that all about? Putting the moves on me almost in front of Mike. They didn't come right out and proposition me in a foreign language, but one of them, or both—I really had no idea—were putting the moves on me. French moves, it seemed. He stepped away as if nothing had happened when Mike pushed through the swinging door.
“Call your mother and explain,” Mike said as he placed dirty glasses on the counter. He had no clue the twins were working it behind his back.
“Call my mother and explain?” I repeated, my voice going up an octave. “Are you crazy?”
We were faced off in the kitchen, Jean-Luc and Marc watching us. I couldn't handle the twins, and whatever their deal was, at the moment. My fake fiancé was more than a handful on his own. I grabbed Mike's wrist and pulled him into the dining room. Hopefully, the swinging door would hit him in the ass.
I looked up to meet his gaze. “Explain what, exactly? The truth?” I put my hands on my hips. “You're one to talk. Why don't you explain to your mother and then we'd be out of this mess?”
Mike took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling for a second. “If Susan hears we're not engaged, she'll be back to her creepy tricks. Do you want her surprising you in the shower again?”
I shook my head. I might want someone to join me in the shower, but it wasn't Susan, or any female for that matter.
“Crazy Susan or our mothers. Which is worse?” I asked.
Susan was Mike's temporary Alaskan problem. My mother would be around for much longer and her power crossed state lines.
“Look, we can't talk about this here in the dining room. Let's finish cleaning up and go to our room.”
Trish breezed by, but stopped, sighed. “Ooh, I remember when I got engaged. Banks wanted to have me all alone, too. He couldn't keep his hands off me either.” She waggled her eyebrows mischievously. “Take all the time you want. I'll cover for you if anyone asks.” She winked at us and left. Obviously, she’d heard the tail end of our conversation.
“Seriously?” I hissed. I picked up the package of hot dog buns, tossed them at Mike and walked away.
I stormed off to our bedroom and plopped down on the bed, staring up at the popcorn-textured ceiling. I was ready to strangle Mike with my bare hands. This was definitely not what I volunteered for. We were in such a cluster. If Goldie knew about the engagement, then everyone in Bozeman knew about it. I wasn't very prominent or remotely famous, but there were about five hundred families that were involved with my school, so I knew many, many people. Mike, as a doctor, was well-known. Between the two of us alone, we covered all the young families and those with foot injuries. But add in our parents, crazy friends like Goldie, and the entire town was connected. It was like its own little social networking site, without the Internet.
We were doomed.
I grabbed my cell from my pocket and called Goldie. “Hey, it's Violet.”
“Well, if it isn't the bride-to-be.” I heard her chuckling.
I winced. “Very funny. Please tell me my parents don't know.”
“No, you don't want hard plastic. Silicone is the way to go. What? No, you don't want to use it like that.” I heard some rustling. “Sorry, Violet. Yes, of course your parents know.”
I went to the bathroom to dig up some heartburn tablets. “My mom's going to kill me!”
My second suitcase was open—I hadn't needed anything from it yet—and my things tossed about, strewn across the floor. My bathing suit was beneath a hiking boot, a lacy bra dangled from the suitcase lid. Alex must have gone scrounging for his non-existent present like he'd said. The little bugger.
“Don't worry about your mom. I told her.”
I froze, an antacid halfway to my mouth. “What do you mean you told her? You told her Mike and I are engaged? Are you out of your mind?”
“Not engaged. She heard that from Aunt Tootie's neighbor.”
I didn't know who Aunt Tootie was, but she should move, and fast. Nosy and gossipy neighbors were not good. I popped the tablet. Mint flavor spread across my tongue as I crunched down. “Then what did you tell her?”
“I told her about the little ruse you're pulling on Claudine. She thinks it's sweet Mike is worried about her feelings.”
Leaning against the vanity in the bathroom, I stared blindly at the wallpaper landscape. “You're telling me my mom knows about my fake engagement and is fine with it?”
Goldie chuckled through the phone. “She told me to tell you to have fun and she'll deal with all the gossip.”
“Really?” I was very skeptical. No way my mother would just 'deal with the gossip.' She was up to something, I just didn't know what it was.
“Yup. Hang on. No, crotchless panties don't have any fabric across the crotch. Violet?” Goldie dropped her voice. “I swear some people are idiots.”
“Like Mike to get me into this mess in the first place,” I grumbled.
“Honey, Mike is a sweetheart. You could be engaged to worse.”
I rolled my eyes. “Goldie, we're not engaged. He only hatched this scheme to avoid Crazy Susan.”
“In Bozeman, you're engaged. Have fun with it, honey. Mike's hotter than Mrs. Dinkweller's prize-winning pepper jelly and I've heard he likes to take control, if you know what I mean.”
I had a feeling I did. Just one look from him and my nipples hardened.
“Even though he's smart enough to be a doctor, you're right, he's a complete idiot to come up with a lie that spread like it has,” she continued. “Which means he's a man. Since you're engaged, are you sharing a room?”
“Yes.”
“So everyone thinks you're canoodling.”
Canoodling? “Yes.”
“Are you really canoodling?”
“Goldie, I've been here less than a day.”
“So?”
“So...no.”
“Honey, do something wild. Canoodle the man. Hell, canoodle him so good his mother will notice.”
I flushed at that. I wasn't sure if it was the image of canoodling him so good, or the fact that my skills would make even Mrs. O take notice.
“In fact, I'll overnight you a box.”
“A box? A box of what?” I asked warily.
“I'll surprise you.”
“Great,” I grumbled. This was not good. I could only imagine what she'd be sending. Mike hadn't needed anything from a box the first time, except maybe condoms, and I had no doubt he didn't need anything more than that now. I popped another antacid.
“Violet Miller. Go do what you wrote in that erotic ro
mance of yours. That's an order. It will all work out—or you'll be getting married to Mike. It's a win-win.”
Goldie clicked off without saying goodbye. She was done talking, so the call was over.
The only good news from that conversation was that my mother wasn't going to kill me and my father wasn't in the basement cleaning his shotgun. Mom was tackling the Montana aspect of this little fiasco Mike had brewed up. Goldie knew the real deal. It really couldn't get any worse.
I smiled to myself at the revelation. It couldn't get any worse. I should make the most of being engaged to Mike. I fiddled with the big ring on my finger. Why not have a little fun, do a little canoodling, just like Goldie said? If I was going to carry the hussy fiancée title, then I might as well wear the sash.
My heartburn faded away, replaced by nerves. I wasn't the hussy type. Sure, I wanted Mike. So did Crazy Susan, and probably every single woman over the age of twenty-five in Gallatin County, Montana. I'd wanted him since I was in tenth grade. Graduation night hadn't changed that. In fact, it made me want to try out the full-grown Mike and take him for a test drive. Compare models. The newer model definitely had a few extra perks; a heated seat and better mileage. If Goldie came through with her mystery package, I could bring the bells and whistles and it would be one amazing ride.
I couldn't spend the evening in the bedroom. Mike might join me and no matter what Goldie said, I didn't want everyone to think we were canoodling while the other men watched baseball. Besides, Trish and Banks would be waiting for us. The kind of canoodling I had in mind was more than a quickie. Although, a quickie wouldn't be torture either.
In the bathroom, I freshened my makeup, brushed my hair. I didn't know what there was to do at night in Alaska, but the sun was still out and I was still awake. I wasn't Barbie-perfect like Trish, but I pulled myself together considering what I had to work with.
I bumped into the twins outside my door, surprising me. It seemed they were waiting for me as the bedroom was downstairs off a side hallway. Near the laundry room. Not a prime location, and some might be bothered by the steerage accommodations in comparison to the multiple bedrooms on the second floor, but I was thrilled to be separated from the rest of the crowd. Plus, we had a bathroom to ourselves. I wasn't sure what a bachelor like Uncle Bob needed with a five-bedroom house, but it was practically too small for this week.
Jean-Luc and Marc closed in on me, like wild animals cornering their prey, my back pressed against the wall. One gazed at me, his eyes practically hypnotizing, the other checking out my body, the whole time murmuring rapid French. I caught a word here and there, but when one of them—I still didn't know which—leaned in close and whispered in my ear, there was no question of their meaning. I shuddered at his warm breath on my neck. I felt a hand run softly up and down my arm. Was it the other one? The only thing I could see was one French shoulder.
My dating experience might have been sporadic—the seasonal flu came with more regularity than I did—but I was a woman and knew the signs. For one man. But with twins, it was like being hit over the head with a cartoon anvil. They could have been speaking Swahili and I would have understood their intentions. I picked up on a few important French words: petite choux, partager and ménage. The first was an endearment that translated literally as little cabbage. Not overly romantic sounding, but in French, quite playful and endearing. The second meant share and I didn't have to be a Francophone to know the last.
They wanted to share me. Me! Their touch was soft, but their intentions very strong. I inhaled sharply, my eyes going wide. A teacher from a podunk town in Montana. It really was like erotic fiction. Just like my book.
The one all but kissing my neck pulled back, gazed at me. They continued to talk between them, and with context, I followed along easily. My heart hammered in my chest, nervous, a little excited, and a whole lot flattered at their very eager attentions.
“She is the one for us. Mike is not enough for her. We'll show her what having two men can be like. She will be ruined for all others.” My translation was fairly literal and I definitely caught on.
“Yes, by the end of the week she will be flying to France to be with us.”
Holy shit. Jubal's nephews were polyamorous French twins. Now I knew what Mike felt like, being chased so eagerly, and why he'd been so desperate to have me come to Alaska. Was there something in the water? Susan interrupting my shower. Uncle Bob dressing like Jefferson Davis—I knew now where the dog got his name. Obsessed twins. Everyone was crazy.
And they had their sights on me. And their hands. If I was going to take Goldie's advice and live out my erotic romance, I'd have to tag team the two French look-alike hotties. I gulped. That might be more adventure than I could handle. Did I even want to? Sure, I'd never have to carry groceries from the garage again. My car would always have the oil changed, but the toilet seat would always be up.
My mother could understand Mike's faux engagement, but I wasn't so sure how she could handle me moving to France. Goldie would have a field day if she knew.
“She smells like mint. Delectable,” the left one said.
His blue eyes were piercing, his gaze roaming over my face and settling on my mouth.
“I want to kiss her while you—”
“Hey, Jean-Luc. Marc,” Mike said. He filled the doorway out to the living room. “Do you need help with something?”
Both men took a step back, giving me some breathing space. All three men stared at each other, bodies tense, and backs straight. Testosterone filled the hallway and practically choked me.
One of the twins glanced at me. Mike must not have liked the look because he came over, wrapped a hand around the nape of my neck. Goose bumps spread down my arms. This wasn't a gentle hand on my shoulder or on my waist. The placement of his hand at the back of my neck was different. It felt different. Felt oh, so possessive. Like he wasn't just telling the twins 'hands off' but telling me without words that I belonged to him.
Okay. Total pissing match.
“Mike,” I started.
“I don't like the way these guys are bothering you.”
“They're not bothering me. Really.” Okay, they were bothering me. The kind of bother that had my girl parts perking up. I'd never before in my life been the interest of three men. Three hot, dominant, alpha men. At the same time. It was a volatile situation and I was a little unsettled. And a lot turned on.
“They need to sniff around someone else.”
Sniff? Seriously? “I don't think they understand what you just said.”
He looked down at me, eyes sharp. Intense. “Fine. Then I'll speak in a language they're sure to understand.”
The hand at my nape pulled me up onto my tiptoes as he lowered his mouth to mine. He kissed me. Not a simple peck on the cheek, but a 'get a room' kiss that left no doubt in either Jean-Luc or Marc's mind—or mine—Mike's meaning.
Tilting his head, he angled the kiss so that he settled in deeper, his teeth nipping at my lower lip, hard enough to have me gasp, and then his tongue licked and soothed the pain away. I moaned. It was the most erotic kiss I'd ever had. I wanted more.
When he lifted his head, I looked down to see his T-shirt tangled tightly in my fingers. I never remembered grabbing hold. He'd blown all of my circuits and I wasn't sure if my legs worked. Or if I was still wearing clothes.
His kiss had certainly done what he'd intended because the twins were nowhere in sight.
“That was so caveman of you.”
Mike grinned, his smile filled with manly pride. “Whatever it takes, babe. Whatever it takes.” He walked off, and I heard him ask Jubal what the score was on the game.
As I stood there contemplating the shallow depths of a man's psyche, I saw Trish out of the corner of my eye, picking up things from the living room. Beneath one arm was a ceramic garden gnome. Since dinner, she'd changed into a clingy white T-shirt with a horizontal strip of black sequins strategically placed to show off her ample assets. Her makeup was perfect
and her hair was sleek down her back.
I recognized that gnome. What was it doing in Alaska and how did Trish come to have it? I went to find out.
Trish eyes darted over my shoulder as I approached. I pivoted and we both watched the French brothers watching me as they slinked off to a different part of the house.
“Wow,” she said, eyes glued to the hallway the men had just vacated.
“Yeah, wow.” I pointed to George under her arm to change the topic off of...wow. I wasn't going there. I didn't know what to say if I did. Something like: The twins wanted me to move to France with them, giving up Mike and our fake life together. I wasn't sure which part of the story she'd believe less. “So, the gnome.”
“It's yours, right?” she asked. “Alex had it. He must've gone through your things. I'm so sorry.”
I was a little confused. Tucking my hair behind my ear, I added, “It's not exactly mine. I mean, I don't just lug garden creatures in my suitcase or anything. George belongs to a seven-year-old friend in Montana. He's a little obsessed with it and I'm surprised he parted with it. He must've snuck it into my suitcase when he and his mother drove me to the airport.”
Trish's beautiful brow crinkled in confusion. “Why would he want it to come here?”
I shrugged. “No idea. Kids are a little weird sometimes.”
Trish nodded her head in agreement. She had one of her own and I had no doubt she could relate.
“I'll find out,” I told her.
“I'll give it back to you then before Alex either breaks it or falls in love with it.” She handed it over. “I don't need that heading back to Minnesota with us.”
It was heavy in my hands, the sound of my ring clinking against the ceramic loud in the room.
“Banks and I were going to go out tonight. The weather's no good for much else. From the hand gestures the twins were making about drinking when I saw them earlier, I think they're joining us. How about you and Mike?”