Romancing the Holidays: Twelve Christmas Romances - Benefits Breast Cancer Research

by Crista McHugh

  Francie decided not to let it bother her, and focused on the fun and rousing conversation around her and the fantastic meal. Lola had slow-cooked a pork roast all day in the crockpot, and Pete’s homemade barbecue sauce was to die for. On the side was freshly made coleslaw, homemade baked beans and smoked macaroni and cheese.

  Normally, as a personal trainer, she ate a pretty clean diet. But holidays were different. And she planned to enjoy every single bite of this yumminess in front of her. “I’ll be peeling my jeans off me after dinner,” she muttered, after she’d finished most of the food on her plate.

  “Can I help?” Dylan muttered back.

  She elbowed him in the waist. He had such a one-track mind. She loved that about him—She blinked. No. “Dylan” and “love” needed to not co-exist in her mind.

  A while later, she was having a conversation with Katie Jo and Nick about recent trends in fitness, when Dylan’s hand dropped to her thigh. Her breathing only hitched a little bit and she kept talking. When his hand slid between her legs, her voice barely faltered. She poked him hard in the thigh to get him to stop. He grabbed her hand before she could pull it back and set it on his crotch. He was hard as a rock. Oh, my.

  Trying to be discreet, she slowly brought her hand back to the table then picked up her wine glass as a distraction. Her hand shook a bit, she noticed. Hopefully, nobody else did. Dylan’s quiet chuckle beside her told her he did.

  “You’re going to lose our bet,” he said for her ears only.

  “In your dreams,” she whispered out of the side of her mouth.

  To the table, Dylan announced, “Francie brought a pair of stiletto shoes with her.” Francie poked him hard in the thigh. “I told her that we’re not one of those families who dresses up for Christmas, but she insisted on bringing them. I suppose I’ll have to find something for us to do where she can wear them.” He sighed.

  She poked him again, then shrugged for everyone else’s benefit. “What can I say? I love a beautiful set of high heels.”

  “You should see her closet,” Dylan said. “Floor to ceiling shoe boxes.”

  That led to squeals from Katie Jo. “Ooh, what size are you?”

  “Eight,” Francie said, hoping no one could read the irritation in her tone toward her conniving, sex-on-the-brain, temporary husband of hers.

  Katie Jo clapped her hands. “Me, too. Do you think I could borrow a pair sometime? Like maybe for prom?”

  “Absolutely. Come spend a weekend with me in Boise. You can try on all my shoes, borrow whatever you like.”

  “Speaking of Boise,” Brianna drawled. “What’s the deal with you living there, while my brother lives in Spokane?” Her loud question shot across the table.

  Francie’s face heated up and she noticed everyone pretended to be focused on their food, except for the girls who were totally oblivious as they played with their macaroni and cheese and jabbered to each other in twin talk.

  “Brianna, that’s none of our business,” Lola admonished, as if her daughter was five years old and not a twenty-two-year-old college student.

  “No, that’s okay,” Francie said, knowing the subject was probably the elephant in the room. She turned her head and met Dylan’s eyes, realizing they probably should have anticipated this question and had come up with a reasonable answer. She hoped he would take the reins here, but he appeared just as interested in her answer as did everyone else.

  “Well…” Francie sipped her wine, wishing she’d asked for straight shots of tequila instead. “It just made sense for me to stay in Boise when Dylan joined the Air Force. My mom was there. I have a great sitter for the girls. I wouldn’t have known anyone on base.”

  “But, you’ll be moving to Spokane now that he’s back?” Lola asked, smiling.

  Still nothing from Dylan. Francie’s breathing shallowed. “We’re trying to work out the logistics,” she told them, talking through her teeth. God, she hoped someone would change the subject.

  No one did—damn, Dylan—so she did. “Pete, your barbecue sauce is to die for. Is your recipe top secret or would you share it with me?”

  As Pete told her step by step how to make the sauce—directions she’d never, ever remember—Dylan slid his hand onto her thigh again. She was mad at him, so she shoved it away.

  He put it back again and squeezed softly. His version of an apology, or just tempting her on their bet again? She wasn’t sure. Either way, she would ignore it.

  When his hand inched its way between her legs, she squeezed her thighs together to prevent him from going in. Didn’t stop him. Damn him.

  “Hey Dylan,” Brianna said from across the table. “Did you know Sabrina’s back in town?”

  Francie’s radar went up. Who was Sabrina? And what was with Brianna’s smirk?

  Pete continued talking about the barbecue sauce, so Francie pretended like she was still listening, when actually she had one ear on Dylan’s response.

  His hand slid off her lap. “Oh, yeah? How’s she doing?”

  “She broke up that jerk she was dating for a while, so she’s doing great. She looks amazing as always.” She laughed. “I have to tell you, she was so bummed to hear you got married.” She laughed again, but this time stared right at Francie, one perfectly arched brow lifted.

  Pete stopped talking about his special sauce. Lola cleared her throat. Katie Jo looked mortified. Nick glanced back and forth between Brianna, Francie and Dylan like he was watching a tennis match.

  “Sabrina an ex-girlfriend or something?” Francie asked, keeping her tone light.

  Dylan opened his mouth to answer, but Brianna said, “She and Dylan were high school sweethearts. Everyone thought they’d get married.” She laughed, then sipped her wine.

  Francie blinked a couple of times, not knowing how to respond to that.

  After a beat, Dylan said, “Well, ‘everyone’ was wrong, weren’t they?” He slid his arm around Francie’s shoulders. She forced herself not to stiffen, and gritted out a smile as he kissed her on the cheek. God. Did that look as trite and disingenuous as it felt?

  And could this family dinner have become any more of a nightmare?

  Yeah, it could, she realized a few moments later.

  Chapter Five

  Pete dinged his fork against his wine glass to get everyone’s attention. “Speaking of getting married,” he said loudly, and everyone turned toward the head of the table. “I’d like to propose a toast to Dylan and Francie, on their recent nuptials.”

  “Oh, you mean the one we’re just now learning about?” Brianna asked in mock innocence, staring at Francie.

  Francie’s teeth clenched. Dylan’s hand on her thigh didn’t make her any less annoyed, at him or Brianna.

  Everyone lifted their glass. “Here, here,” Lola said. The girls raised their messy hands and giggled with glee, having no idea what was going on.

  Pete held his glass out to Francie and Dylan. “Congratulations, you two. May your life together be a long, magical adventure. Francie, welcome to our crazy family. And may you soon be just as crazy as we are.”

  Everyone clinked their glasses together in the center of the table, even Brianna did so with a resigned look on her face. Dylan turned to Francie. She made herself look at him without scowling. “To my beautiful bride,” he said, touching his glass to hers. Then he leaned in and kissed her.

  What the hell was he doing? They were just digging themselves deeper and deeper into this hole of a lie. She gave him a syrupy sweet smile.

  Lola scooted away from the table and grabbed something from a basket on a nearby counter. “I was going to talk to you two about this a bit later, but this seems as good a time as any.” She shot Brianna a meaningful look before handing an envelope to Francie.

  It looked like an invitation. Lola motioned for her to open it. Francie ran her fingernail along the flap and slid the card out. She and Dylan read it together.

  Please join our family in celebrating the recent marriage of

  Dyla
n Thomas & Francesca Marie

  On Saturday, February…

  Francie didn’t read any further, and she knew her face must be bright red. This wasn’t happening. She never should have agreed to this charade. Her stomach knotted painfully and she pressed a hand to her lower belly. She turned a questioning gaze to Dylan.

  “What’s this, Ma?” Dylan asked, sounding curious but not completely mortified like she was.

  “It’s the wedding reception you never got to have, so our family and friends can all celebrate with you. I’ll have just finished up my chemo—knock on wood—so it’s perfect timing. We scheduled it out far enough so you both can arrange for time off.” She pressed her hands together and her smile was radiant. “Everyone is going to be so excited to see you both.”

  Pete said, “I’m pretty sure she invited the whole county.”

  Everyone laughed, and Dylan’s parents were obviously waiting for her and Dylan’s reaction.

  Macy squealed and clapped her hands. “Holy shit!”

  * * * *

  “Francie, it’s no big deal,” Dylan said in a hushed voice as he jogged to catch up to her. They’d gone outside for a walk after dinner in the guise of wanting some alone time. The dogs trotted beside them, nudging paths through the snow with their noses.

  Francie wrapped her arms around herself as her boots crunched along the snowy driveway. Several lamp posts lit their way. “It’s a huge deal. It’s already bad enough that we’re lying to them—especially your poor mom.” Although Lola would be the first to say not to feel sorry for her. “But now they have this big party planned, and all your friends and extended family are coming and it’s just going to be that much more embarrassing and awful when they finally learn the truth.”

  “Maybe… they don’t need to know.”

  She stopped and swung around to face him. A light snow was falling and snowflakes landed and melted on his buzzed hair. “What do you mean? It’s going to be kinda hard to hide the truth when… we split up.”

  He stepped closer. “Then let’s not split up.”

  Her breath hitched in her throat. She swallowed a lump the size of the dark mountains behind them. “What are you saying?”

  His foggy breath mingled with hers and he shrugged. “Just because we agreed for our marriage to be temporary, doesn’t mean it needs to end… any time soon. I mean, whether it’s next week, next month or whenever… it’s all the same, right?”

  His pale eyes watched her. She schooled her expression, not wanting to reveal anything she didn’t want him to see. She’d thought—hoped!—for a moment that maybe he’d changed his mind. That maybe he wanted to make their marriage a real relationship. Obviously, that wasn’t the case.

  “It’s not like we even live together,” he said. “Not really. I’ll be going back to the base, and you and the girls will stay in Boise. Or not.”

  “Or not?” She started walking again, following the line of lights along one side of the long driveway, and she rubbed her mittened hands together.

  “You’re welcome to come live in Spokane with me. I can put our names on the waiting list for a house on base.”

  Still no mention of love, or of him unable to stand the thought of being apart from her or the girls, or anything emotional whatsoever. If a marriage wasn’t based on love, then it had no chance of surviving. Her dad had pounded that lesson home loud and clear when he’d left her and her mom all those years ago.

  “You know I don’t want to leave Boise.” She turned and headed back to the house. “All my friends and fa—” She’d been about to say family. But she had no family. Not anymore. It was just her and the girls. And a husband who only wanted a pretend, temporary marriage. “I’m already registered for school next semester. I love my job at the gym and my clients. My dancing business is just starting to take off.”

  “Okay, I get it,” Dylan snapped. “Your life is in Boise.” He strode ahead of her.

  She blinked back the sting of tears. Why was he so angry? This whole fake marriage was his idea not hers. It wasn’t her fault his mom wanted to make a big deal out of their marriage.

  Francie caught up to him as they passed a gigantic wood pile. She grabbed his arm to make him stop walking. They couldn’t go back inside the house yet.

  “I’ll go tell my mom to cancel the party,” he said, his voice resigned but no longer angry. “I’ll make up some story about why we can’t make it. But I don’t want to tell her about us, okay? Not yet. Let her enjoy that for a while at least, okay?”

  And it wasn’t his fault that Lola was battling cancer and wanted to celebrate her son’s supposed happiness.

  Dammit.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay. We won’t tell them the truth yet. But don’t cancel the party,” she said. At his surprised expression, she said, “I mean, obviously we can’t let your family host a wedding reception for us, but… don’t tell them yet. Wait until after Christmas.” And preferably after we leave and I’m not around to see Lola’s sad and disappointed expression.

  Dylan let out a loud breath like he’d been holding it, and his shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you,” he said, sliding his gloved hand down her cheek. “Having us here makes my mom really happy, you know.”

  “I know.” If the situation was reversed, she would have lied through her teeth if it meant making her mom happy in that last year of her life. Not that Lola’s prognosis was terminal. But with cancer… you never knew.

  A snowflake landed on her eyelashes and she blinked it off. Something cold and wet smacked her in the temple. Then something hit Dylan square between the shoulder blades.

  “Snowball fight!” came a shout from the corner of the house. Nick’s voice. The dogs barked excitedly.

  Nick, Brianna and Katie Jo emerged from the shadows, running toward them and firing off well-aimed snowballs.

  Francie shrieked and hid behind Dylan. The dogs jumped and leaped in delight, probably thinking this was a newfangled game of catch.

  “We’re under attack!” he shouted with a laugh, then he grabbed her hand and they sprinted to the woodpile, taking cover behind it, but not before they’d been hit multiple times.

  Every time they stood up, a snowball whizzed overhead. “They have to run out of ammo soon,” Francie whispered as they crouched behind the stacks of wood. One of the dogs followed and licked Francie’s face, happy to have a human at the same level.

  “Knowing Nick, he’s probably been stockpiling snowballs since he got home last week. Just waiting for this moment.”

  Were all men the same? Just oversized pubescent boys? Francie was beginning to think so.

  “So tell me about Sabrina,” she said, hoping her tone sounded no big deal.

  Dylan shot her a sideways glance that told her he didn’t buy the casual tone for a second. “Like Bri said, she was my high school girlfriend.”

  Francie scooped up some snow and formed it between her gloves. “How long did you go out?”

  Dylan poked his head above the woodpile. He ducked as a few snowballs whooshed above him. He grinned at Francie. “This is war.” He made a couple of snowballs before he said, “Three years.”

  “Wow. That was a long time.”

  His shoulder nearest hers shrugged. “This is a small town. It’s not like either of us had a lot of other options.”

  They built a stack of ammunition while keeping an eye on the dark forest behind them to make sure they weren’t being set up for an ambush.

  “So what’s Brianna’s deal?”

  “Sabrina’s her best friend.”

  Oh, great. “No wonder she hates me.”

  “She doesn’t hate you.”

  Francie rolled her eyes. “Uh, huh.”

  Dylan chuckled. “Okay, so maybe she’s a little disappointed that she and Sabrina won’t be sisters.” He packed another snowball. “She’ll get over it.”

  “Sabrina’s probably very pretty,” Francie remarked.

  “She was homecomi
ng queen.”

  Francie’s ears hummed.

  “And head cheerleader.”

  She packed the snowball between her hands too hard and it broke.

  “Voted most popular.”

  That’s it! She was going to—

  Dylan laughed at her. “Jealous yet?”

  She was tempted to jam this mushy snowball in his face, but she couldn’t help returning his grin. “Yes, actually.”

  A look passed between them. “Good,” he said softly. After another long look, he glanced around the corner of the woodpile. “They’re across the driveway, huddled together and whispering. I think they’re about to make a run for it. As soon as they’re out in the open, we’ll let ‘em have it with everything we’ve got.”

  She nodded and grinned at him, but she couldn’t help thinking of his words. “This is war.” Had he been in a similar position in the Afghan desert, hunkering down behind a wall with the enemy on the other side? But real enemies with real bullets, not just harmless snowballs? He hadn’t told her many specifics about his time over there. He said he wanted to move ahead, not focus on the past. She got that.

  She stared at Dylan’s strong profile. He’d done such an amazing job for his country. He’d asked her to marry him to protect her and the girls in case the very worst thing happened. And now he was willing to pretend they were happily married just to make his mom happy for a few days at Christmas while she battled the C word. He was such a good man.

  Why the hell had she made that stupid bet with him? Because right now she wanted nothing more than to drag him inside, get naked, and show him with her body how much she loved and appreciated him, even though she couldn’t say the words and even though this happy-ever-after charade would eventually come to an end.

  And—jealously, selfishly, and immaturely—she wanted to make him forget all about Sabrina-what’s-her-name.

  “Here they come,” Dylan muttered. He turned and shot her a devilish smile. “Ready?”

  “Absolutely,” she said.

  On the count of three, she and Dylan shot to their feet and let ‘em fly as the snowball war commenced. Boom! Boom! Boom! One after another. Shrieks, laughter and barking dogs erupted from around the woodpile, and all of a sudden they were surrounded.