The four of us sat at the bar and ate as Andre, Dennis, and Loretta chatted.
“That was freaking delicious, Loretta. Thank you!” I told her honestly. The guys turned to look at me as if they’d forgotten I was there.
Loretta jumped off her stool and collected the baskets. “You’re welcome, doll. Thanks for joining us. It was nice.” She smiled at me, a genuine, wide smile that showed her crooked teeth.
“Yeah, you usually disappear to stuff your face and have a smoke before opening. What gives?” Dennis leaned on the bar.
“Oh . . .” How the hell was I supposed to keep this going when I was doing out-of-character things left and right? Was Toni having this much trouble? “I’m cutting down. Trying to quit.”
“Hey, good for you!” Dennis grinned and got back to work.
Andre just watched me for a few moments, then nodded and got behind the bar. Dennis opened the front doors, Andre turned the sound system on, and the Cottonmouth Inn was officially open for business. My first night as a working-class girl was underway.
…
A: Hey. How are you doing with the clothes and stuff?
T: Fine? Why?
A: Oh ok. Good! It’s nothing. Just making sure.
T: Spit it out, Alex.
A: It’s just . . . maybe we should’ve at least taken our own underwear with us?
T: OMFG! Yes!
A: Oh thank god! It’s not just me?
T: No! I mean, everything fits perfectly and it’s all clean, but there’s something just . . . off about wearing someone else’s panties.
A: Yes! Exactly! It’s weird.
T: So weird . . . Hey, while we’re on the topic, you may wanna wash most of mine. Sometimes I run out and I just wear them inside out until I can get the laundry done.
A: Toni! That’s disgusting!
T: Hey! Don’t judge me! You didn’t exactly give me time to prepare for this brilliant plan.
A: Whatever. I already washed everything you own.
T: Of course you did . . .
Five
Toni
I fidgeted with the dress, readjusting my position in the back seat. I couldn’t remember the last time I was nervous. George throwing me glances in the rearview really wasn’t helping.
“Stop looking at me, you creep!” I snapped at him.
Asshole just laughed. “I’m just making sure you don’t bail out of the car while it’s still moving.”
“I’m not a fucking quitter,” I shot back.
“Well, then get your shit together. Alexandria may not feel it all the time, but she always makes sure she goes into any situation looking confident.”
I huffed. Then I took a deep breath and made myself roll my shoulders back. He was right—not that I’d ever say it to his face. Alex’s confidence was quiet and steady; mine was cocky and came from a place of not giving a shit. Which was probably why this was getting to me. I actually did give a shit—one hundred thousand shits, to be precise.
“What’re you in love with her?” I deflected, taking the focus off me.
He laughed again. “I’m fifteen years older. She’s more like a younger sister. I may work for the family, but make no mistake, they are my family.”
I knew a thinly veiled threat when I heard one. “Relax. I have every incentive to make sure this goes well.”
“Good, because it’s showtime.”
I sat up straighter and paid more attention to what was outside the car. After more than half an hour of driving, we were slowing down, pulling up to massive iron gates.
George put his window down and pressed a button on an intercom. The speaker mumbled, George mumbled, and then the gates swung open and we were driving down the path to one of the Winthrops’ many estates. The drive was lined with massive oak trees, the twisted branches creating a kind of tunnel. I could see manicured lawns and structures in the distance—so much land the edge of the property wasn’t even visible.
As we emerged from the trees and drove around a motherfucking fountain, I took another deep breath. I shoved all the uncertainty and stress down and pictured Alex—her perfect posture, her gentle mannerisms, her proper way of speaking.
George pulled to a stop in front of a house that looked like it belonged in Gone with the Wind. It was multilevel and white, with a wraparound porch and columns and shutters all over the place.
“You can do this.” George’s little encouragement was spoken so low I almost missed it, and then he was out of the car and opening my door for me.
I swung my feet out and pulled myself out of the vehicle, doing my best not to let my eyes widen in awe as I looked at the grand house.
Several people came forward, but before I could so much as smile at them, they attacked the trunk, extracted all the luggage, and disappeared.
An older couple came down the stairs toward me. The man had auburn hair, speckled with gray at the temples, and the woman was short, curvy, and a bottle blonde, but the color was expertly highlighted and suited her.
“Miss Zamorano.” The man smiled politely. “I’m Oren Charles Winthrop the second. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
He extended his hand, and I shook it, smiling. “Likewise.”
“Allow me to introduce my wife, Caroline Ann Winthrop.”
I turned to the woman.
“Oh, we are so happy to have you here, Alexandria, so happy.” She had a southern accent and a bright smile with perfectly straight teeth. Her eyes dropped to my left hand, and she gently lifted it. “It looks gorgeous on your elegant fingers. Perfect fit.”
“Oh! Thank you.” I kept my response brief. I couldn’t say anyone had ever referred to any part of me as elegant.
Alex had said the parents were aware of the nature of the engagement and helped set it up, but Caroline was acting as if she was meeting the love of her son’s life. I’d been expecting polite professionalism, not actual warmth. Oren senior, on the other hand, was polite but looked like he’d rather be literally anywhere else.
After a few more pleasantries, I was shown to my room to “settle in and freshen up.” But all the luggage was already in there, and I’d just showered and dressed an hour earlier, so there really wasn’t anything to “freshen.”
The maid closed the door behind me, and I took the room in. It was massive, bright and airy despite the large, heavy furniture. There was a white four-poster bed, a lounge area with couches but no TV, and a large desk. The space somehow blended the historical tones of the house with modern, light features. It felt expensive, and I stood near the door for a really long time, feeling like maybe I shouldn’t touch anything.
But then I rolled my eyes; I was going to be living there for the next month. I took a quick glance at the en-suite bathroom—so much marble—and ran my hand over the softest sheets my peasant, yet apparently elegant, hand had ever touched as I went past the bed to the window.
This bedroom faced the back of the property. The view was incredible—rolling hills, manicured gardens closer to the house with wilder forest farther out. Several additional structures, like barns and sheds, were dotted about. Someone on a horse came out of what had to be the stables. The rider took it easy for a while before pushing the animal into a trot and disappearing over a hill.
First chance I got, I was going down there to check out the horses. I may have agreed to this insanity mainly for the money, but there was no reason it couldn’t be fun too.
A knock at the door dragged my attention away from the window and my thoughts. I rushed across the room and pulled it open.
On the other side stood the prettiest man I’d ever seen. Dressed in light gray pants and a blue polo shirt covering his broad shoulders, he was tall and lean. He had his father’s auburn hair—cut short with enough length on the top to style back into neat waves—and his mother’s hazel eyes, a perfectly straight nose, and full lips.
He was the exact opposite of the rough, tatted, ripped-jeans-and-piercings guys I usually went for. He even smelled expe
nsive—like the perfume counter at a department store, only more manly and sharp.
I smiled politely and extended my hand. “Oren. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I took a page out of his father’s book and greeted him in almost the same words, hoping I sounded as polished and proper as Alex.
He took my hand in his, stuffing his other hand into his pocket. “Alexandria. Welcome to Hazelgreen Manor. My apologies for not greeting you at your arrival. I only just got in myself.”
“Oh, no problem.” I gently pulled my hand out of his grip, not entirely sure what to do or say next.
He cleared his throat. “Can I interest you in a walk? A tour of the house and grounds?”
“Yes, that would be lovely.”
I closed the door and followed him. He spoke at a leisurely, calm pace but never left too long a silence as he pointed out different rooms and features of the house.
His bedroom was at the other end of the hall to mine, his parents’ in the opposite wing of the house. There were about a thousand more bedrooms and a lounge room with a large television.
“It’s the only television in the house.” He cringed. “Sorry. This is my mother’s childhood home, but we don’t stay here often and it’s usually for business, so the bedrooms were never modernized.”
“Oh. It’s no problem.” I plastered a smile on my face. Inwardly I cursed seven ways from Sunday. I fell asleep to the sound of infomercials turned down low most nights I didn’t pass out.
“Of course”—he stuffed both hands into his pockets—“you probably don’t watch a lot of television. I’m sure you’ll be as busy working as I will.”
Thankfully, he didn’t give me a chance to answer before moving off.
The house had three levels, several wings, staff quarters on the ground floor, a catering kitchen and a nicely decorated second kitchen, multiple formal and relaxed living and dining areas—even a parlor with a fucking piano—and fireplaces everywhere. I really was in a Regency romance novel.
Halfway through the tour, I gave up trying to remember where everything was. We ended up on the back porch, looking out over the same view I had from my room, as he told me there was a full staff on call twenty-four seven, including a chef and butler.
“I was going to suggest a stroll of the grounds, but it is getting hot.” He leaned on the railing, his knuckles turning almost white from the tightness of his grip.
That was odd, considering how calm and relaxed he seemed.
“I really don’t mind. I was actually hoping to see the horses . . . uh, the stables?” I wasn’t sure what the correct word was. I really didn’t mind the heat, and it was only midmorning, not even close to the oppressive heat of the afternoon.
His grip on the railing loosened, and he gave me the first genuine smile since we’d met. “All right. Follow me.”
He set an easy pace, pointing things out along the way—the pool on one side of the house, the path to the tennis court, the various sheds and barns and their uses—but he wasn’t filling every second of silence with his words. I settled into the pauses in between.
“I have to admit,” he said halfway to the stables, “that your silence earlier made me . . . uncertain? Usually you’re very talkative on our calls, so when you gave me next to nothing while I showed you the house, I started to feel like I’d unknowingly committed some faux pas.”
“I couldn’t get a word in.” I chuckled. It wasn’t entirely true, but I didn’t know what else to say. “I guess I’m just a bit nervous, meeting you for the first time, face-to-face.”
He nodded. “I can understand that. I suppose I was a bit nervous myself.” He laughed unexpectedly, throwing his head back. “I was considering showing you every damn room in the house to make sure I had something to occupy the silence.”
I laughed too but tried to put him at ease. “Look, this is an . . . unusual situation, but it doesn’t have to be uncomfortable. We both know what we’re here for. It’s basically a business deal, right? So let’s just try to relax and be friendly about it.”
He nodded and smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes. Very good point, as always. We’ll keep things professional but friendly. Ah, here we are!”
He gestured to the stables like a salesman and rushed ahead inside.
I’d never been inside a stable, but even I could tell this one was impressive. It was huge and well-stocked with all kinds of things I didn’t know the name for that were probably very expensive—saddles and reins and things. Tidy stalls lined one wall.
I’d always loved horses. When I was in elementary school, a friend who rode horses would take me with her from time to time. I so badly wanted lessons, but my parents couldn’t even afford that, let alone an actual horse. My love of the animals never went away. I had a sneaking suspicion it was that brief interaction with the magnificent animals that started my love affair with all things furry, scaly, and feathered.
“The stables can house eight horses, but we currently have only four here. One is a racing horse, the others are leisure horses. This is one of the reasons why we keep this property open and staffed year-round, regardless of the fact that we rarely come here. Mother loves them.” Oren walked over to the prettiest damn horse I’d ever seen. It was blonde and shiny and looked like it could sell shampoo better than any model. “This is Honeymustard.” He stroked the horse’s nose, and it nuzzled into his touch.
I came closer, completely failing to contain the smile threatening to split my face open. “May I?”
“Please.” Oren smiled and took half a step back to give me room.
“Hey, Honeymustard. Hi, girl. Oh, aren’t you beautiful?” Gently, I let her sniff my hand, then stroked her nose. She was so soft; I couldn’t get enough of her. I kept one hand on her nose and patted her neck with the other. “She’s magnificent. Is she the racing horse?”
“No,” another voice said, and we both turned to face a man coming out of a door on the far side of the building. “That would be Benson.” He gestured to a stall a little farther up. “And I’m Jack.”
He stopped in front of us and extended his hand. He was a little shorter than Oren, in jeans and boots, and his messy black hair stuck to his sweaty brow. Straight teeth flashed behind a brilliant, slightly crooked grin. A sleeveless flannel hung off his shoulders, unbuttoned, and tattoos on his arms and chest peeked out of his shirt. He looked like trouble.
Which meant I was in trouble.
Do not fall for the sexy horse guy, I mentally told myself as I extended my hand and tried really hard to keep a polite expression on my face. “Pleased to meet you, Jack. I’m . . . Alex.” I gave myself a mental high five for not giving him my real name.
Oren’s parents, Alex’s mother, and George were the only ones who knew the true nature of the marriage arrangement. As far as anyone else was concerned, it had to appear legitimate. It would therefore be really fucking bad if I went and slept with a sexy stable guy when I was pretending to be her. This was going to be more complicated than I thought.
“Jack is our stable master and Benson’s trainer. He lives on the grounds, takes care of the horses, and runs the property in our absence.” Oren made introductions as I shook Jack’s warm, calloused hand, trying not to think about what it would feel like gripping my breasts. “Jack, this is Alexandria, my fiancée.”
We shared a smile that I prayed was polite, but it lingered just a little too long.
“Do you ride, Alex?” Jack asked. Was I imagining the hint of teasing in his voice?
I cleared my throat. “No, I don’t.”
Oren frowned. “I thought you’d been riding horses since you were three?”
Shit! “I have. I just meant I don’t anymore. I mean, I don’t really have the time lately. I haven’t ridden for many years.” That wasn’t a lie. “But I’d really like to get back into it, although I’m not sure I remember how.” I laughed nervously and turned to give Honeymustard another pat.
“Well, hopefully you’ll have plenty of op
portunities while you’re here,” Oren said. “I’m sure Jack would be happy to assist you.”
“It would be my pleasure, ma’am,” Jack readily agreed. Was that a slight southern twang in his voice? He was practically a cowboy. A tattooed cowboy with a drawl . . . I was in serious fucking trouble.
“Thank you. That would be lovely.” I nodded.
Oren introduced me to the other three horses—I cooed and patted them all—then followed Jack into the back office to go over something. I wandered around the stables for a while longer before walking outside.
The sun was hiding behind patchy clouds, coming and going.
I couldn’t wait to ride one of the horses. The anticipation almost made me forget the fact that I hadn’t had a cigarette since just before jumping in the shower that morning. It had been hours—most of that time spent in a state of anxiety. I couldn’t remember when I’d needed a cigarette more.
I wondered when I’d be able to sneak one without anyone noticing. I fidgeted with a piece of straw, resisting the urge to bring it up to my lips between my fingers.
“Apologies for keeping you waiting.” Oren walked out to join me and placed a hand at my back. “Should we continue our walk?”
“Actually, is it all right if we head back?” I stepped toward the house, out of his reach. “I’m suddenly f . . . famished.” Much better than “fucking starving.”
“Of course.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets, and we started to walk back in silence.
Just Be Her Page 5