Single Dad’s Fake Fiancée: A Cowboy Romance

by King, Imani

  “I remember that too,” Preston says. “Those were happy times.”

  “They were,” I whisper, remembering the girl on the swing. “That picture of me in your bedroom—that’s me, isn’t it?”

  “It is. You put it in the show, but you refused to sell it because you felt it was too personal. Many of your paintings are angry, and many are sad, but there are others that are like windows into your soul. You can be very vulnerable when you paint. You don’t allow yourself to limit where you can go, even if it is a place you maybe shouldn’t be sharing.”

  I gulp.

  “I had to talk to the gallery owner and negotiate a separate price for it. You eventually let it go because you felt that if the buyer wanted it that much, it must really mean something to him. But you wouldn’t have let it go if you knew the buyer was me.”

  Too many emotions are running through me at once. I take another bite of pancake to settle my thoughts. “How long have you had it?” I asked.

  “Six months.”

  “So for the past six months that poor little girl on the swing has been watching you do to a slew of other women what you did to me last night?”

  Preston’s face goes white. “Um…”

  “You need to move it out of there. Like, today. Stick it in your office or something.”

  “Tachell, it really wasn’t like that! I am just filled with hope every time I see it. It makes me happy, it reminds me of all the beautiful things in my life that I cherish. It’s why I want it to be the first thing I see every morning, and the last thing I see when I go to bed. I promise, I never meant to disrespect you—”

  “I know,” I tell him. “Was it the first thing you looked at it this morning, or last night?”

  He thinks a moment. “No.”

  “Well, what did you look at?”

  “You.”

  “See, you don’t need it anymore.” I grin, taking another bite of pancake. “I think that little girl will be far happier in your office.”

  Preston’s Adam’s apple bobs. “Tachell, what exactly are you saying?”

  “Well, weren’t these pancake sort of a proposal of marriage? I’m still eating them. In fact, I can’t stop eating them. So I guess I’m sort of saying yes.”

  “Tachell,” he whispers again, moving from the kitchen to my side of the marble counter. His shirt, jeans and arms are covered in flour. He might make good pancakes, but he sure was a messy cook.

  I wipe away a smudge of flour from his chiseled cheek with my thumb. “You don’t have to do this right now.”

  He shakes his head, bringing his hand to his pocket. “I want to.”

  “Don’t you want to wait until I remember everything?”

  “No, I just wanted to wait until we had sex, because if you woke up you might feel like I’d fucked you. However, with marriage, if you wake up after we’re married, then you’ll get to fuck me.”

  “Wow,” I whisper. “That’s a really cynical view of marriage.”

  He shrugs. “Most of the marriages between people of my class are symbolic. Families arrange marriages to consolidate wealth and form business partnerships. The men have their mistresses, the women their pool boys or starving artists. My father was like that.”

  My mouth goes dry. Oh my god. “You don’t need to talk about this—”

  “No. I do. I know that you met with my mother. She can be difficult. There’s a reason for that. It’s not a secret, but something that you used to know and now can’t remember.”

  “Okay.”

  “My father didn’t love my mother, but he married her anyway. It was a marriage that would be advantageous to both of their families, especially those who held shares in the steel companies that would merge with the union. However, my mother truly cared for him.”

  I feel my heart cracking. “I’m so sorry, Preston.” And so sorry for Priscilla.

  “Well, I don’t think she cared at first about his indiscretions. She knew about them before, and knew that she’d have to tolerate them for the sake of her marriage and her family’s portfolio. But then, he met a beautiful Russian artist. She did these weird drip paintings—”

  Ohhhhh. “It’s alright. I think…I know what kind of art she did.”

  “She was pregnant with me when he left her,” Preston continues. “The Russian artist was pregnant with her own child. We were born around the same time when the divorce papers were finalized. Kate and I took my mother’s name. My father, apparently, wasn’t happy about it. He wanted us in his life. Unfortunately, it was an issue that was resolved in the most devastating way possible. His private plane crashed while flying up the San Juan Islands with his new bride.”

  My free hand flies to my mouth. “Oh Preston.”

  “I never met my father,” Preston says. “I’ve only met my half brother a few times during the family reunions and holidays I spent with my paternal grandmother. I know it sounds strange but, I wish I had a better relationship with him. But there is so much pain there from the lies and the betrayals that I don’t think I ever will. Anyways…I don’t want that. I want to spend the rest of my life with someone I love and respect.”

  He takes my hand. “I haven’t done much in my life to earn your love and respect, Tachell. I am trying to earn both now. I promise I will support you and provide for our child, whether you decide to spend your life with me or not, whether I die tomorrow or eighty years from now. This marriage between us will legally ensure that.”

  My heart breaks. “Stop,” I whisper.

  He shuts his eyes. “Tachell, I’m sorry if this seems sudden—”

  “No. Stop talking about me leaving you before we’ve even started our life together.” I place my hand over his. “You asked me to have faith in you. Please, have faith in us.”

  He opens his deep blue eyes, and the raw emotion in I see there consumes me. “A marriage isn’t just one person sacrificing themselves for another,” I explain. “It is two people working together to do what’s best for their family. I will be here for you too.”

  “I don’t want you to make that kind of promise yet.”

  “And I don’t want you to make your promise without getting one from me.” He can say whatever he wants, but I’m not backing down.

  “What if I do something you can’t forgive?”

  I smile through my teary eyes. “Well, then you better explain yourself. And if it’s something really bad, then first you better butter me up with some pancakes.”

  He leans down to kiss my knuckles. “Really?”

  “Yeah. These really are amazing.”

  “I’ll remember that. I have a feeling there are going to be a lot of pancakes in my future.”

  “Oh yeah?” I asked, choking up.

  “Yeah. I’m insufferable. An asshole. Controlling. And absolutely in love with you.”

  I leap down from my seat and start kissing him. And those kisses lead to something else. And, by the end of it all, Preston is late for work. Really late.

  Neither of us care about this as much as we should. Everything between us feels so new and perfect. It’s so new and perfect, in fact, that I didn’t even realize he was holding a small black box in his hand before I mauled him with kisses.

  He opens it while our clothes are thrown over every surface of the room and limbs are tangled on the floor.

  “Before I go to work, I want to give you this,” he tells me.

  And he opens that little black box. Inside is a lilac sapphire ring surrounded by small, shimmering diamonds.

  “Preston?” I whisper as he takes my hand, slipping it on.

  “I immediately thought of you when I saw this. You don’t have to say yes yet. You don’t even have to say yes at all. This is just a promise from me to you.”

  “Then this is my promise to you,” I whisper, pulling him close to whisper in his ear. “Yes.”

  Chapter 44

  You know who did not find my early exit from the Charity Ball cute? Preston’s mom.

 
I was really not looking forward to the Baby Shower. In fact, I was so not looking forward to it that I’d even asked Kate if it was necessary for me to be there.

  Yes! It’s for you! Don’t worry about a thing. Mother may not like you, but you’re carrying her grandchild. She’s not going to let anything happen to you while you’re there.

  At least Kate welcomed me warmly when I arrived. “We get to celebrate a baby and a new sister in the family all at the same time! Life just gets better and better!” She pulled me into a hug, eager to introduce me to society.

  By society, she meant New York royalty. Old money. New money. The wives and daughters of real estate moguls, restaurant chains, CEO’s of huge companies, senators and—yes—even past presidents.

  Unsurprisingly, I knew absolutely no one there. Well, except my mother, Sondra, and Kate. Oh yes, and Priscilla, who had done nothing more than kiss my cheek with hard, thin lips when I first made the rounds.

  At least my mother was having a good time. She’d rediscovered her love of cupcakes, and kept bringing plates of them to me which she then ate before I could have any, which then sent her back to the table to get more. Also, Kate and Sondra immediately hit it off—in fact, they hit it off so well that I was beginning to feel like the third wheel. It is not fun to be the third wheel in a place like this.

  I look down. Everything about the Easterbrook’s was overwhelming, even the floor. Tiny marble and onyx tiles, set in an intricate Persian pattern of triangles and tiny rectangles rather than squares. The man who laid this entry either lost his mind or has never had an alternate job in his entire life.

  I ponder the fate of this unknown for as long as possible. It was between that and pondering my own.

  I knew Preston was popular with the ladies. However, most girls probably knew when they got into a relationship with him that it wasn’t going to be long-term. Guys like Preston usually married women in their own class—women like the ones here.

  Every single one of them congratulated me with the kind of smile the one that the fairy in Sleeping Beauty must have given whoever it was that let it slip she wasn’t invited to the baby’s christening.

  Oh, that thing? No, I don’t care about things like that. It’s totally fine I wasn’t invited. Now please excuse me while I go crash that party and curse the innocent child.

  I run my hand over my growing belly. More memories of my school days had been coming back. Most were great—me playing with Reggie behind our house. Some were not so great—pretty much anything featuring Preston (he really wasn’t kidding when he said he’d been a dick to me). And then there were the memories that were just downright unpleasant.

  I’d been dealing with bullshit like this my entire life. Alright, not quite like this, but similar. A lot of the kids at my prep school had treated me badly for having a father who was a groundskeeper. This whole ordeal was reminding me of the mean, childish games I had to deal with in High School.

  Of course, not everyone was like that. I had friends. But a lot of people just searched for any moment of weakness so they could tear you down in an attempt to make themselves look good. I’m sure that there were people at this very party who were like that, but unfortunately, the ones who were jealous were the only girls I could see.

  After telling Sondra, Kate and my mother that I need some air, they all declare they will accompany me to the bathroom.

  “You guys…I appreciate the sentiment but that is overkill,” I reply.

  “No way!” Sondra tells me.

  “Yeah,” my mother says, “this place is huge. You might get lost.”

  My mom had a point. However, I had a point too. “Yeah, and that’s probably why Priscilla Easterbrook put up signs pointing to the restroom.”

  My mother frowns. “Alright. Be back soon. Those cupcakes might not be here if you aren’t.”

  Sondra, Kate and I share a smile. Even if I am back soon, those cupcakes aren’t gonna be there with the way my mom’s been going at them.

  “See you soon,” I tell them, and start down the hall.

  This place is a maze. Even with all of the signs, I’m afraid of getting lost. Finally, I see a door at the end of the hall with the sign “Bathroom” pasted on it. I start towards it when I hear a snooty “Hey,” behind me.

  I turn slowly to find three bleached blonde women with arms crossed over their chests staring me down.

  Oh boy. I’d, unfortunately, been in this position before too. I vividly remember the day—and I vividly remember the bright red color of the dye—Kelsey Benedict had squirted onto the white shirt of my uniform. Oh, so sorry, she’d said in mock horror. I guess you’ll just have to go out and buy a new one. Wait a minute, you can’t afford a new one, can you? How about I give you one of mine? All you’ll have to do is stand up in class and tell everyone that you have oral herpes.

  I didn’t do it, of course.

  I didn’t get a new shirt, either, or tell anyone what Kelsey had done.

  Instead, I wore that stained shirt for two days until my mother bleached and washed it. I still wished mom hadn’t done that. I liked wearing my stained shirt because it was a visual reminder to Kelsey that she couldn’t get me down and I wouldn’t be brought down or cowed.

  Yeah, I had pride. Maybe I had a little too much pride. But so what? I defined who I was, not anyone else. Certainly not a bunch of stuck-up bullies.

  Yeah, these girls might have money, status and beauty, but boil it down, that’s what they were. Bullies.

  I cross my own arms over my chest. “Hi. I’m going to the bathroom. If you want to talk after I’m done, I’ll be at the party.”

  “Not so fast,” the girl in the middle says, stepping forward. “We want to say hello.”

  “I think we already did,” I tell her.

  “Oh yeah, that’s right,” she says, tapping her manicured fingernail on her bottom lip. “Do you remember who I am?”

  I shut my eyes for a minute. It starts with an S. Samantha, I think? Oh yeah. “Samantha Peabody,” I tell her. “Your father owns Peabody Construction.”

  “Yes, that’s right. And your father is a janitor,” she says condescendingly.

  I grit my jaw. She isn’t worth it, I remind myself. Let it go. But it’s hard when I want nothing more than to bitchslap that bitch’s face. No one disrespects my parents.

  Still, I’m not a child. I shouldn’t respond to these childish taunts. Also, I was in Priscilla Easterbrook’s home, and I wouldn’t do anything to disrespect my hostess.

  So I don’t say anything.

  Samantha looks back at her friends, grinning. Then, she steps forward and snatches my purse.

  “Hey!” I shout.

  “Oh,” she says, holding my purse above her head. “This is a baby shower. We’re going to play lame games later on, and one of them will probably be ‘what’s in my purse?’ Now, since you’re…of a different class…we need to make sure that there isn’t anything in here that will embarrass you.”

  I want to just snatch it back, but her friends are at her side. If I do, I might accidentally elbow one of them in the face. They’ll undoubtedly spin the situation to where I attacked them.

  Normally, I would have just gone to the bathroom and let them do whatever they wanted to it. There wasn’t much in there. Some baby safe herbal pain killers. One of Sondra’s amnesia billionaire romances I hadn’t finished yet. Tissues and baby wipes. A few panty liners. Some discount make-up I bought at the drug store. Basically, a lot of things I wouldn’t miss.

  Well, accept the amnesia billionaire romance. I’d just gotten to the part where the heroine had discovered that the hero had only married her because he wanted her money. But what she didn’t know that while that’s how the romance had started, he’d later fallen in love. He then kidnapped her so he could explain himself, and now that his totally convoluted plot for revenge had come out, she remembered that he was actually her stepbrother!

  Damn. I really wanted to finish that book. But what I wanted ev
en more than that was the other thing in my purse: the lilac sapphire engagement ring.

  I hadn’t taken it off since Preston popped the question. I should have left it at home, but I was going to wear it with pride. Then, when I got to Priscilla Easterbrook’s door, I realized that she probably didn’t know yet and me flashing it in there was the worst way to tell her. So I slipped it into my purse.

  The purse that bitch was currently flinging around like a battle flag.

  “This is stupid,” I tell her. “Give it back.”

  “Oh, you want it back?” she asks. “Okay.”

  Well, that was easy.

  Then, she dumped the contents out on the floor.

  “Oh, oops!” she laughs.

  I curl my hands into fists and see red. Red like the vivid dye Kelsey sprayed all over my shirt.

  I shut my eyes, and then get on the floor. If the engagement ring fell out, I have to find that engagement ring.

  “Look at her, picking up trash. She’s so good at it. But I guess that’s to be expected. Your father is a janitor, so you should be used to picking up trash.”

  Alright, that is it. I know I should keep my mouth shut, but I just can’t. I glare up at her. “I feel sorry for you,” I tell her.

  “You feel sorry for me?” she asks dramatically.

  “Yeah. My father is a groundskeeper. He worked hard to give my brother and I would have every advantage he could. You don’t respect that.”

  “Whatever,” she scoffs, kicking a tube of lipstick over to me.

  I take the tube of lipstick into my fist. “You don’t honor hard work and sacrifice, and because of that, if push came to shove, you’d never be willing to work hard or sacrifice for another person…even if that person was your child.”

  Her eyes go dark as she peers down at me. “I don’t think you understand. I already have every advantage. When I have kids, I won’t have to do anything to provide for them.”

  “And that’s exactly the problem,” I continue. “People who aren’t willing to work hard and sacrifice for those they love don’t know the true meaning of love and family.”