Weekend Wife: A Fake Fiancée Romantic Comedy Standalone

by Erin McCarthy

  “I can handle it,” I told him sincerely. “Eight years in the city has made me tougher than I look. We can do whatever you want. This is your position in the company at stake.”

  “But you’re mad at me,” he said flatly. “This was all a mistake.”

  He looked so agitated I sighed. “You’re too cute to stay mad at. Besides, I can see why you wanted to rattle your mother. She’s a sniper with those insults. I’m still angry, but at your mother, not at you. She’s elitist as hell.”

  Grant was pacing. “This is the worst guest room, by the way. It’s a dig at me.”

  I thought the room was just about the size of a small nation, but what did I know? In the Caldwell world, posh furnishings and an en-suite bathroom with a copper tub were just bullshit they had to endure. It must be damn hard to be rich. Not.

  “So don’t let it get to you. Let’s just stay and do whatever we want. Say whatever we want. They clearly do. Your grandmother is smoking a Virginia Slim inside and calling relatives sluts. I mean, I think that gives us a free pass to behave however we want.”

  Grant laughed. “Wait until the rest of the family gets here tomorrow.”

  “I can’t wait,” I said dryly. “But if we’re staying, I’m serious about going swimming. You owe me a Dirty Dancing moment.”

  He eyed me, his shoulders relaxing, a smile turning up the corner of his mouth. “I can’t possibly deny you that.”

  “Besides, if we stay and talk about our wedding the entire time, it will make your mother lose her mind. That could be fun.”

  Grant’s gaze dropped to my lips. “I’ll make it up to you,” he said. “Whatever you want, you can have.”

  Oh, the possibilities. “I wouldn’t offer me carte blanche if I were you. I have a lot of needs.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed all that Prada up against his hard chest and thighs. “Most of them involving food or being in bed with you.”

  Grant brushed his lips over mine. “Like I said. Whatever you want. I owe you at least a hundred orgasms and a private island for doing this.”

  “Can I have the hundred orgasms on the private island?” That wouldn’t be the worst thing to ever happen to me.

  “Of course. We can take a private jet and have a butler bring us meals in between orgasms.”

  If only he were serious. “Perfect. I didn’t bring a swimsuit, by the way.”

  “Check the smallest bag. I ordered one for you. I find you easy to predict.”

  I found him easy to fall in love with. “I’m doing a terrible job of punishing you for springing the fake engagement on me.”

  “Agreed. You only play the femme fatale.” He eased my jacket off my shoulders. “But I have no complaints. Now let me help you get changed.”

  “This feels like a trap.”

  “It’s absolutely a trap. One in which I try to convince you that there is no reason we can’t have sex right now.”

  “I can think of a reason,” I said, even as he teased over my sweater with his thumbs, finding my nipples.

  “What’s that?”

  I stepped back. “I’m not wearing my slippers.” I gave Grant a saucy grin. “Now find me that swimsuit.”

  I wanted to have sex with Grant, without question.

  And while punishing him was essentially punishing myself, I couldn’t give him everything. Not all at once. I’d already crumpled like a tissue when confronted with his rationale for the fake engagement.

  Grant groaned. “I hate myself for buying those damn things.”

  “Don’t be upset with yourself. It was a shining moment of your thoughtfulness, proving you miles above your family in character and content.”

  “You are the wisest woman in the world,” he said.

  Chapter 12

  I wouldn’t have thought it would be possible to have my mood turn around after our first hour at the house. But Leah managed to have me grinning in the pool in no time at all. She kept trying to jump up into my arms but just kept managing to collide with my chest and knocking us both back into the water.

  We were soaking wet, my beard dripping and her hair clinging to her cheeks and shoulders, but I couldn’t stop laughing. “Leah, don’t jump at me.”

  “That’s how it’s done!” she insisted. “I’ve seen Dirty Dancing three hundred and eleven times. At least.”

  “But we’re in a pool, not on a dance floor. There is physics involved, you know.”

  “How would I know that? I flunked physics in high school. Anything involving math and science is not my jam.”

  “Then trust me when I say that you have to let me lift you first, then you can reach forward.” She was bouncing on the balls of her feet impatiently, looking more adorable in the red bikini I’d gotten her than anyone had a right to be.

  “Fine. We’ll do it your way.” She shoved her hair back and lifted her arms in the air. “Let’s do this thing.”

  “Awesome. On the count of three.”

  Leah jumped. She fell back down with a splash.

  I waited until she was done spluttering. “I said on the count of three. Which means you have to wait until I actually start counting. You’re really terrible at following directions.”

  “Directions are like contracts. No one really needs them.”

  “You’re killing me. I might actually die listening to you say something so horrifying. Look at me in my final moments before I have a heart attack.”

  “Okay, drama queen,” she said with an eyeroll and a grin. “Your mother’s son, I see.”

  Oh, no, she didn’t. “Hey! Bad Leah. Very, very bad Leah.” I picked her up around the waist.

  She let out a shriek. “Let me go!”

  I tossed her through the air. She hit like a mortar. Water went everywhere and she sank.

  She came up sputtering, shoving her hair off her face. “What the hell?”

  “You said let you go. I let you go.” I gave her a smug smile.

  Leah splashed me. I splashed her back.

  She shrieked and splashed me again, all while backing up.

  But I had the advantage of height and larger hands. I splashed in rapid succession until there was almost a constant wave of water hitting her in the face.

  Finally, she screamed, “Stop! I give up!”

  I stopped. She wasn’t mad, she was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. She was soaked, blinking and wiping her face.

  “You suck, Grant Edward Caldwell the third.”

  “You started it. Calling me my mother was fighting words.” I walked through the water to her and helped her wipe her face and push her hair back. “You look cute.”

  “Don’t make fun of me.”

  “I’m not.” I bent down and kissed her, tenderly. “I find you cute. Adorable. Beautiful. Sexy. Delicious.”

  Leah put her hands on my waist and kissed me back. “You can be very sweet, did you know that? In between times when you suck.”

  That made me laugh softly. “That sounds about right.” Leah would never falsely flatter me, that was for sure. I thought of other women I’d dated, who’d blown smoke up the rich guy’s ass and knew there was zero comparison with Leah. My money didn’t impress her.

  “Let’s try the lift again. We have to get this right for our wedding.” Leah gave me a smirk.

  “It’s going to be a fantastic wedding, that’s for damn sure. I want hot air balloon rides.” It wasn’t going to happen, so I could have whatever I would want.

  She raised her eyebrows. “It’s a wedding, not a circus.”

  “Isn’t a wedding a circus?”

  “Solid point. Then I want a cotton candy machine.”

  “That’s easy. I also want food trucks. One, because I like tacos. Two, because it will drive my mother insane.” We were talking about it like it was real, but it wasn’t so it was actually very freeing. I had never once given any thought to what I would want at a wedding, because I was never planning to get married, but it was ironic how readily ideas were coming to me.<
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  “How about a signature cocktail called the Greah? It’s our names put together.”

  “That sounds unappealing as hell, but if you want it, go for it.”

  “Well, the other option is the Lant, and that sounds even worse.”

  “That is worse. How about a signature cocktail that is something about us, not our names? Like The Purple Slipper for yours and Tall, Dark, and Handsome for mine.”

  Leah rolled her eyes. “More like Poodle Skirt for me and The Pancake for you.”

  “Uh, no. I heartily endorse Poodle Skirt for yours but I veto The Pancake for me. I want to sound more badass than that.”

  “How about The Bad Boy?”

  “That makes me sound seventeen.”

  “You’re very picky.”

  “I am.” I ran my finger over her bottom lip, feelings of possessiveness rising strong and sure. “That’s why I chose you.”

  Her eyelashes swept down, in a move that wasn’t what I expected from Leah. “Grant,” she murmured.

  “What?” I tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at me.

  “It’s not real,” she said, her voice a whisper, her eyes filled with something that made me know she was my future.

  She felt it too. It was there in her dark eyes.

  Willpower be damned. She’d taken mine and shattered it.

  “Leah. It’s real. You know it is. I know it is.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked. “What’s real?”

  “You. Me.” I pulled her closer against me in the pool, the room silent except for the hum of the filter and Leah’s nervous breathing. “What’s happening between us. It’s real and I want to be with you. Date you. Spend time with you. Love you.”

  She sucked in a breath. “You do? But…”

  “But what?”

  “I have no idea what I was going to say. I’m freaking out.”

  “In a good way or a bad way?”

  “I think it’s good,” she said. “Because I really, really like you, even if you are bossy and picky.”

  That made me laugh softly. She was perfect for me, because she would never let my ego run rampant. “You’re impulsive and irresponsible with legal contracts, and I still really, really like you.”

  Leah looked like she was going to say something.

  But I didn’t want to hear anything practical or any doubts or fears or concerns.

  I didn’t want anything to shut down the possibility that we could work.

  So I just lifted her up out of the water by the waist. “Lift your legs.”

  She did, then her arms and screamed, “We’re doing it! We’re awesome!”

  Then she shifted too far forward. I lost my balance and she went pitching forward. We collided and went under the water.

  When we both reemerged, she was laughing and I was shaking my head.

  “And this is why I didn’t want to do this on marble flooring.”

  “Good call.” She bounced up and down. “Let’s get out. I’m wrinkling up.”

  “That’s probably a good idea. We need to get ready for dinner.”

  “Great. I can’t wait to tell your mom about our carnival-themed wedding. She’s going to hate it.” Leah pulled herself out of the pool and sat down, feet still in the water.

  I put my hands on her knees and eased them apart so I could get closer to her. “I can’t wait,” I said. “For everything.” I kissed her.

  Leah sighed in pleasure and gave me a mischievous look. “What if this is in the contract and I don’t know because I never read it? Like a ‘What’s real is fake and what’s fake is real’ mind-meld clause?”

  I was the last person in the world who would include a “mind-meld” clause. “Read it and find out.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Nah, I’m good.”

  “Besides, if it’s real, how can it be fake?”

  For a second I thought she was going to say something snarky, but Leah just ran her fingers through my beard and stared up at me thoughtfully. “It can’t be fake.”

  “No. It can’t.”

  I was drinking more wine than I should.

  But dinner with Grant’s family was surreal.

  Grant saying he had feelings for me was surreal. I had been shocked when he’d said he wanted something real with me, but I’d been ecstatic because the crush developed over pancakes had morphed into a true, deep affection for Grant as I had gotten to know him.

  I was in love with him. For real.

  That was some seriously surreal, crazy, and probably totally insane stuff.

  Staying in a mansion with an indoor pool was surreal.

  Even the tartare was surreal. It was a little tiny plate of heaven.

  But the conversation among the Caldwells was rapid-fire insults, complaints, gossip, and accusations.

  Grant’s grandmother lit a cigarette at the table.

  His father said, “Mother, you can’t do that in here.”

  “Why not?” she asked, crankily, blowing smoke in his direction.

  “Because it’s not 1977.” He pushed his chair back. “Come on, I’ll take you outside on the back patio.”

  “It’s freezing out there.”

  “It’s sixty degrees. You’ll be fine.” He pulled her chair back. “Leah, why don’t you join us? You can bring your wine.”

  I froze, startled to be singled out. My glass was halfway to my lips. I had changed into another stunning outfit, this one the all winter-white Chanel, and I had ordered chardonnay on sheer terror that I might spill. Grant’s mother had informed me white wine with beef was tacky, but I’d just used it as an opportunity to tell her about the frozen rosé machine I wanted for the wedding. That had clammed her right up.

  But now Grant the second wanted me to go outside and that felt slightly threatening. I looked to my Grant for a cue on how to proceed.

  Yep. My Grant. I said it.

  He nodded, like he was certain I wouldn’t be murdered by his father or permanently disfigured. To be honest, his father definitely seemed easy to deal with. Chill. Casual. Unconcerned.

  “Sure,” I said, because what the hell else was I going to say? I stood up and did in fact take my wine with me.

  Grant’s father had his highball glass, no question about that.

  He guided Gigi and me to the back patio, where he ensconced her in front of an outdoor gas fireplace. He called a staff member over to turn it on and tipped the guy. Then he lit his mother’s cigarette and gestured for me to go around the other side of the double-sided fireplace.

  “I can’t take the smell of cigarettes anymore,” he explained. “Funny thing is I smoked for forty years.”

  I made a noncommittal sound, wondering why I had to be out there.

  He took a sip of his drink and gave me a smile. “You and Eddie aren’t really engaged, are you? I saw your face when he dropped that bombshell. You were shocked. Plus, you don’t have a ring on your finger.”

  Which was precisely why I had told Grant not to spring anything on me. My reaction time had been too slow. Damn. Maybe I needed more improv classes.

  “It was spontaneous,” I said. “There wasn’t time for a ring.”

  “I’m not buying that,” he said. “I can see that you care about my son, but as of right now, you have no plans to marry him.”

  That would be annoyingly accurate. How did the pickled Grant the second ascertain that? Was he secretly in possession of a psychology degree?

  “So, what is holding you back?” Grant the second asked me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re holding back from committing to Eddie.” He leaned against the stone fireplace, crossed his ankles, and took a sip of his cocktail. Or rather, his glass of gin. “What are you afraid of?”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer that. I was holding back, but he wasn’t supposed to be able to see that. My acting skills definitely weren’t up to snuff this weekend. Maybe because I was, you know, busy falling in love with Grant for real.


  So the problem was, I didn’t want to give that away. But I couldn’t give away that this had all started out as a contract, whose terms I didn’t read.

  Which made me wonder how that worked. Was I still getting paid for this weekend? We had really muddied the water. And by muddied I meant “had dropped an entire oil tanker into a river” kind of muddy.

  “Don’t be scared to share with me,” Grant the second said. “I drink a lot. I probably won’t remember half of what you say.”

  Somehow, I doubted that. He was using alcohol as a smokescreen so no one would see how astute he really was. I was starting to wonder if the bottle he drank from at the house even had gin in it or if it was just water.

  I decided a portion of the truth would ring with sincerity. “I don’t want to lose my independence. I want to be a singer and I want to achieve my own level of success. I don’t want to give up a career. I would always wonder what if.”

  “But wouldn’t financial freedom allow you to pursue your passions without worrying about paying the rent? Eddie isn’t the kind of man to hold it over you, you know.”

  “Why did it matter to you that Grant has a relationship?” I asked, genuinely curious, thinking about the ultimatum that had started this whole chain of events. “Grant seemed happy with his life the way it was when he and I met. Our relationship was kind of an accident of circumstance. I don’t think he was looking for anything.”

  “I know no one really understands my relationship with Tiff, and yes, we’ve had our share of drama. But I’ve spent my whole adult life with her and I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s a love I can count on.”

  I had a feeling Grant, the son, would disagree that Tiffany was reliable but I wasn’t going to argue with his father. I mean, hey, if he was happy that was what mattered, right? I just nodded, unsure of what to say. Your wife seems as loving as a great white shark didn’t really seem appropriate.

  “I don’t want my son to spend his life alone, in pursuit of financial success or accolades. What does any of that mean in the end? I know Eddie thinks I’m something of a screwup,” Grant the second said. “But I made a choice in life. I didn’t need to ‘increase the empire.’ My father made enough money to last for generations. All I have to do is make sure it perpetuates, not necessarily gets larger. So I chose to buy a basketball team and be part of a team of management. It’s profitable and I get to spend my days and nights hanging out around a sport I love. What’s wrong with that, right?”