Mountain Man's Fake Fiancée

by Kelsey King

  It almost seemed ridiculous riding to the airport in his pickup truck dressed like this. We look like we should’ve been dropped off by a limo and we both had a good laugh talking about it. We go through security with ease, and we take the special security line like we’re celebrities or something. I’ve never experienced privilege like this before. People look at us like we’re special and that’s when the imposter syndrome kicks in.

  Once through security, we walk to our gate and Tate insists that we stop at a bar to enjoy a glass of champagne. Flying makes me nervous, so I jump at the chance to enjoy a bit of bubbly.

  “How are you doing?” he asks.

  “I’m okay. I just don’t know what to expect.”

  “Expect the unexpected, and you’ll be just fine,” he says with a warm smile.

  A wave of anxiety washes over me as I realize how crazy this whole thing is. Tate rolls his sleeves and drinks a whiskey on the rocks. He’s focused, precise, and much more internal than he’s been at the cabin. He’s no longer the mountain man whose primary objective was working the land. This is a businessman. This is a Williams. Powerful, intelligent, confident.

  “Can we get refills, please?” Tate asks the bartender.

  “Of course,” he replies, and within no time there’s a glass of champagne in front of me and another whiskey in front of him.

  “I have something for you,” Tate finally says, moving his body closer to me.

  “I think that you’ve given me enough.” I give him a wry smile.

  Tate reaches for something in his pocket and pulls it out. It’s a little box, and looking at it makes my heart pound hard in my chest. I hold back my emotions because Tate isn’t actually proposing to me. It’s all for show, and I need to keep reminding myself of that.

  Tate opens the little black box, and inside is something too beautiful for description. It’s a sapphire that much I can tell. And it’s encircled with diamonds.

  “Try it on,” he says.

  I reach over cautiously and take it out of the box. I’m afraid of breaking it or something. It’s so precious and beautiful that I can’t believe that I’m even holding it.

  “Oh my God, Tate. It’s stunning.”

  “I have to be honest with you. I wanted it to be Eden’s wedding ring.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I had it in a safety deposit box in Chicago, and when I showed her a photo of it, she said she hated it, so I went with plan B and got her a different ring.”

  “I feel like I shouldn’t be wearing this,” I admit.

  “Nonsense. It makes me feel happy that you’re the one who’ll wear it.”

  I place the ring upon my finger, and amazingly enough, it actually fits.

  “You see, it was meant to be.” Tate gives me a proud smile.

  “Tate, this is so beautiful.” I can’t stop looking down at the ring and how the light reflects on the precious stones.

  “I picked it out myself. I loved the blue.”

  “I do too.”

  As I look into his eyes, Tate leans in, slowly and tenderly, and he kisses me. His mouth and tongue are warm against mine, and I want more of him. Our tongues wrestle together, and by the time we pull apart, we’re both breathless. People are staring, but I don’t care. Heat covers my body, and I don’t want this moment to stop. I let out a nervous chuckle, and he does the same. The kiss was intense, breathtaking, and the amount of electricity that soared through me was lethal. It’s the most physical contact we’ve had, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t crave more. I want to feel his lips on mine again. I need him.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers against my lips. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

  My lips brush against his. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted you to.”

  “Really?” He pulls away, searching my face.

  “I want you, Tate. I’ve wanted you since the moment we met at the café.” The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them, but it’s the truth. We’ve been so truthful with each other it just seems natural to tell him how I’m feeling.

  He’s smiling. “Same.”

  “Well, let’s just leave it at that for now, fiancé,” I say, not wanting this to get out of hand.

  “You’re probably right,” he agrees and places his hand on my exposed knee.

  I welcome his touch more than he knows and I place my hand on top of his, giving him all the permission he needs. He gets the message loud and clear because he leans over and whispers in my ear. “You’re sexy as hell.”

  I give him a smirk and raise an eyebrow when he pulls away. “I think you are too.”

  We continue to drink, and Tate briefs me on his family again, on what I should expect, and who I should avoid.

  “It sounds like something out of a dynasty,” I say with a laugh.

  “You have no idea,” he replies. “There are many skeletons in my family’s closet that you could write a book about it.”

  “More money, more problems. Isn’t that what the rich people say?” I laugh, and so does he.

  “Exactly. It seems like my family might’ve been normal had there not been a fortune involved. Maybe everyone would have gotten along. Maybe I would’ve lived a normal life.” He sounds almost sad about it.

  “I understand what you mean. There was never any money in my family and that made things pretty simple. But it wasn’t always easy. We learned to be humble and grateful for the little things we did have.”

  “I envy that.” He takes a sip of his drink.

  “Yeah, but just think about the types of problems your family had. Never having to worry about food being on the table or if the lights would be turned off next week. There’s something to be said for that.”

  He gives me sad eyes, and I smile.

  “I’m grateful for those experiences though. It makes me appreciate everything,” I tell him.

  “I adore you, Brianna. You have no idea.” His words make me smile.

  “Just know my family will uphold a façade. Everyone’s working their asses off constantly to try to uphold this image. Imagine if all that energy went into something else, like doing something meaningful with their lives, the world would be a better place.”

  “Like felling trees,” I say, playfully teasing him.

  Just mentioning trees and the mountains makes Tate light up. “When I work with my hands and do things in nature, I feel like that’s a hell of a lot more meaningful than the kind of shit my family does. You’re going to meet my brother Tanner this week, and the guy is a total asshole. He’s never worked a day in his life, well not in the traditional sense. He knows a lot of people, gets in on a bunch of deals, and uses their money to make him more money. And not only that, but he’ll stop at nothing, no matter who he hurts in the process.”

  “He sounds charming.” I roll my eyes, not really wanting to meet this tool.

  “I’m sure he’d love to steal you away from me too. Just if his hands go places they shouldn’t, feel free to kick him in the balls. Then there’s my father, Richard, who has always tried to be a good guy, but unfortunately, my mother pressured him for perfection and success. Then there’s my sister, Rebecca, who married a jerk who talks about nothing but his yacht for hours. It’s the most boring conversation so if you can escape them, do it.” I can tell that this conversation is putting Tate in a bad mood because he’s downing whiskey like it’s spring water.

  “I’m sorry, I’m already getting wrapped up in this shit,” he says, squeezing my knee tighter.

  “It’s okay. It’s interesting to see this different side of you.”

  “It’s funny. You think you’ve escaped something. Changed your life, you know. And then it all comes back like it never left.” His sad eyes meet mine, and I wish I could fix the way he feels.

  “I get it. Tate. If you ever need to talk, just know I’m always here for you. You don’t have to hold all the shit in all the time, okay?”

  He moves loose strands o
f hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear. “Thank you.”

  We overhear on the loudspeaker that our flight will be boarding soon, so Tate pays for the drink, and we move toward the gate. I feel the champagne coursing through my bloodstream, and as we’re walking, I take Tate’s hand in mine. He willingly interlocks his fingers with mine and keeps me close. I can’t help but look down at the rock on my finger and wish it were really mine, and so was he. It’s all too good to be true.

  We’re flying first class, which is something that I’ve never done before. Once we’re on the plane and seated, Tate turns and looks at me. My hand is still in his, and it feels right.

  “Are you comfortable?” Tate asks as I’m served another glass of champagne. I already feel more than tipsy, but I willingly take the drink of liquid courage.

  “As long as you’re by my side,” I say, meeting his eyes.

  He gives me a side grin, and for the first time, I notice he has one dimple in his cheek. Oh my God, this man is going to be the end of me.

  The flight from Montana to Chicago is only about two hours, so Tate and I enjoy pleasant conversation all the while. His thumb brushes across the top of mine as we’re entirely engulfed in conversation and eye contact. I love the feeling of it. There’s something protective and territorial about my hand being in his.

  “I have to be honest with you about something,” Tate says.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s going to be hard for me to keep my hands off of you this week,” he explains. “Especially since people will hear we’re engaged.”

  I nod, welcoming his touch, but I don’t say as much.

  “If at any time I go too far, tell me.” His tone becomes serious.

  “I promise,” I whisper.

  “Good,” Tate says, as though his conscience has been appeased.

  “And I want you to speak up,” I say, turning the tables. “If I ever do anything that violates your space in any way.”

  Tate starts laughing, and I do the same. Before I can control myself, I lean over and place my lips upon his. It’s a tender and soft kiss, but I’ve been dying to do since in the airport. His lips part and I feel him almost sigh. Tate places his hand behind my neck and deepens the kiss. We’re lost in each other, and I think I could kiss him until the plane lands. Before things get too heated, I pull back and meet his eyes.

  “Did that violate your space?” I ask.

  Tate’s eyes are closed like he is relishing in the memory of it.

  “That was the best violation I’ve ever experienced.”

  “More champagne?” a flight attendant asks.

  “No,” I say.

  “Yes,” Tate says.

  “Oh my God, you’re trying to get me drunk.” I laugh.

  More champagne arrives, and Tate starts downing it. Even though the physical chemistry between us is blossoming, I can sense Tate’s growing tension, like he’s trying to medicate himself before dealing with his family. I wish I could do something to help, but I don’t know what that would be.

  “We’re making our final descent toward Chicago,” a voice over the loudspeaker says.

  “Here we go,” I say and wraps his arm around me. I explained how much I hate flying and as I’m in his arms, smelling his cologne, I can’t think of anything but him.

  “You might have to carry me off this plane,” I admit, the alcohol streaming through my body.

  “I will,” he tells me, and a Cheshire grin crosses his Tate’s face, and I can tell that he’s been emboldened in some way. Just as soon as the plane lands and the passengers begin to retrieve their bags from the overhead compartments, Tate takes it upon himself to literally pick me up in his strong arms.

  “Tate, you can’t be serious,” I say.

  “This is all your fault,” he says. “You asked for it!”

  Tate carries me from the front of the plane, out the door, and down the long hall to the inside of the airport. People are looking at us, and I feel completely mortified and excited at the same time.

  “Wait here,” Tate says, placing me in a chair. When he returns, carrying both bags, he looks triumphant.

  “You’re blushing,” he says, noting how mortified I look in my seat.

  “I wonder why.”

  “Come on, let’s go. If you keep sitting there, blushing to perfection, I may have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you all the way to the car.”

  I get up; shaking my head in disbelief that this is my life right now. Yes, Tate Williams has a playful side, one that I could get used to seeing. We make our way to the exit of the airport.

  “Here we go,” Tate says, noting a man in all black who holds a sign that reads T.H.W.

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “It’s my name.”

  “Why don’t they spell it out?”

  “Because if someone reads the Williams name, it could be dangerous,” he says darkly.

  A wave of cold fear rolls down my spine.

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Nah, I’m just joking with you,” he lets out a laugh.

  I playfully slap his arm. “Stop doing that. I’m gullible.”

  He smiles. “You’re beautiful.”

  That familiar heat rushes through my body again.

  The driver escorts us to what ends up being an impressive limousine just outside the airport. To think, I drove to the airport in a beat-up truck, and now I’m leaving the airport in a luxury limo. I’ll have to remember this experience for the rest of my life as I pretend to be Cinderella.

  The limo driver opens the door for us, and I get in first. As I lower my head to get inside, I feel Tate’s warm hand upon my lower back, guiding me in. I can’t get enough of his electric touch. Once inside, Tate heaves a sigh.

  “This is happening,” he says.

  “I guess so. No turning back now.”

  “There’s a problem,” Tate says, becoming tense.

  “What?” I ask, thinking that maybe he was remembering something he forgot at home.

  “You’re sitting too far away from me.”

  I smile and blush again. He has such a powerful effect on me. I move toward him, sitting by his side.

  “That’s more like it.” Tate wraps his massive arm around my shoulders, and I sink into him.

  “More champagne?” he asks humorously. I hit him gently on the chest in protest. “Ow, you’re hurting me,” he says.

  “That I find hard to believe,” I say as he pours me a glass of champagne.

  “No, really. I’m in terrible pain,” he tells me, pretending to be hurt.

  I hit him again just for good measure.

  “Oh, you’re killing me.”

  We’re both laughing now, but finally; Tate grabs my hand and places it over his heart.

  “You see…this is where the wound is.”

  “Yeah, is there a bruise now?” I ask.

  “I don’t think that you understand what kind of a bruise you’ve left here,” he says.

  Tate looks into my eyes tenderly, still holding my hand over his heart. Something passes between us that’s hard to describe. It’s all warmth and affection and depth. Just by the way he’s looking at me, I know what we’re sharing and what he’s saying at this moment is real. I just hope we both survive this without a broken heart.

  11

  Tate

  Tonight we have dinner with the family.

  Someone shoot me.

  There are so many demons to face, both inside and outside of me, and I’m not looking forward to any of them. Thank God I have Brianna by my side, because with her here, I feel like I’m strong enough to do this.

  As we pull up to the estate just outside of Chicago, I grab Brianna’s hand tightly. We share a tender glance, and I can’t help but be amazed by the effect she has on me. After spending so much time together it feels like we’re actually together, and it feels good. I find myself wishing it wasn’t all for show.

  “I’m nervous,” sh
e says.

  “Don’t be” I place my hand beneath her chin. She shows me that pretty smile, and I’m overcome by an intense urge to kiss her again, but I hold off. It’s going to have to wait.

  I step out of the limo first so I can put out my hand and help her to follow. Brianna looks absolutely stunning. Sexy as hell. For a moment I think that I should’ve bought her an outfit that was a little less revealing, but I’m sure I’d still be admiring and thinking about her body.

  “Tatum!” I hear a familiar voice call. I turn to the stone steps that are in front of the estate and there stand my mother wearing a pantsuit and dripping with pearls. Her arms are crossed over her chest. Sue is an intimidating woman, but I refuse to let her get to me this time.

  “Mother,” I reply a bit coldly. “This is Brianna Carson,” I say, approaching the steps, making sure to flash my million-dollar smile her way. I grab Brianna’s hand and interlock my fingers with hers and notice how natural this simple act feels.

  “Wonderful to meet you,” my mother says, putting out her cold hand, glancing at our hands intertwined. There’s a diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist that she’s worn since I was a kid.

  “Thank you so much for having me,” Brianna says congenially.

  “You’re welcome. Come on in. Supper will be served at seven pm sharp,” my mother tells us.

  Always so orderly, my mother. Everything has to be on time, and I can’t stand it. I think life should have a bit of chaos to be enjoyed thoroughly. Mother does not adhere to the chaos theory.

  “You look nice, Tatum,” Sue says, leading us into the front room.

  “Thank you, Mother,” I reply. What she means is that she’s pleased I put on a suit and shaved my face, and look like the son who left everything behind.