What am I going to do? If I fight this too much, she’ll know something is up. I can’t come clean now, because then they would definitely cut me off and fire me, not to mention how they would treat Naomi. All I can do is hope for the best and tell Naomi that we need to be extra careful.
I just need a couple of weeks. Once this acquisition goes through, we can split amicably and I’ll already have the new job. Naomi will get her money and hopefully her mother will recover. My parents will leave her alone, and they’ll have no choice but to keep me as the head of the new division.
All I need is time.
But with a PI snooping around Naomi, how much time do I really have?
What is he going to find?
I brush the thought off as soon as it enters my head. Of course he won’t find anything—Naomi is as straight-laced as they get. Maybe something will turn up about her mother—Naomi said she was a hippie, after all, and that would be exactly the kind of thing my parents would be looking for.
But it doesn’t matter.
I’m not marrying her mother, I’m marrying her.
I tap my phone until Naomi’s name comes up, and my hand hovers over the keys. Should I tell her about the private investigator?
My heart starts thumping and my eyebrows draw together. I should tell her. I should be open with her. But what if that spooks her? What if she backs out now that she knows how serious my parents are?
The PI won’t find anything, so it’s not a problem. He’ll hand my parents a generic report about her college life, her criminal record or lack thereof, and then the report will go in the bottom of a drawer, never to be looked at again.
Telling Naomi about the PI would only worry her more. She’s got enough on her plate between my parents, her mom, and pretending to be engaged to me. When she called me about the news article, she seemed upset. She doesn’t need anything else to worry about. It’ll only upset her more.
My parents are overbearing and intrusive, but knowing just how intrusive they are might be too much for her to handle.
I click my phone’s screen off and slide it back in my pocket.
Once the decision is made, it’s easy to rationalize it to myself. I stand up, grabbing my keys and heading out the door. I dial Naomi’s number on the way out.
“My mom set up the photo shoot outside the restaurant,” I tell her, closing my apartment door.
“What?!”
“I know,” I say as my chest squeezes. “I’m sorry.”
“You really need to stop apologizing for things your parents do.”
“Sor—I mean, you’re right.”
Naomi chuckles, and then sighs. I imagine her biting her lip and staring off out the window. Maybe she’s scratching the back of her head like she does when she’s deep in thought.
“Oh well, it’s done now. My mom knows about the engagement.”
My jaw drops slightly as I press the elevator button. “Oh. How… is she okay with it? Does she know, or she just knows?”
“She doesn’t know. If you know what I mean.” Naomi laughs. “She thinks it’s real. She’s getting her head around it.”
“What did you tell her.”
“I told her that I wanted to marry you.”
And do you?
The question jumps to the tip of my tongue just as the elevator dings open. “I’m about to get in an elevator, I’ll call you later.”
“Alright. We got any other public appearances coming up?” I can hear the grin in her voice.
“Not that I know of,” I chuckle. “I’ll try to get a heads up if that ever happens again.”
“Thanks.”
The elevator beeps as I hold the door open, and I let the words tumble out of my mouth. “You wanna hang out sometime? I mean like, dinner? Friday?”
“Your parents want to grill me some more?”
The elevator is beeping constantly now, with the doors banging on my arm as they try to close. “No, just me and you. As an apology for yesterday.”
Naomi sighs. There’s a pause, and then she chuckles. “What the hell, sure. Friday it is.”
“I’ll pick you up at your place.”
I finally drop my arm and let the doors close. I can’t keep the smile off my face. I’m going on a date with my fiancée.
Chapter 22 - Naomi
The questions are incessant. At work, Julia is wide-eyed. When, how, where did my engagement happen? I cringe, hating the lies that I have to tell.
I definitely didn’t think this through.
Somehow, I thought that this engagement thing would just be an easy pay check for me. I thought I’d agree to it, meet his parents, and get paid.
That hasn’t exactly happened. I’ve gotten paid—at least that’s gone to plan. Max is prompt. The transfer came through the day after the news story about our engagement. But other than that, it’s been anything but easy.
We’ve been ‘engaged’ for less than a week and there’s already been two news articles about us, two evenings with his parents, and now my mother and my boss are asking all kinds of questions.
At least Meg and Ariana know the truth. I don’t think I’d be able to manage lying to them.
“You didn’t notice anything between them?” Meg says when Julia stares at me. “They’ve been flirting for weeks!”
“Right, okay,” Julia says. “But flirting isn’t exactly the same things as getting engaged!”
“It’s happened pretty quickly. I didn’t think it would be so public.”
“Naomi, this is highly unprofessional!”
“I’m sorry.”
Julia stares at me, and then glances at Meg. She shakes her head. “I just don’t… when… how…”. She frowns, and my heart thumps.
Is she going to fire me?
Finally, she just looks at her own engagement ring and takes a deep breath. “I’d better be invited to your wedding.”
Meg winks at me and puts her arm around Julia. “Of course you’ll be invited to her wedding. Think of all the hot, single, rich bachelors that will be there!”
“I’ll be married by then, Meg,” Julia says, wiggling the fingers of her left hand at in front of her face. “You literally just went to my bachelorette party.”
“I know,” Meg laughs, leading her away from me. “But a girl can look, can’t she?”
She glances over her shoulder and I mouth the words ‘thank you’. Looks like I won’t get fired after all. It’s a good thing Julia is in the middle of her own wedding craze, otherwise she might be less forgiving.
Clients ask me about it, and my mother calls me again in the evening to make sure I’m okay. The stress is building inside me, and I find myself looking forward to Friday.
To my next fake date with my fake fiancé, although it doesn’t feel as fake as I thought it would. The more I tell people that we’re engaged, and that I’m happy, the more it feels real.
“Do you love him?” My mother asks over the phone. I’m glad she’s not standing in front of me, because my eyes widen and my jaw drops. My mouth goes dry.
I clear my throat.
“Obviously, Mom, come on.” I bluff. “I gotta go anyways. When is your next doctor’s appointment? I want to come with you.”
She takes the bait, changing the subject and I breathe a bit easier. When I get off the phone to her, I call her bank and arrange a payment for her mortgage. I’ll pay off the missed payments and the next six months-worth of mortgage payments, and then I’ll give her enough for the first six months of her treatments. That should take the pressure off, and she can focus on getting better.
By the time I’ve transferred the money to the bank and transferred money for my mother’s treatment, more than half of the engagement money is gone. I take a deep breath, hanging up the phone and dropping my head in my hands.
The reality of our situation comes rushing back to me.
It might be difficult. It might be public, and it might be uncomfortable, but it’s necessary. There’s no way I
could afford almost two hundred thousand dollars out of pocket, just for my mom’s mortgage and the first six months of her treatments. Who knows how much ongoing treatment will cost after she goes through the original chemotherapy and radiation? If she needs to have an operation, how much does that cost? And if anything goes wrong?
My mind starts doing circles around me. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes and letting the tears gather behind my eyelids.
I shouldn’t panic. We have money now—we have a buffer. She’s out of trouble for the moment, and she can focus on getting better.
I jump when my phone rings. “Mom,” I say. “What’s going on, is everything okay?” We’d just hung up less than an hour ago.
“Did you pay off my mortgage and deposit money into my account? I just got the notification from my bank.”
“I told you I would help you, Mom.”
“Take it back.”
“What?!”
“I will not have you putting yourself into debt for me. Take it back and return it to whoever you borrowed it from.”
“I didn’t borrow it, Mom.”
“So where did you get it?!”
“I’ve… I’ve been saving,” I lie. I cringe.
“You’ve saved almost two hundred thousand dollars?!”
“I…”
“You should be buying a house or something! Not wasting it on me!”
“It’s not wasting it, Mom.”
“Does this have anything to do with that engagement of yours? Is he buying you?!”
That one hurt, because that exact thought has crossed my mind. My mother is way too smart.
“No! Mom! Please, just focus on getting better. I’ve been working as a physio for almost a decade! Is it that impossible that I would be saving? What does it matter how I got the money?”
“It matters because that kind of money doesn’t just fall from the sky, Naomi. I will not let you put yourself in trouble for me. I’ll manage, one way or another. Mrs. Yates just told me she’d let me pick up hours at the hotel to clean, and…”
“What, after your chemo appointments? You’ll just go straight from the hospital to the hotel? Come on, Mom.” I hear a deep, raking breath, and I soften my voice. “Let me help you.”
“You remind me so much of your father sometimes.”
My heart starts thumping. She never talks about my dad.
“What? Why? I thought he left you before I was born.”
“He did, honey. But he’s the type of man that would do things on impulse without thinking of the consequences. Good and bad things. It’s part of the reason he was so attractive, and part of the reason he was so successful. It’s also why he left us.”
My throat tightens. This is the most I’ve heard her talk about him, ever. I don’t even know his name.
“Who is he, Mom?”
A sob sounds over the phone and my chest squeezes. My heart is thumping, and I feel like I need to know. I’ve had this hole in my past for so long, this question mark that never went away, and now, with one simple name, my mom could change it all.
“Mom?”
“Just forget about it, Naomi. He’s no good.”
“Why don’t you let me decide that? Don’t you think I deserve to know?”
“It’s better this way. Why would you want to know the man who left us?”
My heart shatters all over again. It’s the same pain as when I was a little girl who didn’t understand why I didn’t have a daddy. It’s the same pain of watching my friends hug their fathers and knowing I’d never feel that. It’s the same pain I saw in my mother’s eyes every time I asked.
And that pain silences me now. With everything going on, it just doesn’t seem like the right time. I’m not sure I can handle another shock. But is there ever a right time for this kind of thing?
I sigh.
“Okay, Mom. I love you.”
“Love you too, honey.”
I hang up the phone and clutch it to my chest, closing my eyes and breathing deeply. Questions swirl around my mind about my past, my mother, my father, about Max, and the cancer. I wonder if anything I’m doing is right, or if it’ll all blow up in my face.
Then, my phone buzzes with a picture from Max. I open it up, and see the top of a wine bottle. Max is holding the corkscrew above it, grinning at me.
Feeling fancy.
Tears cloud my vision and I cry for a few moments, staring at his goofy face as emotions jostle inside my heart. I shouldn’t like him as much as I do, but I can’t help it. Before I can answer, another message comes through.
Wish you were here to enjoy it with me.
My heart melts, and I type out an answer before I have time to think of the consequences.
Me too xx
I press send and my heart does cartwheels. I shouldn’t be getting closer to him. I know that, but right now, it’s the only thing that feels good.
Chapter 23 - Max
When Naomi answers the door, I push a bouquet of flowers towards her.
“These are for you,” I say. A smile lights up her face and she takes the bundle of flowers, shoving her nose into it and inhaling.
“They’re gorgeous, Max,” she smiles. “Thank you. No one’s ever gotten me flowers for a date before.” She nods towards the door. “Want to come up while I put these in some water?”
“Sure.”
My heart hammers while we go back up the creaky stairs to her apartment. The wallpaper is peeling along the stairway, and there’s a faint smell of mildew, but apart from that the building looks clean. Naomi unlocks two deadbolts and opens the door to a tiny one-bedroom apartment.
The furniture is cramped, and there’s not much room to move between the living room and the tiny kitchen, but I can see Naomi’s touch everywhere. There are pictures of her and her mother, her friends, posters of anatomy and textbooks about physical therapy. There’s a yoga mat laid out next to the couch, and a screen with a laptop hooked up to it.
“Is that your TV?”
Naomi glances out from the kitchen, where she’s fetching a vase.
“Do people still have TVs these days? I just stream shows online, so I just needed a screen.”
“I still have a TV.”
“You also have a bread making machine.”
“What’s wrong with a bread making machine!”
“Have you ever made bread?”
“Fair point,” I concede.
Naomi laughs. She comes out with the flowers arranged in a small vase. She puts them down on the coffee table and steps back, smiling.
“They’re gorgeous.”
“Just like you,” I say before I can stop myself. She’s wearing a tight green top that makes her skin looks like it’s made of porcelain. Her eyes shine as she glances at me, and a blush warms her freckled cheeks. She looks back at the flowers, tucking a strand of wavy red hair behind her ear. Sliding her hands over her short black skirt, she nods to the door.
“Should we go?”
“Sure.”
Not that I want to. I’d rather pull her close to me and feel her arms hook around my neck. I’d unzip those tall, black boots of hers and peel the black tights off her perfect legs. I’d worship her body and kiss every inch of it.
Instead, we step back into the chilly New York streets. Autumn is well and truly here, and I can feel the winter chill in the air. I open the car door for her and she smiles as she gets in. We ride to the restaurant in silence, and Naomi reaches over to put her hand on my thigh.
My heart jumps in my chest, and I curl my fingers around hers.
We’re both quiet, but it’s nice. It’s companionable. Neither of us talk about things that don’t matter or fill the silence with useless chatter. We’re just comfortable with each other.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way.
Or rather—it’s been a long time since I’ve let myself feel this way. Ever since Farrah left me after my injury, I haven’t really let myself be comfortable with a
woman. Even when I almost got married to Heather, it didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel like this. I was just going through the motions.
As if she can read my mind, Naomi squeezes my thigh and smiles at me.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Just… that this is nice.”
Her smile widens and she dips her chin down slightly. “Yeah,” she says. “It is.”
Conversation is easy when we sit down for dinner. She tells me about growing up in the country, and about going to college. I tell her about boarding school, and about football. We drink too much wine and eat too much food.
“You’re going to make me fat,” she says as she finishes her plate. “All these dinners out are not good for my waistline.”
“Well you’ve cleared me for jogging, so we can start going for runs together in the morning,” I laugh.
“Oh, can we?” She grins. “Bit presumptuous, isn’t it? Why would we be doing anything together in the morning?”
I just laugh and pay the bill. She slips her hand into mine and we turn down the street towards Central Park. The night is clear, and we can see a couple stars through the light pollution of the city.
Naomi sighs. “At my mom’s place, there are thousands of stars. It’s not like this.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Living out there? Yes and no. The city has a lot more opportunity, but I always think I’d rather end up in a small town in the country.”
She leans into me, her body fitting perfectly beside mine. My heart feels light as we walk, and I can’t keep the smile from my face. Naomi glances around and then grins at me.
“Is this another photo op that I don’t know about? Should I be worried about photographers hiding in the bushes?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Only when my mother is around.”
“That must have been tough, growing up,” she says, almost to herself. “Being in the public eye.”
“It wasn’t that bad. I was at boarding school with other kids like me for most of my youth. And then when I got older, people started paying attention to me because of football, not because of my parents.”
Engaged to Mr. Right: A Fake Marriage Romance (Mr. Right Series Book 1) Page 10