by Linda West
I glanced at the perfect retail crew, hoping they hadn’t heard. I tugged my hair out of his fingers.
“I prefer natural.”
“Please tell me you’re not some crazy granola chick or something?”
“I like granola,” I grunted defensively.
He pointed at my uniform. “I bet you have a Save the World T-shirt on under that attractive chauffeur outfit you’re sporting.” He laughed, and the retail army laughed back in a forced echo.
I wrapped my arms around myself. I did happen to be wearing my Save the Trees T-shirt, but I’d be darned if I’d tell him.
Humph. For somebody that was supposed to be charming, he certainly didn’t seem to be using any of it on me.
Goodness knows you’re not supposed to tell a girl her hair is mud-colored; that’s insulting to anyone! It was true I hadn’t bothered to do much with my hair lately, other than tying it in a ponytail for special occasions….
“I washed it yesterday.” I defended myself instinctively, and felt it to see what kind of state it was in.
He looked doubtful. He continued clucking like a dissatisfied hen.
Darn Devlin Somerset. I obviously made a deal with the devil despite keeping my immortal soul intact. In any case, I wasn’t about to let him see me flinch.
He addressed the staff. “So, let’s get the little minion measured, and I’ll consult with you on her wardrobe. We’re also going to need a hairdresser to come in to have her hair dyed blonde, or nobody will ever believe that I dated her, let alone proposed.”
I tried to contain the grimace on my face. I liked my earthy look, but he wanted glitz and a Beaver Cleaver clone. He was the worst of men.
A consultant was busy getting a hairdresser on the line when I heard Devlin whisper to her.
“Look, I know she’s a cubic zirconia, but I need her to look like a diamond.”
The stern-looking woman cast a shrinking look in my direction, as if I had personally failed all females. My hands balled up tight, and, although I’ve never hit anyone, I seriously could see how it happens.
He thinks he’s too good for me?!
Fake hair, fake guy, fake morals! You want a fake? Oh, I can do fake. I can excel at a fake. Maybe not debutante level, but I could learn anything on YouTube.
Chapter 11
I couldn’t wait to sneak away and tell my dad the good news about the money for the house. I stopped in my tracks when I had an upsetting thought. Maybe I shouldn’t say anything until I had the money in my hand. I was suddenly unsure of how my dad might think of this. This could blow up in my face if I wasn’t careful. This was Devlin Somerset–our biggest client. I didn’t want to mess up in some way and cast a bad shadow on my father…
I glanced over at Devlin; he was considering some designer dresses. He looked so elegant and perfect and in shape. Sure, easy for him—he probably had nothing better to do all day than work on his body. Can’t say it didn’t appear to pay off in his having one heck of a physique.
Within minutes, I was whisked up by the salespeople and thrust into a room for measuring. To my horror, the staff whipped out tapes to analyze every inch of me.
Speaking of horror, the back view I got of myself in my underwear was enough to send me running.
I was definitely going to have to add some kind of exercise to my routine. I liked to lie to myself and believe that carrying a protest sign to stop injustice might double as an arm exercise, but based on what I saw in the mirror, I was dead wrong. I didn’t have much time to get upset over the state of my butt, either, because another group of people arrived like a buzzing beehive.
A manicurist.
A pedicurist.
And a hairdresser, complete with an assistant to carry her equipment.
After what seemed like hours of being abused with bleach and stupid talk, Devlin emerged into the backroom to check me out. My hair had been stripped, beaten, and dyed nearly white blonde. I looked like a fright night bride.
He smiled. “Now that looks like a girl I might date—at least briefly.”
I really wanted to punch him, I really did, but the cruel hairdressing wench still had my locks clenched in a brush/blow dryer combo, so I couldn’t reach him.
I shouted over the dryer.
“Do you know how upsetting this is to me as a woman, that just because I put some blonde in my hair, you now find me attractive?”
Devlin smiled and shrugged, but didn’t’ apologize.
Soon, the retail people were smiling ear to ear, full of Somerset cash and ready to get home to their families as they loaded all the clothes Devlin had picked out for me into the back of the Rolls Royce limo.
He looked me over, with my new platinum hair and expertly applied makeup, and nodded his head as if I passed some man examination.
“Let’s see the nails.”
I gritted my teeth and held out my hands that now sported long French manicured, perfect nails. I awaited the Prince’s approval.
He nodded and pulled something from his pocket.
It was Sofia’s diamond ring.
I stared at the intense sparkles that bounced and beamed all around us. The ring must be worth a fortune. I had never seen anything so obscene. I loved it. So much for not being materialistic.
“You’re going to have to put the ring on. I hope it fits.” With that, he slipped it on my left hand. It fit as perfect as Cinderella's glass slipper.
We both looked down silently at the ring on my wedding finger, and just like that, I was engaged to Devlin Somerset.
Chapter 12
“You can drive me as usual, in the proper attire for a chauffeur, and as befitting your station. We will change you into a proper dress when we get closer to Kissing Bridge,” said Devlin. “You can leave the hat off, so you don’t get that matted hair thing you had going.”
I turned and tight smiled at him. “Just to be clear. You’re sounding a bit condescending to me–may I remind you that your other option was a stripper? And that she’s not an option?”
Devlin settled in and helped himself to a glass of cognac. He checked his watch.
“Behind schedule, but disaster averted. We should be there in four hours or so.”
He rolled up the divider window between us and I started the limo and kept my eyes focused on the road. I heard him pour himself another glass and the ice cubes hit the crystal as they clunked in. The back-speaker button buzzed on.
“Listen. I–I feel like we got off to the wrong start,” he said through the speaker. “I know we are faking this, but we…have to be believable. My family is…difficult.”
I almost felt some sympathy. Maybe I had been kind of harsh. I sighed.
“Don’t worry. I love family gatherings,” I replied. “I’m great with old people, kids, spoiled brats…” I glanced in the rearview mirror.
I felt transfixed by the way his chiseled jaw was somehow made even more glorious by the thin red scratch that the thrown ring had left. Like a mole on Cindy Crawford’s mouth. Figures.
He looked up and caught me staring at him, and I fell into those deep puddles of gray. Gray into blue, endless and forever…
“Listen, just don’t fall for me, okay?” he said matter-of-factly. “I can’t deal with the extra drama. This is a business deal.”
I sucked back a full laugh, but it came out like a gurgle. I cast my eyes to the road and hoped he didn’t see my flaming face.
How dare he. That said, I couldn’t be sure my face hadn’t resembled some swooning teenager. Gosh, I was horrible with men! I was equally ignorant around the men I loved and the men I abhorred. Ugh. I felt like sticking my tongue out at him, but thankfully controlled myself and arranged my face to look like I was at a job interview.
Which, in some respects, I was.
“I can assure you that won’t be a problem, Mr. Somerset,” I said professionally.
He looked at me in that mind-blowing intense way, and I felt my heart being sucked out like from a Dementor’s kiss.
&n
bsp; “Okay. And it’s Devlin. Or honey, or…” He made a motion to roll down the window between us, and then stuck his perfectly chiseled face through the divider.
“Okay, honey.” He fingered a lock of my fake white hair. “Suits you.”
I raised my chin and tried to ignore how ungodly manly he was. He certainly was proud of his handiwork. I glanced in the mirror.
Bridezilla.
And he liked it. Men were idiots over blondes, and this playboy was no different.
I smiled as the traffic light changed green, and I hit the gas, thinking of ways to torture him that still included me getting that two hundred thousand.
Chapter 13
I drove the limo, and Devlin continued drinking and filling me in on his life story.
He started getting wistful and mopey when he brought up the old Long Island estate. Its glory days had faded with the new millennium.
“It just never was the same after…” He stopped talking and concentrated on pouring more golden liquor from the canister into his crystal glass.
I glanced back to see him looking as if he might cry.
“I remember you back then when your family still kept all the cars there,” I said. “I was a little girl, and I thought you were a real-life prince. Your hair was blonde then, and it glowed like the sun.”
He looked up and smiled lazily. “Yeah, weird I was a toe head. Not anymore.” He ran his hand through his thick dark hair, and I found it hard to focus on the road. He caught my eyes in the rearview mirror.
“And you–you were a young girl who hid when I looked your way.”
I blushed.
“You were a good hider; you were very small– little. Well, you’re still little.”
I bit my lip. I couldn’t argue with the truth.
“And you’re all grown up now. Good for you.” He raised his glass in congratulations.
“Thanks,” I said, for lack of anything witty to add.
But for some reason, I went on. “We didn’t live there long, but I do remember one year you had a grand ball for Christmas. My father let me stay up and watch all the cars arriving and all the beautiful couples.”
He glanced up at me with a sad look. “My mother always organized it…”
He cleared his throat.
“You moved out when your dad wanted to start his own car business,” Devlin continued.
I snorted a gross, embarrassing nose sound. The truth was, his older sister, Sissy Somerset, had taken up painting and demanded our home for her new art studio. Mom had recently been diagnosed, and being asked to move was the worst timing ever.
In the end, we managed to find a new home, but the extra stress on Mom and Dad had been so hard to witness. As a child, I had felt so weak and unable to do anything. But now, I was a grown woman. I wasn’t about to pretend.
“Ah, not quite,” I corrected him in my schoolteacher's tone. Just the facts ma’am. I clenched the wheel tighter.
“What you mean to say is that your sister wanted our apartment for her art studio, so we were told to move.”
Devlin’s eyes bore into mine, and one aristocratic brow rose in understanding. I turned my eyes back to the road.
“Humph,” Devlin said. “Well, I’m the youngest, so they always gilded the lily with me. I should have guessed. Balderdash, really. She’s horrible that way. Whatever Sissy wants, Sissy gets. She took my pet pony.”
“What?” I was taken aback.
“It’s true. It was a gift from my grandmamma too. She talked our mother into believing that I was too young and irresponsible. A running stereotype, I might add.” He flashed a dazzle of brilliant white, and I shielded my eyes. How did a person get their teeth that bright?
“We had an entire staff at the stables to tend to the pony, not to mention all the other horses. But no matter. Sissy got her way in the end. My dear pony, Duke, became Teacup.” He stared out the window, forlornly recalling his trauma.
I rolled my eyes to myself.
It was hard to have sympathy for his spoiled rich people problems. My sister took my pony oh, waaaaa. Try keeping food on the table on the wage you paid your employees. I shook my head. They might have money, but those Somersets were still deranged. At least they could afford therapists.
Devlin leaned forward through the divider suddenly, and my pulse quickened. He cocked his head.
“But my family did invest in your dad’s current business, didn’t he?”
I looked at him uncomfortably with his man-ness so close to me. It was true. Mr. Harold Somerset II had in fact given Dad the seed money to start Archer Premier Transport. I had forgotten that.
“Yes, he did. We’re very grateful for that. I look forward to seeing your father. He was always very kind to me. He brought me chocolate milk.”
I smiled.
Devlin’s brow rose. “I wasn’t allowed to drink chocolate milk.”
I shrugged. “He obviously liked me better.”
He laughed in spite of himself, and it made me glow with a nice, warm feeling.
“In any case, I don’t think he’ll remember you— according to my sister, he’s forgetting more and more every day. I should think it best we just don’t mention any prior associations–so as not to confuse him.”
I pursed my lips. “Sure, anything you want.”
*******
I pumped the gas into the limo, and Devlin came out of the convenience store with a new bottle of cognac.
He watched me as I hovered over the gasoline pump. Snowflakes fell on his broad shoulders, and the lamppost haloed his handsome face.
I focused back on the pumping. “Let’s talk about what we should know if we really knew each other well as lovers do…” I said professionally.
“Honey…” He teased, and his mouth screwed up in a cute, tipsy slant.
Devlin hovered over me, too close, blowing on his hands.
“So, what would be your favorite meal for me to cook–honey?” I joked.
“We have chefs for that,” Devlin said as he opened the bottle and took a big swig. I looked around uneasily.
Good grief, did rich people think they were above the law? My friend drank one beer at the boardwalk and got a three-hundred-dollar ticket. Truth be told, we were in the middle of nowhere, and we seemed to be the only idiots out in the inclement weather.
“Are you sure you should be drinking? I thought you were trying to impress your father.”
“Look, my dad isn’t doing so well right now. He certainly won’t notice me drinking. I rarely drink, by the way. I’m stress drinking.”
I made a face. I could understand that. I stress drank chocolate milk.
I grabbed the squeegee thing and wiped at the dirt and snow stuck on the Rolls’ window. We had entered the foothills of the Vermont Mountains and I needed to be able to see as clearly as possible.
“Well, if I was your real-life fiancé… I would be doing the cooking. I think it’s artistic–my dad taught me.”
He studied me.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes. I love to cook; it’s a labor of love!”
He laughed. “You certainly are different from my other girlfriends.” He toasted me with his expensive bottle and took another slug.
“I doubt you can cook as well as our three-star Michelin chef Pierre, though.”
I grunted. “I probably can’t cook as well as a three-star Michelin chef. Okay, moving on. Favorite color?”
“Blue,” he fired back.
“Okay, mine is orange.”
Devlin nodded. “Got it.”
“Favorite city?” I asked.
“Monte Carlo.” He snapped his fingers as if he had answered correctly on a game show. “Great bars, great beaches.”
“For me, it would be Buffalo.”
“Buffalo? New York? Balderdash! Why?”
“Have you seen Niagara Falls?! It’s amazing, and the Great Lakes…nobody knows how awesome they are if they haven’t been there in the summer.”
Devlin rolled his eyes. “Have you ever been out of the country?”
“No–but someday, I want to visit the Amazon.”
“Good malaria grief, whatever for?”
“The rainforest. It’s getting torn down; I want to see it and help protect it. It’s being burned, and…”
Devlin took a big sip with a warning glance at me. Then sauntered back to the limo door and waited.
I bit my tongue and went over to open the door for him. His breath was hot next to me.
“I’m never going to remember this shallow chat, you know. Just go along with everything I say and, if in doubt, just kiss me.”
My eyebrows rose.
“Excuse me?” I said, turning around. “Kiss you?”
He waved away my alarm with a flick of his wrist. “Yes, kiss me. I don’t have time to memorize your life–we’re not on the newlywed game, were here to get my father to do one thing: sign the business over to me so I can save our family’s legacy.”
Before I knew it, his lips were on mine, and I was lifted into the closest thing to heaven I could remember. I didn’t even mind that I wasn’t breathing when he stopped and looked at me triumphantly.
“Good. I just wanted to get that out of the way so we could get the act right.”
I came back to my senses quickly and hated him again.
Suddenly, his eyes narrowed, and he leaned in. I backed up in case he was going to surprise-kiss me again.
“You!” he pointed a finger at my face. “I recognize your face now.”
I scrunched up said face.
“The protester.”
“The polluter,” I spat back.
“Ahaaa.”
“Just get in the car,” I said, holding the limo door open. He sneered but slid in.
Chapter 14
Devlin was asleep in the back, and I was happy to have time to think. I had thought that pulling off this ruse would be easy.