Page 22 of Misadventures With My Fake Fiancé

I picked up the bowl of pickles and the coleslaw off the table. “If Goldie knows, my mother is going to find out,” I hissed, returning to the kitchen, leaving him behind to pick up glasses. Did he have any idea the seriousness of an engagement? No man would introduce a girlfriend—let alone his fiancée—to his mother unless it was the real deal. Except for Mike.

I could imagine marrying Mike. I hadn't imagined any other candidate. I'd known him forever, we got along and my mother probably knew I'd had a thing for him in high school. Not that I'ddonea thing with him in high school. Graduation night, but that was it. That didn't mean I wanted to fake everyone out.

I opened the fridge door to get the pickle jar so I could refill it with the leftovers. Jean-Luc or Marc boxed me in, cool air at my back, solid, brawny Frenchman too close for comfort. He took the jar from me, ran a finger gently down my cheek. Goose bumps spread across my skin, but I wasn't sure if it was from the cold or the touch of the hot man. He gave me a quick grin, and then turned away. Was that the same guy as my last trip to the kitchen or was this the other one?

I swallowed, overwhelmed by the intensity in his gaze and his lingering scent. Soap or aftershave. Wow. They were a potent duo. What was that all about? Putting the moves on me almost in front of Mike. They didn't come right out and proposition me in a foreign language, but one of them, or both—I really had no idea—were putting the moves on me. French moves, it seemed. He stepped away as if nothing had happened when Mike pushed through the swinging door.

“Call your mother and explain,” Mike said as he placed dirty glasses on the counter. He had no clue the twins were working it behind his back.

“Callmy motherand explain?” I repeated, my voice going up an octave. “Are you crazy?”

We were faced off in the kitchen, Jean-Luc and Marc watching us. I couldn't handle the twins, and whatever their deal was, at the moment. My fake fiancé was more than a handful on his own. I grabbed Mike's wrist and pulled him into the dining room. Hopefully, the swinging door would hit him in the ass.

I looked up to meet his gaze. “Explain what, exactly? The truth?” I put my hands on my hips. “You're one to talk. Why don't you explain toyourmother and then we'd be out of this mess?”

Mike took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling for a second. “If Susan hears we're not engaged, she'll be back to her creepy tricks. Do you want her surprising you in the shower again?”

I shook my head. I might want someone to join me in the shower, but it wasn't Susan, or any female for that matter.

“Crazy Susan or our mothers. Which is worse?” I asked.

Susan was Mike's temporary Alaskan problem. My mother would be around for much longer and her power crossed state lines.

“Look, we can't talk about this here in the dining room. Let's finish cleaning up and go to our room.”

Trish breezed by, but stopped, sighed. “Ooh, I remember when I got engaged. Banks wanted to have me all alone, too. He couldn't keep his hands off me either.” She waggled her eyebrows mischievously. “Take all the time you want. I'll cover for you if anyone asks.” She winked at us and left. Obviously, she’d heard the tail end of our conversation.

“Seriously?” I hissed. I picked up the package of hot dog buns, tossed them at Mike and walked away.

I stormedoff to our bedroom and plopped down on the bed, staring up at the popcorn-textured ceiling. I was ready to strangle Mike with my bare hands. This was definitely not what I volunteered for. We were in such a cluster. If Goldie knew about the engagement, then everyone in Bozeman knew about it. I wasn't very prominent or remotely famous, but there were about five hundred families that were involved with my school, so I knew many, many people. Mike, as a doctor, was well-known. Between the two of us alone, we covered all the young families and those with foot injuries. But add in our parents, crazy friends like Goldie, and the entire town was connected. It was like its own little social networking site, without the Internet.

We were doomed.

I grabbed my cell from my pocket and called Goldie. “Hey, it's Violet.”

“Well, if it isn't the bride-to-be.” I heard her chuckling.

I winced. “Very funny. Please tell me my parents don't know.”

“No, you don't want hard plastic. Silicone is the way to go. What? No, you don't want to use it like that.” I heard some rustling. “Sorry, Violet. Yes, of course your parents know.”

I went to the bathroom to dig up some heartburn tablets. “My mom's going to kill me!”

My second suitcase was open—I hadn't needed anything from it yet—and my things tossed about, strewn across the floor. My bathing suit was beneath a hiking boot, a lacy bra dangledfrom the suitcase lid. Alex must have gone scrounging for his non-existent present like he'd said. The little bugger.

“Don't worry about your mom. I told her.”

I froze, an antacid halfway to my mouth. “What do you mean you told her? You told her Mike and I are engaged? Are you out of your mind?”

“Not engaged. She heard that from Aunt Tootie's neighbor.”

I didn't know who Aunt Tootie was, but she should move, and fast. Nosy and gossipy neighbors were not good. I popped the tablet. Mint flavor spread across my tongue as I crunched down. “Then whatdidyou tell her?”

“I told her about the little ruse you're pulling on Claudine. She thinks it's sweet Mike is worried about her feelings.”

Leaning against the vanity in the bathroom, I stared blindly at the wallpaper landscape. “You're telling me my mom knows about my fake engagement and is fine with it?”

Goldie chuckled through the phone. “She told me to tell you to have fun and she'll deal with all the gossip.”

---