Page 23 of Misadventures With My Fake Fiancé

“Really?” I was very skeptical. No way my mother would just 'deal with the gossip.' She was up to something, I just didn't know what it was.

“Yup. Hang on. No, crotchless panties don't have any fabric across the crotch. Violet?” Goldie dropped her voice. “I swear some people are idiots.”

“Like Mike to get me into this mess in the first place,” I grumbled.

“Honey, Mike is a sweetheart. You could be engaged to worse.”

I rolled my eyes. “Goldie, we're not engaged. He only hatched this scheme to avoid Crazy Susan.”

“In Bozeman, you're engaged. Have fun with it, honey. Mike's hotter than Mrs. Dinkweller's prize-winning pepper jelly and I've heard he likes to take control, if you know what I mean.”

I had a feeling I did. Just one look from him and my nipples hardened.

“Even though he's smart enough to be a doctor, you're right, he's a complete idiot to come up with a lie that spread like it has,” she continued. “Which means he's a man. Since you're engaged, are you sharing a room?”

“Yes.”

“So everyone thinks you're canoodling.”

Canoodling? “Yes.”

“Are you really canoodling?”

“Goldie, I've been here less than a day.”

“So?”

“So...no.”

“Honey, do something wild. Canoodle the man. Hell, canoodle him so good his mother will notice.”

I flushed at that. I wasn't sure if it was the image of canoodling him so good, or the fact that my skills would make even Mrs. O take notice.

“In fact, I'll overnight you a box.”

“A box? A box of what?” I asked warily.

“I'll surprise you.”

“Great,” I grumbled. This was not good. I could only imagine what she'd be sending. Mike hadn't needed anything from a box the first time, except maybe condoms, and I had no doubt he didn't need anything more than that now. I popped another antacid.

“Violet Miller. Go do what you wrote in that erotic romance of yours. That's an order. It will all work out—or you'll be getting married to Mike. It's a win-win.”

Goldie clicked off without saying goodbye. She was done talking, so the call was over.

The only good news from that conversation was that my mother wasn't going to kill me and my father wasn't in thebasement cleaning his shotgun. Mom was tackling the Montana aspect of this little fiasco Mike had brewed up. Goldie knew the real deal. It really couldn't get any worse.

I smiled to myself at the revelation.It couldn't get any worse.I should make the most of being engaged to Mike. I fiddled with the big ring on my finger. Why not have a little fun, do a little canoodling, just like Goldie said? If I was going to carry the hussy fiancée title, then I might as well wear the sash.

My heartburn faded away, replaced by nerves. I wasn't the hussy type. Sure, I wanted Mike. So did Crazy Susan, and probably every single woman over the age of twenty-five in Gallatin County, Montana. I'd wanted him since I was in tenth grade. Graduation night hadn't changed that. In fact, it made me want to try out the full-grown Mike and take him for a test drive. Compare models. The newer model definitely had a few extra perks; a heated seat and better mileage. If Goldie came through with her mystery package, I could bring the bells and whistles and it would be one amazing ride.

I couldn't spendthe evening in the bedroom. Mike might join me and no matter what Goldie said, I didn't want everyone to think we were canoodling while the other men watched baseball. Besides, Trish and Banks would be waiting for us. The kind of canoodling I had in mind was more than a quickie. Although, a quickie wouldn't be torture either.

In the bathroom, I freshened my makeup, brushed my hair. I didn't know what there was to do at night in Alaska, but the sun was still out and I was still awake. I wasn't Barbie-perfect like Trish, but I pulled myself together considering what I had to work with.

I bumped into the twins outside my door, surprising me. It seemed they were waiting for me as the bedroom was downstairs off a side hallway. Near the laundry room. Not a prime location, and some might be bothered by the steerage accommodations in comparison to the multiple bedrooms on the second floor, but I was thrilled to be separated from the rest of the crowd. Plus, we had a bathroom to ourselves. I wasn't sure what a bachelor like Uncle Bob needed with a five-bedroom house, but it was practically too small for this week.

Jean-Luc and Marc closed in on me, like wild animals cornering their prey, my back pressed against the wall. One gazed at me, his eyes practically hypnotizing, the other checking out my body, the whole time murmuring rapid French. I caught a word here and there, but when one of them—I still didn't know which—leaned in close and whispered in my ear, there was no question of their meaning. I shuddered at his warm breath on my neck. I felt a hand run softly up and down my arm. Was it the other one? The only thing I could see was one French shoulder.

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