Page 38 of Misadventures With My Fake Fiancé

“I think Zach put him there so he could go to Nome.”

Goldie just stared at me for a moment before bursting out laughing. She laughed so hard she started crying, using a paper napkin pulled from the top of a grocery bag to wipe her eyes. “Oh, Zach. I do love that boy. So smart.”

I had to agree with her. It was cute. And it was really smart for a seven-year-old. To hear about a town called Nome and think George should go on a trip there was brilliant. “Oh, I forgot to text Jane and tell her.”

Goldie dabbed at her eyes. “I'll call her. You've got enough going on with the baby and all.”

Jean-Paul or Marc hefted a large cooler and placed it on the ground next to the picnic table. The look he gave me before he returned to the cars was easily translatable in any language.

“What's Marc's problem?” Goldie asked, blowing her nose.

I took a sip of the ginger ale Mrs. O had forced upon me. Again. “How do you know that's Marc? You only met him thirty minutes ago.”

“Because they look different to me. Marc has a slight scar in his left eyebrow.”

“Huh. I never really noticed that.” That was because I'd been taking in the entire, very appealing package to notice any kind of imperfection. Times two. I watched Marc's retreat. His firm backside. So did Goldie.

“Those two are hot. I wouldn't mind being part of that French sandwich. A little Dijon mustard makes it spicy. Mmm mmm.”

My mouth fell open.

“If I didn't know any better, or could understand French, I would think he's got a littletendrefor you.” She pointed at me.

“He does.Theydo. They want me. They want to share me. To take me back to France with them.”

Goldie cocked her head, eyed me suspiciously. As if I could make that kind of story up. “They told you this?”

I nodded.

“I know you speak French and all, but you didn't mis-translate it or anything?”

I shook my head.

Goldie stared at me for a long moment. I'd actually stunned her into silence. Momentarily. “Holy hot, Batman. It's a shame you're pregnant then. They might have swayed you away from Mike, but now that you're having his baby, I guess that's the end of it.”

“I'm not having his baby!”

“Marc thinks you are.”

I fiddled with the aluminum soda can. “Fine. Regardless, I don't want to move to France with polyamorous twins.”

Goldie squinted her eyes, considered. “It might be good. Hell, it would be great. Have you ever been with two men?”

I assumed that was a rhetorical question.

“Two men as gorgeous as them? You still have eight weeks left until school starts. You could go with them and brush up on your French.”

“Goldie,” I warned. If her meddling trend continued, I'd be on an Air France flight by dinnertime.

“I bet they could get you saying 'Ooh La La' double time.” Goldie chuckled. “Double time, get it?”

I faked a smile and nodded. “Good one.”

“At least keep those two in mind if things don't work out with Mike. They could make you forget about him. About anything, hell, your own name, with four hands on your body.”

Whatever.

We both ogled Mike as he approached next, carrying a blanket folded beneath his arm. That zing of nerves jolted through me as I took him in. Jeans that molded just right to his long legs, muscular thighs. He'd shed his fleece jacket and his white T-shirt made his broad shoulders even more pronounced. His red hair was tousled as if a woman had run her fingers through it while he was making love to her. Ugh. My thoughts were definitely going the wrong way. It was more likely mussed from the wind, having had to stand out on the observation platform for the last two hours of the journey with Mr. O.

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