Page 19 of Fake Fiancé for the Billionaire Rockstar

Her heels click against the hard floor as she inches closer to me, and I push away from the counter, straightening my spine when she peeks at everything I’ve got cooking. She blinks in surprise, then glances at me. “Seems it was smart for us to come with an appetite.”

My cheeks heat, and I sigh. “Cooking helps when I’m nervous.”

Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.

“My kind of woman,” she says with a smile. “Need help with anything?”

I turn to the food and look at the sauce simmering in a skillet. “Actually, you could try this for me and tell me what you think?”

Her eyes dance with excitement, and she eagerly comes over, taking a spoon from the drawer next to the stove. I watch nervously as she blows on it, then takes a small bite. For a moment, it’s nothing but silence and my heart pounds loudly in my chest.

Then she hums in agreement and dips the spoon in again. “This is incredible. Where did you learn to cook?”

“My grandmother.”

“You’ll have to teach me some of her recipes. I’m always looking for new things to make for my husband.”

I suck in a breath and give her a smile. “That would be nice.”

For a moment, I feel bad that this is all a charade because his mother seems sweet. Quickly, the emotion goes away, and I’m left standing awkwardly silent in front of her. She glances around at everything one more time before walking away and joining the two men back in the living room.

How the hell am I supposed to do this?

***

While Donny takes plate settings to the dining table, I hurry into the wine cellar that Donny directed me to and find a good bottle of wine. At least our date last night came in handy for one thing, I know exactly which one to pick. I take a deep breath inside the kitchen, then strut into the dining room with my head held high—like I belong there.

I pour Donny's father a glass and then start to pour one for his mother. Suddenly, Donny clears his throat, his eyebrows shooting up in alarm. Our eyes meet across the table, and I see a flash of panic in his gaze.

"Sunshine," he says, his voice strained with forced casualness, "remember? Mom only drinks white wine."

The realization hits me like a punch to the gut.

Shit.

“Oh goodness,” I mutter, then quickly snatch her wine glass away and hurry into the kitchen to replace it with a new one.

While I’m in there, Donny strides into the kitchen, and I narrow my eyes at him. “You couldn’t have provided me with that tidbit of information before I embarrassed myself?”

“I know, I know,” he says, then blows out a rough breath and reaches a hand out to touch my arm. “I’m sorry.”

“Just go grab a bottle of white wine. I was so focused on what I thought you would like that I didn’t think of what she might enjoy.”

As soon as Donny disappears toward the wine cellar, I feel the pricking of tears behind my eyes so that I hurry to blink away. I refuse to cry right now. By the time Donny comes back out, I’ve masked my emotions, and I follow him into the dining room with a fresh glass for his mother.

I take the wine from Donny and flash his mother a small smile. “I apologize for that, Mrs. Steger.”

She waves me off and chuckles. “It’s no problem at all, dear.”

The meal starts off in silence, everyone enjoying everything with hums of agreement and a few smiles aimed my way for how well I cooked everything. I drink one glass of wine, pour myself another, and before long I’ve emptied that glass as well.

Donny leans in, his lips brushing my ear. A shiver runs down my spine as his warm breath floats across my skin. “Easy on the wine, Sunshine. We need you coherent.”

His closeness, the pet name—it’s all too much. I turn, our faces inches apart. “If you wanted the perfect wife,” I whisper fiercely, “you should’ve asked someone else to play pretend.”

Our eyes lock, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. Then I remember his parents watching us, and I plaster on a smile.

“Donald,” his mother says after taking a sip of her wine. “Why don’t you tell me how your relationship started?”

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