Page 20 of Faking With Mr. Steele

“It’s really beautiful,” she says, stepping closer to examine it.

But what’s really beautiful this early morning isherin something as simple as jeans and a cowl necked black sweater. Her dark hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, emphasizing the beauty of her face. Is it bad that all I want for Christmas is Zoe? I want her wrapped in a big red bow, that I can undo and use to tie her to my bed. She’s smart, and sexy. And she’s ...cute. Have you ever met a girl who’s just plain cute? Every smile, every little glint in her eyes, is just cute.

“I’m Douglas, Graham’s dad,” my father introduces himself. “Nothing better than a real tree. Chop one down every year.”

I give him a little side eye as she shakes his hand and compliments his tree finding skills.

“It’s great to meet you. I better go find Eleanor so she can inspect it.”

When we’re alone, I curl my arms around her from behind as she continues to marvel at the tree. There’s no one to pretend around, but I still can’t let go of her. Truth of the matter is, I don’t want to let her go. I like holding her close.

The smell of warm vanilla takes over my senses, and I nuzzle my nose into the crook of her neck, smiling as I kiss along her smooth skin.

A cough behind us breaks us apart before I can get any further. We both spin around and come face-to-face with my mother.

“Hey, Mom, didn’t see you there. Like the tree?”

“It’s perfect,” she says. “Trudy brought breakfast.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m not hungry.”

My mother moves closer, whispering, “Graham, it’s bad manners to not acknowledge her effort.”

“It’s actually kind of bad manners to have her here with my fiancée.”

My mother stops short, because she knows I’m right.

“It’s ok,” Zoe says, placing her hand on my arm, attempting to defuse the situation. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.”

Her eyes plead with me to agree, so I do. Ten minutes later, I wish I hadn’t. Trudy brought the cavalry of breakfast. Catered eggs, French toast, bacon, sausage, and anything else you could want fill the chafing dishes in the dining room. Blueberry and chocolate chip pancakes are on display complete with flavored syrups. I’m expecting a damn omelet station, but to my surprise there isn’t one. Trudy explains this is supposed to be an ‘intimate’ breakfast.

Intimate, yeah, sure.

The crystal chandelier in the dining room twinkles over the linen draped table as the clatter and clang of the cutlery surrounds us. I’m not even sitting near Zoe, which kind of pisses me off. I’m wedged between York and Trudy. It’s as if everyone is working against us in their rush to the buffet style set up along the wall.

“How’s resort living?” York asks, shoveling eggs into his mouth.

“I’m sure he loves being away from everyone, hiding up there in the mountains,” Trudy says, holding her glass of breakfastsangria close to her lips. “You’ve always been a bit antisocial.”

“Actually,York,” I stress, “it’s going great. I’m just about to add Zoe’s soaps in each cabin.” I give a little wink to Zoe from across the table.

“Soap?” Trudy says as if I said shit.

“Zoe makes soaps,” Lindsey offers, when I don’t make any effort to answer.

“That can’t be cost effective.” Trudy lowers her glass, her eyes narrowing on me. “How much are you probably paying for soaps now? Probably like three cents a bar.” Trudy won’t let up.

“Something like that.”

Trudy’s blue eyes glance over at Zoe, and we have the attention of the whole table now. “I’m sure Zoe can’t beat that cost, and even if she did she’d lose out.”

And listen, Trudy is one hundred fucking percent correct—I’m taking a loss by bringing on Zoe’s soaps.

“It’s fine,” I say, my voice low and deep, demanding not to be questioned.

Because that resort ismyresort. And if I want to pay extra for soaps, then I fucking will. It’s not going to make or break me. And there’s not a damn thing anyone can say about it.

Zoe’s face falls flat, and I try to telepathically tell her everything is ok.

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