Page 11 of Fake Fiancée for Dad's Best Friend
“Welcome home, Alex!” The couple takes turns to hug their son.
Alex wastes no time introducing me to his parents. “Vivian, please meet my mom Karen and my dad Mike. Mom and Dad, this is Vivian, my fiancée.”
I blush the minute I hear the introduction, not entirely because of guilt. He’s such a good actor, the way he smiles at me proudly and the way his arm wrapping around my shoulders possessively as if I were his treasure almost make me forget it’s an act.
“Awww!” Karen presses her hand over her breastbone as if touched by her son’s happiness.
Karen is in her early sixties but looks no more than forty to me. She has a very genuine smile. After hugging me, she holds my hands in hers and looks me up and down. “You look adorable! I’m so glad to meet you, Vivian!”
I didn’t expect such hospitality and enthusiasm. I feel so awkward that all I do is smile like a fool for a full minute before I thank her.
Alex’s dad Mike looks a lot older than his wife and must be in his mid-seventies. It isn’t surprising because Mike had a previous marriage before meeting Karen. But despite the greys and wrinkles, I can still see he was once a very handsome man, just like Alex.
He’s also very kind. “Hello Vivian, welcome to the family,” he says when it’s his turn to hug me.
The moment we enter the living room, my mouth drops to the floor. I expected luxury but nothing like this. The Persian rugs, plush velvet armchairs, and chandelier hanging below the mahogany wood ceiling with accent beams are the fixtures I’ve only seen in movies.
My God. This is the wealthiest house I’ve been to. Of course, I’ve seen celebrity homes on TV and in magazines, but it’s the first time I’m actually inside one. I know Alex is rich, and I’ve been to his Lower Manhattan condo once, but the luxury is far from comparable to this. I’m completely in awe and loss for words.
A maid brings us tea and refreshment, and we sit down on the sofa. Alex must feel my nervousness because he turns to me and whispers into my ear. “Are you okay?”
The caring gesture rouses a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. I nod and smile at him. “Yes.”
“It’s just an old house,” he says to me while his parents are speaking to the maid and the butler.
I know he isn’t being smug this time. He’s trying to ease my anxiety.
After a brief moment’s inquiry about our flight, Karen says, “Dinner won’t be ready for another hour. Why don’t the two of you go to your room, rest, and settle down?”
“Thanks. We’ll do that, Mom.”
Jack takes my luggage and leads us to our room upstairs. The room is huge! Again it has a mahogany ceiling and Persian rug on a hardwood floor. A king-sized bed takes less than one-tenth of the space, and there are couches and a sofa in front of a fireplace—my God. The guestroom alone has more footage than my dad’s entire house. It opens to a balcony and has a fantastic view of the surrounding hills and the distant ocean.
“Wow!” I gaze at the mesmerizing ocean view. Even the million-dollar Hudson River view at Cody’s balcony doesn’t hold a candle to this! I’m speechless when I find out the bathroom, which is the size of my bedroom, also has the same view. “This is the best guestroom I’ve been to in my life.”
Alex chuckles. “It’s my bedroom. I lived here until college.”
I gasp. “No wonder,” I say and glance around. Indeed, there are Alex’s childhood photos on the walls and a music album collection on the shelf. He likes Elvis, just like my dad. “It doesn’t feel like a bedroom because it’s so big.”
“I know,” Alex says with a nod. “Everybody says that.”
Everybody? Has he brought many guests here? Who were they? I’m curious and jealous.
I stand in front of the wall to browse among his pictures. He was already hot and cute in high school and very athletic. There are photos of him playing baseball, tennis, and soccer. My eyes fall on a picture of Alex on horseback in an equestrian outfit: white shirts, white pants, and black boots. He was still a teen back then, tall and slender and cute, but also confident. My heart melts. I wish I had met him back then. Shit. I wasn’t even born.
“I was a champion rider back in high school,” Alex says to me while standing beside me.
“Great,” I blurt without thinking. “Then you can probably teach me how to ride.”
“No problem,” he smiles with twinkles in his eyes. “I can teach you at the resort’s equestrian center. It isn’t far.”
Seeing he takes me seriously, I back out. “I’m just kidding. I’m not interested in riding.”
He narrows his eyes on me. “Are you sure? Because my lessons are two hundred bucks an hour, and I’m offering you for free.”
I waver. “Well, if you put it that way, I guess I’ll give it a try,” I say.
“Good,” he says. “We’ll do it first thing tomorrow.”
