Page 12 of Fake Fiancée for Dad's Best Friend
“Okay,” I nod uncertainly. I’ve never even dreamed of riding the horse.
I haven’t dwelled on the subject for long when I find another picture of him in swim trunks taken at the pool right in front of the house. My God! He’s so gorgeous. He must be in his early twenties. Already masculine, bronze, and sexy. My eyes are glued on the beautifully chiseled abs glistening with water beads. He’s running a hand over his spiky wet hair and flashing a smile brighter than the sunshine that he’s bathing in.
“Your dad took the picture,” he says to me. “I invited him to spend the summer here in our junior year.”
I swallow while struggling for words, but all I come up with is, “Nice!” I say it without even looking at him, afraid he can read through me. I’m a mess inside. My heart flutters, my belly clenches, and my thighs tingle. How does he look now? Will I get to see him topless like that?
I’m hanging my dresses in the walk-in closet when I catch sight of some paintings stacking in the corner. Out of curiosity, I flip through them. They’re landscapes with colorful rustic sceneries and simple concepts. An orange sun rises on the blue sea, a red cottage sits on top of a lush green hill, and golden maple trees stand against purple-blue mountains. They’re almost impressionist with sparse details, but the bright, saturated colors form sharp contrasts.
“So beautiful!” I say, unable to take my eyes off them. “Who’s the artist?”
Alex looks in my direction and grins. “World-famous painter Alexander Anderson.”
I take a moment to understand his humorous answer. “You painted them? No way!” I look carefully at the bottoms of the paintings and see his stylish signatures. Mouth agape, I admire the pictures once again. Most of the landscapes resemble the ones I’ve seen around the estate.
“Yes,” he says, nodding. “I did these a while ago. Sometimes I can’t believe I painted them.”
“You don’t paint anymore?”
He shakes his head. “Haven’t done anything serious since college. I was business major and an art minor at Columbia. You know that, right? It was how I met your Dad.”
I remember something about their college lives vaguely. Dad said Alex was a good painter. HIs work was auctioned at a campus art show for a thousand dollars, and he donated the money to the gallery.
“Why did you quit painting?”
He shrugs. “I got busy. It’s all.”
“Oh, you must start painting again, Alex!” I say, still going over his work. “These are marvelous!”
He chuckles. “Okay, I’ll do that for you. Here are some more,” he says as he points at another stack in the bottom shelf of a bookcase.
I browse through them. These are portraits: Horses grazing on a hill, a Bulldog playing on a lawn, a man, perhaps Mike, playing golf. “Nice,” I say as I reach the last one.
It’s a woman’s back-portrait. She’s tall and slender, her black hair put up into an elegant bun. Her blue evening dress dips low, showing her bare back.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
Alex’s smile fades a bit when he sees the picture. “Oh, she’s a friend.”
I look at the date. Five years ago. “It’s done five years ago.”
“That’s right. I had the impulse to paint that day. But I didn’t even finish it,” he says and shoves the paintings back to the bookcase.
It takes but a few minutes for me to unpack my things. I sit down on the couch. “So what else are we going to do besides horse riding?” I ask.
“I could take you to the beach if you want,” he says, sitting down next to me. He drapes an arm around my shoulders but withdraws it right away as if being reminded we don’t have to pretend. “The engagement party is on Sunday.”
“Engagement party?” I gasp. I didn’t know that part.
He smiles sheepishly. “I didn’t know until last night. Karen invited some family members and friends to celebrate the good news.”
“Oh my God!” I whine. “How many people will be here?”
He shrugs. “I told them I didn’t want to publicize the news so they only invited friends and family members. And since it’s a short notice, I would say, no more than twenty?”
“That’s a lot,” I cry. “What are we gonna do?”
He pats me on the arm. “Don’t worry. Just do what we’re supposed to. Pretend.”
