Page 11 of Margo and the Faux Good Luck Beau
“The only game I know is hockey.”
I’m not sure she hears me because the volume of the crowd increases by a few decibels.
She lifts onto her toes and whispers into my ear, tickling my neck, “I will do anything for you if you just pretend to be my fiancé for a few minutes.”
My thoughts cycle from confusion to alarm. I’ve watched my fair share of American movies and this sounds like a twisted plot that won’t result in a happy ending.
Or maybe I misheard her. I lean in and ask, “You want me to do what?” I inhale her floral, fresh air scent and shuffle back as if assaulted by the pleasant fragrance, by how pretty she is.
She bounces closer and says, “Incoming. Just follow my lead.”
I’m about to suggest she find another victim for her lunacy when a parade of people I recognize as the bride’s family march toward us like an opposing team.
As if bracing for headwinds, she turns to me with a plea in her big brown eyes. “Please,” she whispers.
From a distance, a woman who looks like a scarecrow in the cornfields surrounding Cobbiton says, “There is no way she brought a date. We all know she’s lousy at relationships.”
I glance at the girl in green who initiated this. Her eyes dim. I should walk away right now, but I remain there. A bulwark against bullies. As if sensing this, she slides her arm through mine.
“She can’t keep one alive for longer than a week,” says a woman with frizzy hair.
“Do you mean she murders her boyfriends?” another asks.
I still don’t know whosheis other than the victim of what looks like a bad-mannered coven of witches but feel her stiffen at my side as they approach.
“No, I mean she doesn’t have a green thumb,” Ms. Frizz replies.
She tightens her grip as if anticipating a battle. They’re dangerously close.
Another says, “I hear she’s been fishing on dating apps.”
“More like apps for dog lovers—the new way to meet at the park with Sparky and Rover,” says a third.
At that, she lifts her chin bravely, preparing to face them as they close in around us.
“I bet it’s some hideous beast she found outside on the sidewalk.” A woman cackles then looks up at me and startles.
My mother would fit right in. From what I can tell, there are no rules to their game. But the object is to embarrass, control, and manipulate the opponent until they feel like the biggest loser.
The others stop in front of us like an ice wall, surveying the pretty woman in the mint green dress, as if their approval is all that matters.
I grunt.
Then their collective gaze swings up to me like she’s little more than gum on their shoe. It’s pure disdain. For the sake of the scorned, I accept this challenge.
Game on.
CHAPTER FOUR
I’m notsure whether I’m clinging to a lion or about to be thrown to them as my family, who were not too quiet with their comments and doubts about me landing a fiancé, have us surrounded.
To their credit, they’re not wrong.
But I hate the idea that they might be right.
Self-preservation is real, people!
“He’s taller than I’d expect,” Selby says as if we’re not standing right here.
