Page 17 of The Wedding Hoax

It was the last thing I said before hanging up the call, my focus on the clothes I was laying out in front of me. A few moments later, I’d put together the perfect outfit–a bright, yellow sundress with a simple silver chain.

And a few moments after that, the doorbell rang.

I opened the door to see Harry standing there with a bouquet of sunflowers, the bursting colors matching my dress.

“You brought flowers?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“It’s sweet. Very formal.” I took the bouquet into my hands. “I just thought you were more of a bad boy.”

“Not when it comes to meeting moms.” He smirked. “When it comes to meeting moms, I’m the perfect gentleman.”

“Apparently so.” I motioned for him to come into the dining room where I’d set the table earlier. “Mom, come on! It’s dinnertime!”

“I’m coming, Simone,” she grumbled as her wheelchair appeared around the corner. “I don’t understand what all the hubbub’s about. Who’s coming to dinner, anyway?”

She rounded the corner and stopped as she looked up at Harry.

“Hello,” he said, reaching down to shake Mom’s hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, ma’am.” He seemed nervous as he spoke.

“Mom, this is Harry O’Donnell,” I said. “Harry, this is my mother, Eileen Didier.”

“Oh. You’re my daughter’s boss?”

“Yes. And her fiancé.”

“What?” My mom’s eyes went wide and her mouth dropped.

The silence stretched out between us, and I glared at Harry. This was not how we’d planned to break the news to my mother.

“Since when?” Mom asked.

“Look, Mom! He brought flowers!” I showed her the bouquet in my hands, feeling nervous myself. “We should put them out on the dinner table, right?”

* * *

Dinner was so quiet I could’ve heard a pin drop.

My mom was being polite toward Harry, but not exactly warm. It was obvious that she was suspicious about why he was here and why we’d suddenly gotten engaged, and there was nothing I could do about those suspicions.

Not without breaking my contract, anyway.

“Those pork medallions were delicious, Simone,” Harry said with a bright smile. “Seriously. I haven’t had them that good in years.”

“Thanks.” I smiled back at him, even though I could feel my mom’s gaze burning a hole through my head. “What about you, Mom? Did you enjoy dinner, too?”

“I did. Thank you, Simi.”

“So, Eileen,” Harry started. “Your daughter tells me that you were an amazing cook when she was growing up?”

“Yes. I was a pretty good cook. So I was told.” My mom’s response was dry.

Harry nodded, his eyes darting at me. “Would you both excuse me? I need to use the bathroom.” Harry stood and hastily moved away from the dinner table. “Do you mind pointing out the way—”

“First door down the hall,” my mom swiftly answered.

“Thanks, Eileen,” Harry said as he disappeared from the room.

---