Charade (A Fake Fiancée Romance) (Pretense and Promises Book 1)

by Jade C. Jamison

  This is temporary, she continued to tell herself, much like a cheerleader on the sidelines tells her team they’ve got that winning basket—even when they clearly don’t.

  But Vail was a gorgeous place, and she’d find it in herself to settle in until they left on Sunday.

  By the time they got to the condo, Erica’s nose was cold and she knew it would be pink or even red by now. Brock held the front door open for her. As she walked in, she hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t the sounds that assaulted her in the doorway.

  “Damn it all to hell, Bret. You get to choose every year. It’s my turn.”

  Erica recognized Brandon’s voice and wondered to herself, Does he know he sounds like he’s two years old instead of a guy who’s in his thirties? She thought some of simply running up the stairs to their room, but Brock was unzipping his jacket, so she began unbuttoning her coat.

  Bret’s voice met their ears. “I really don’t care, Bran. I just want to get the decision made. It really doesn’t matter if you’re the one who’s making it. It just needs to get done now, because if you wait till tomorrow, it’ll probably be too late to make a reservation. In fact, we should have already been done with this.”

  “I’m doing that now.”

  As Brock and Erica entered the living room from the entryway, they saw Brandon storming toward the kitchenette area. Lisa was on the floor playing with the baby and Elle sat in the large cream-colored sofa, sipping an amber drink without ice. Harper was still seated at the desk in the corner, working on something, and their father was nowhere to be seen.

  “Hey, everybody,” Brock said. “What are we doing tonight?”

  Elle lifted her perfectly manicured eyebrows before saying, “I’m going to finish this drink and then retire to bed.” Erica thought it odd that she was going to bed early, but the woman said, “I’m going to need to start getting my rest if I’ll be carrying Bret’s child.”

  Lisa said, “Yeah, enjoy it. Once your baby is moving, you’ll be on her schedule.”

  Harper looked up from the desk, pulling her reading glasses down her nose, probably so that she looked more authoritative. “Lisa, I’ve told you that you can’t let the baby dominate your schedule. It should be the other way around. You need to train her to adapt to your needs.”

  The younger woman frowned and muttered, “Yeah.” Then she started looking on the coffee table past the stack of large glossy magazines. “Anybody see the TV remote?”

  Brock cleared his throat. “Erica and I are going to be heading to bed ourselves, but I wanted to ask what time the big meal is tomorrow.”

  Bret popped out of the kitchen. “All depends on when Brandon can get the reservation for. Might be lunch. Dunno. Do you have plans we need to work around?”

  “This is Erica’s first time in Vail. I just wanted to show her around town.”

  Erica couldn’t help but catch the hint of derision in Elle’s voice. “Really? I thought everyone had been here.”

  “Erica’s not a skier. She grew up close to Crested Butte, so there’s nothing exciting about it for her.”

  Bret clicked his tongue. “Well, if she’s going to be part of this family, she might want to learn.”

  Erica could feel her face flush. I’m right here! They were discussing her as if she was in another room, and it was beginning to frustrate her.

  “We’ll be skiing tomorrow if you want to join us,” he continued, this time looking at her, almost as if he’d gotten a psychic message from her. “Our insurance is good if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  She didn’t know that she was worried about anything, and she wasn’t sure how to respond to his statement. Brock jumped in and rescued her, though. “One day isn’t enough to really enjoy yourself, and Erica didn’t bring any equipment or clothes or anything. We’ll have to do it sometime later in the season when we have a couple of days, but, like I said before, I’ll be showing her around tomorrow, not down the slopes.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “I guess I’ll check in with you in the morning—unless you want to send me a text.” Brock placed his hand on the small of Erica’s back, guiding her out of the room. “Good night, everybody.” Erica followed up with her own good night before they rushed up the stairs. She didn’t mind Brock’s hand because he was saving her, whether he realized it or not. It might not have seemed like a big deal to Brock, but the atmosphere downstairs had felt toxic.

  God, how could he handle so much dysfunction?

  Once they were behind the closed door of the bedroom, Erica pulled off her coat and said, “Is it always that much fun?”

  “That was nothin’.” Brock peeled off his leather jacket, draping it on the wooden chair by the desk. “Can I ask you a favor?”

  “Like I haven’t already given you plenty?”

  Brock smiled, charming as ever. “I didn’t realize there wouldn’t be much furniture in here. And I know I agreed to sleep on the floor, but that carpet is not beckoning me.” He drew in a deep breath before asking, “Would you be all right if I slept on one side of the bed—on top of the covers and fully clothed, if that makes it easier?”

  Erica might not have been a Brock fan, but she wasn’t heartless. And, seeing the stock he came from, she was beginning to sympathize. That he turned out almost close to normal was saying something.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “You’re a doll.” Brock sat on the edge of the bed, pulling off his shoes. “In the meantime, do you want to see if there’s a good movie on television? Unless, of course, you’d like to watch the trash Lisa does. I’m sure she’s watching reruns of Jersey Shore or The Kardashians if you’d rather.”

  Erica laughed. “No, I’m good.” She leaned over her suitcase, pulling out the things she’d need to get ready for bed—toothpaste and toothbrush; cleanser, toner, and moisturizer; lotion; pjs, robe, and slippers. Before she headed out the door to use the restroom to change, she turned to Brock. “I can say this much: out of your entire family, I think I have the most in common with you.”

  “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

  Grinning, she added, “And, if it won’t go to your head, I think I like you better than all the rest, too.”

  “You better. We’re engaged, after all.”

  She rolled her eyes and left the room, thinking they couldn’t end that soon enough.

  * * *

  Holy shit, was he in trouble. Erica returned from the bathroom wearing a fluffy black robe and matching slippers—nothing exciting. But when she peeled off the robe, he spied out of the corner of his eye—although he pretended to be watching the Tom Cruise sci-fi movie on the television—a long, filmy nightgown in lilac. Even though it swayed against her form, his peripheral vision was able to make out the curves of her breasts and hips.

  Not good. He was going to have to keep his hands and eyes to himself in this bed.

  While she was gone, he’d taken the liberty of changing his own clothes. He’d taken off what he’d been wearing—sweater and jeans—and traded them for gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt and socks. Normally, he’d sleep either in underwear or nothing, but he’d promised to be dressed over the covers, so he had to find something halfway comfortable in his luggage. And while this getup might be too hot underneath a comforter, it should keep him warm on top of the bedding.

  She held her phone in front of her face for over ten minutes, and he finally said, “You must have the most interesting Facebook feed of anyone on the planet.”

  Laughing, she replied but kept her eyes on the phone. “No, I have a Kindle app. I haven’t really read much in the past year, but now I have a little free time. I have like forty or fifty ebooks on here that I bought a long time ago when I graduated and thought I might have some time for leisure reading.”

  “So what are you reading?” He imagined Erica to be the type to read nonfiction.

  She almost giggled but he could see that she suppressed the impulse. However, she
said, “None of your business.”

  “Aw. You can’t say that to your fiancé and expect him to ignore it.” She rolled her eyes but it didn’t stop him from leaning in her direction and peeking at her phone.

  “You can’t tell what it is anyway.”

  “The way you’re acting, I’d think it’s the Communist Manifesto or something.”

  “Not quite.”

  He studied her face as she resumed reading—and then he realized that her cheeks had actually been pink.

  “Hmm. Are you embarrassed about what you’re reading?”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because you were blushing.”

  She sighed. “Here. You’re so curious, why don’t you read a little?”

  He took her little Android phone and looked at the screen. At the bottom of the app, it said she was 64% of the way through the book, but that didn’t mean anything to him. All he knew was she appeared to be in the middle of a chapter.

  He started reading in silence.

  He did that a lot, and I wasn’t sure why or how he was able to tune me out. He sat on the couch, and so I was able to walk in and sit next to him. He was absorbed, and so I decided to kiss his neck, get his attention. But that’s when I noticed what he was doing. He had up some Yellow Pages-type listing, and he had an entire page of people named Richards.

  “Looking for family?”

  As though he were pulled into the moment, he slammed the lid of the laptop down. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

  I was taken aback. “I was just asking.” He set the laptop on the floor and kissed me with a hunger…or a vengeance. I’m not sure which. And he started unbuttoning my jeans. “Not here, Ethan.”

  “Oh…this seems a little naughty, Erica.”

  “Just give me back my phone, please, Brock.”

  “A little bit more…” He returned his eyes to the phone, swiping the screen to turn the virtual page. This time, he read aloud.

  “No one’s here right now, Val.”

  “I don’t care. They could be back at any minute. I really don’t want them walking in if we’re in the middle of making love.”

  “Oh, is that what we’re calling it? Making love?” I just looked at him and then stood up. “Don’t you like it when I fuck you?”

  “Sounds like a bit of a dysfunctional couple. But I want to see what happens next.” He loved that he was getting under her skin—and it turned out he was right. The book was definitely a little naughty. He flipped the page until he found paydirt.

  He read with a bit of a theatrical flair, as if he had a book of Shakespeare in front of him and he had to pour all his emotion into the words to help his audience appreciate the literature. He read it slowly, while trying to keep his voice sounding innocent for better effect.

  In the short time I’d even been sexual, he’d figured out what buttons to push. Kissing my neck always made me melt and there went the anger. And his hands went straight to the button on my jeans again. I was at a melting point and wanted to insist we go to my room, but I was so hot at that moment, I did just want him to fuck me. So I too was clawing at the button on his pants and not worrying that we still stood in the hallway just inches shy of my room.

  “Brock, stop.”

  “Stop what? Getting you all excited with words?”

  “Just—” He let her snatch the phone out of his hand. “Let me read my damn book in peace, please.”

  “This is some of that so-called Mommy Porn, yeah? And what’s the point, Erica?”

  She turned on him, her pupils dilated so large he could hardly see her brown irises as her nostrils flared. “It’s a love story, Brock, and it was sweet until you started reading it.”

  “Well, if that’s sweet, I want some of that.” He sat up, enjoying the hell out of getting a rise out of her. “What’s the name of that book anyway?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Wow. Strong words coming from a lady like you.” He scooted closer to her on the bed. “Unless you meant literally…and I could definitely oblige.”

  “Don’t be a pig, Brock. I’m supposed to be in love with you, but it will be hard to act like I do when you’re so repulsive.”

  “Repulsive? Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.”

  Erica slammed her phone down on the nightstand. “I am going to sleep now, Mr. Ford. If your manners have not returned by the morning, all bets are off. I don’t care if I have to find my own way home.”

  “Fine. I was just teasing.” Sensitive little thing.

  “No more. This is serious business. I can’t pretend to be your fiancée if you’re constantly screwing around.”

  “Okay, fine. My lips are sealed.”

  “Thank you.”

  With a huff, Erica rolled over, yanking on the comforter, but it wasn’t budging because of Brock’s weight. He decided to wait so she’d have to ask politely before he got up to give her some slack in the covers.

  In the meanwhile, he had some contemplating to do, because—in the words of Shakespeare—he was pretty sure she doth protest too much.

  Chapter Ten

  IN SPITE OF being a bit of an ass the day before, Brock acted the next morning as though nothing had happened. He insisted on getting Erica out of the condo before ten, though, and they took a brisk walk through the town, pausing at Starbucks before resuming.

  In the middle of their journey, Brock got a text from Brandon that they would be having dinner, not lunch, so Brock used that as an excuse to be gone most of the day. He took Erica all through town, telling her about different memories he associated with various places.

  The sky was a light blue with few clouds, sunny and bright, and Erica asked, “Does it snow here much?”

  Brock looked around, particularly toward the ski area. “Hmm. What do you think?”

  “Very funny. I know they get a lot of snow, but it’s been clear the whole time we’ve been here.”

  “It’s in the forecast for tomorrow afternoon, the main reason why I want to leave early tomorrow.”

  Erica wouldn’t be hard pressed to admit that she enjoyed her time with Brock that day. He was lighthearted and playful, a quality that Erica never saw him display around family or at the office. In fact, he’d been that way the night before when he’d been embarrassing the hell out of her reading from the romance book she’d been devouring. When she’d handed over her phone, she had just finished reading a sex scene, so she’d thought she was safe. Leave it to Brock to find more, though…

  But he hadn’t said another word about it the next day and he’d since been lively and fun. If the real Brock were like this all the time, she’d have no issues playing his fiancée. It was his asshole moments that made it difficult.

  When it was time to head back to the condo, Brock estimated that they were about a mile away. “Race you.”

  “You’ll win.”

  “Come on, Erica. It’s the perfect temperature for running—not too cold and the sun is shining on us. You’re wearing sneakers and you finished your bottle of water. Come on. It’ll be fun.”

  So she ran part of the way, but she grew tired after what she estimated was half a mile. Brock told her that they’d only gone one quarter.

  “Well, I’ll walk the rest of the way. Meet you there.” She could tell he was itching to run. “Seriously. I can find my way back. Go.”

  “Nah. I can walk with you.”

  “Would you just go already? I’ll be fine.” She thought some of telling him that all the rich white people residing here had created the perfect crime-free neighborhood by ensuring no one without money or needs of any kind could live there, but keeping those kinds of negative thoughts in her head would sour her mood again.

  But at least he took the hint.

  As Erica walked alone, she took in the natural beauty of the place. She loved the snow, the mountains, the clear sky as a backdrop, and she focused on those things. The beauty of nature—that was what brought her joy more
than anything manmade, and it was those moments she’d need to hold onto during dinner with the dysfunctional Ford family, because that was sure to be a treat.

  * * *

  Brock tried to keep his cool. Erica hadn’t brought any formal wear on the trip, and they hadn’t shopped for it while they’d been out and about all day, but when he mentioned it later that afternoon, Elle said she might have something Erica could borrow. Elle was the taller of the two but her tea-length dress nearly touched the floor when Erica wore it. The dress, a deep shade of jade, made Erica’s brown eyes all the more vibrant.

  Lisa had a pair of black heels that fit Erica’s feet so well, Cinderella’s prince would have been fooled.

  When Erica walked down the stairs so they could go to the restaurant, Brock felt a lump in his throat. She was stunning, just like she’d been the night of his dad’s party. This woman really would look good on his arm permanently.

  What the hell was he thinking?

  They took two cars, and he and Erica rode with Brandon, Lisa, and the baby, a car seat separating Brock from his date.

  That was okay, though, because she was on his arm when they entered the restaurant. As they were walking in, she confessed to him that she wasn’t always comfortable with these sorts of places and he said, “Yeah, they’re not my favorite, either, but sometimes you find a chef who makes it all worth it.” As they approached the table, he put his lips to her ear and said, “This is the kind of place Brandon loves—all pomp and circumstance. But this is what we came for—and, after this, we’re under no obligation for anything else the rest of the time we’re here.”

  Erica’s gracefulness in the restaurant as he held her chair for her to sit belied her inner toughness. Brock was truly beginning to appreciate how elastic Erica could be—professional one minute, the doting daughter the next, and now, a truly elegant woman.