by Virna DePaul
She winces. “Poor girl. What a nasty piece her mum is.” She shudders.
“You have no idea.”
A few minutes later, my sister returns and nudges me. “Don’t look now, but your girl just walked in.”
Of course I look. I take a sip of my wine and swirl it in my glass before turning to face Marissa head on. Sure enough, she’s with her mum, brother, and sister, and an older man that must be her father.
Marissa and I briefly meet eyes before she quickly averts her gaze. She can’t keep the worried expression off her face, however, and I can tell she’s afraid I’m going to approach them. June and company don’t seem to have spotted me yet. When Marissa glances at me again, I shake my head subtly to communicate that I won’t intrude. She frowns but then takes a seat so her back is to me.
I study her sister, who is thin, tall, wispy, her hair bleached blond, while Marissa is shorter and curvier. I have to say that Marissa is much prettier, even wearing a modest gray number that’s meant to hide her from the world. Only she can’t hide that long, dark hair, the dark brown eyes, the sweet smile, and those breasts…
Those breasts….
I clear my throat, shifting my legs some. Despite her modest outfit, her breasts still managed to be put on display. Last night, I’d seen her creamy cleavage in her beige bra myself. God almighty, what I wouldn’t do to bury my face between those glorious mounds.
Dana brings my dinner but I can barely pay attention to the food as I wrack my brain for a way to get Marissa to agree to pose as my girlfriend. I don’t want to think too hard about why I want Marissa specifically, but dammit, it would solve both our problems. Yes, I need a woman to help get this part, but she also needs someone to stop her awful family from browbeating her. Sympathy fills me, thinking about how exhausted she looks.
I’m finishing up my dinner when a man steps inside the restaurant and instantly goes to Marissa’s table. He’s wearing a sweater vest and expensive Italian loafers, his hair gelled within an inch of its life. He looks like a total prat. He stops near Marissa, who stiffens when she sees him. Her mum, however, starts cooing like a dove.
I narrow my eyes. Is this the shitty, cheating ex-fiancé?
I watch as Marissa says something, the man frowns, and then the two of them go talk in private. I stare at my food, debating. I have the urge to punch the man in the face and leave him sobbing, even though it’s not any of my business and Marissa’s already shot me down. But the paparazzi would have a field day with something like that, and my chances at Perfect Union would be reduced to nil. I should leave well enough alone. I know this.
Yet when do I ever leave things well enough alone?
I get up and walk toward them. As I do, June catches sight of me. Her eyes widen before she smiles, flutters her fingers at me, then leans toward her husband to whisper something in his ear.
I pick up my pace and reach Marissa just in time to hear the man with her ask, “Are you really going to keep doing this? I told you I was sorry. I even fired Rebecca.”
I stand around the corner to listen for a moment, my side pressed against the wall.
“Charles, I don’t care if you fired your secretary. You still cheated on me—for months. I’m not marrying you. Please stop begging me to change my mind.”
“Rissa,” he says, his voice somehow whinier than before. “Why are you being like this? You’re being petty and childish. I gave up my best secretary in years for you. Isn’t that enough?”
I clench my fists. This guy is a real piece of work. How did she date him in the first place? Had they really been mere steps from walking down the aisle? I’m reminded of how upset she’d gotten last night when her mum texted. How she said her mum was constantly reminding her of her past mistakes. Was that what her engagement to this prat had been about? Penance?
Oh, my sweet girl. You deserve so much better than that.
“I can’t talk about this here. Please respect my decision.”
The ex—Charles—is probably going to keep telling her what an awful person she is, and I’ve had enough listening to this bullshit. I step out of the shadows and place my hands on her shoulders. “There you are, darling. My meeting ran late, but I’m glad I could still make it to dinner.” My eyes shift to the douchebag. “Will you introduce us?”
Marissa is frozen underneath my hands. She doesn’t move away, but she doesn’t say anything, either. Charles is looking at us suspiciously.
“Who is this guy, Rissa?” he asks.
“This is, um…” Red washes over her cheeks, and I love it. I want to touch her again. I want to take Charles out back, kick him in the balls, and then whisk Marissa away from all of this.
Whisking her away inevitably makes me think of taking her home. Her dark hair would look lovely spread across my pillow as I’m moving inside her…
I shake my head. She’s looking at me, as if she’s trying to unlock my secrets. Then to my surprise, she takes my hand and says to Charles, “I didn’t want to tell you, but I’m seeing someone else. This is Simon Richards.”
A vein bulges in Charles’s forehead, and I rather hope he bursts into tears. Although I initially proposed the scheme to Marissa for my own benefit, helping her in this way gives me a lot of satisfaction.
“You can’t be serious,” Charles says, looking back and forth at us. “You’ve already found someone new?” He scoffs. “I never took you for a slut, Rissa.”
I’m about to punch the man in the mouth, but Marissa squeezes my arm to stop me. I restrain myself, placing an arm around her shoulder, holding her close and claiming her as mine.
“Goodbye, Charles,” is all she says.
I glare at him before turning with her. She’s shaking. “Are you all right?”
“No, but…”
“Marissa, Mom and Dad are getting impatient to meet Simon.”
We both turn to see Marissa’s sister poking her head around the corner. She rolls her eyes, then ducks out of sight again.
Beside me, Marissa sighs. “There’s no escaping now.”
“I have no desire to escape, darling.”
“But what if my father recognizes you? Granted, I don’t think he’s ever watched Alien Love or read the type of …” She bites her lip, probably afraid she’s insulted me by stating her father would never watch my show or read the type of magazines that feature me.
“What are the chances he’ll recognize me without my make-up? And if he does…” I shrug.
“What do you mean…?” She mimics my shrug, and her attitude makes me want to smile. I love it when she forgets to be the good little girl. “If he does, my mother will be horrified. There will be no reason for us to fake date. And even if I decided to still help you with your situation, my father knows Noble and Spires, remember? If he bad talks you or suggests we’re only dating to get my mom off my back…”
“I’ll take my chances, Marissa,” I say firmly. “If you’re willing to.” I’d already accepted that, even though my primary motivation for approaching her had been purely selfish, I cared about Marissa. It seems I care so much I’m willing to risk her ability to help me in the event her father does recognize me.
Unlike Charles The Prat, I want to be a man she can count on.
She studies me for a moment, then shoots me a weak but grateful smile. “We’ll talk. Afterward.”
I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss it. “Sounds good. But I hope that’s not all we’ll do.”
When she blushes again, I laugh. Together, we join her family. Her mother jumps to her feet as I approach, hanging all over me like a cheap suit. “Oh, Simon! Lovely to see you!”
“Hello, ma’am.” I smile politely and take her outstretched hand.
Marissa’s voice is uneven. She’s nervous. “Simon, you know my mom June. That’s my sister Larissa and my brother Kenny. And my father, Raul Woodcrest. Dad, this is Simon Richards.”
Marissa’s father stares at me for a few seconds, and I stiffen. I swear I see recognition in
his expression, as well as calculation, but rather than show how uncomfortable I am, I hold out my hand. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Beside me, Marissa seems to hold her breath. Then her father looks at her. Looks back at me. And then finally takes my hand.
“Likewise, Mr. Richards. So tell me, how long have you and Marissa been dating?”
6
Marissa
As Simon’s sister goes to get our check, I’m still in shock. His arm rests on the back of my chair, and I have to restrain myself from leaning into his warmth. I can’t help thinking about what we did yesterday, in my cottage, his hands up my skirt, playing with me over my panties, and I’m already wet again. I glance up at him and he returns a simple smile. He must know exactly what he’s doing to me. I bet he does it to women everywhere he goes.
Including my mother, obviously.
“I’m so happy you were able to join us,” Mom gushes. She’s been gushing ever since Simon came over. I’m embarrassed that she’s basically fawning all over him. I keep wondering what she would think if she saw him in his green makeup. “What a lucky woman Marissa is to have caught someone like you. I used to worry about her taste in men, when she was younger, but it’s clear she’s learned her lesson and upped her standards.”
I can’t help but wince. Larissa snickers a little. Dad just sips his wine, sits back, and studies Simon, the cool-calm-slightly emotionally detached foil to my mother’s dramatics. I’m grateful he hadn’t recognized Simon as an actor. Given he’s more interested in the business aspects of Hollywood than the celebrity gossip, I figured he wouldn’t, but the last thing I’d wanted was the scene that would ensue if Mother found out Simon is an actor and not English nobility or whatever it is she thinks he is.
Simon rubs the back of my neck with the lightest of touches. “Quite the contrary, ma’am: I’m the lucky one. Marissa is a beautiful, intelligent woman, and any man would be lucky to have her.”
He catches my gaze, his fingers on my skin, and my heart pounds. I don’t know if he’s lying or not, but I can’t help it: I’m a puddle in his hands.
Mom coos just as Simon’s sister hands my father the check. “Oh, so charming! Marissa, thank him for saying such nice things about you.”
I blush so red my face is surely on fire. “Mom,” I murmur. “Will you leave it?”
Simon continues stroking my neck, but I can feel the tension in his arm.
“Yeah, Mar, tell the nice man how nice he is to date you,” Larissa can’t help but jibe.
I kick her underneath the table, and she yelps, glaring at me. Sisterly love, sigh. It’s a good thing we aren’t closer because maybe then she’d have shared my love for cheesy soap operas and would know exactly who my new boyfriend is. Though I’m reminded I still need to thank her for warning me about Mom’s impromptu visit last night.
The same impromptu visit that resulted in Simon stripping down to his boxers, sitting on my sofa, and petting me to orgasm. Oh God. I shiver at the memory, and Simon squeezes my neck as if to say, I know exactly what you’re thinking.
“Like I said,” Simon says, his voice more serious now, “I’m the one who should be thanking Marissa.” He catches my gaze, and suddenly the room narrows to just us.
His fingers are stroking my hair and ear now, and it’s such a sensual touch that I’m rooted to my chair. Simon trails a finger down my neck, tracing between my shoulders. I’m pretty sure Borg did the same thing to Ava a couple weeks ago, and I remember how I’d wished someone would touch me that way. And now…
“Thanks so much for coming in tonight,” Simon’s sister says, effectively breaking the spell between us. “We hope to see everyone again soon.”
His sister gives Simon a look, but I can’t interpret what it means. Is she against what we’re doing? Then again, she was the one who told her brother about my predicament. I have half a mind to go after her when he says, “It looks like I have to be going. I’ll drive Marissa home.” He turns to my father. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sir.”
My father nods and shakes Simon’s hand. He’s difficult to read, but I think I see a glimmer of approval in my father’s eyes. “I must say, it’s nice to meet a man who appreciates my daughter the way you do, Mr. Richards. I always thought she was too good for Charles.”
My father’s words surprise me. Shock me even. When he looks at me, I can tell he notices, and I think I see regret in his expression. “Dad…” I say.
“Well, I agree,” my mom interrupts. “I always told you she could do better than Charles, didn’t I?”
I almost choke in disbelief and I’m struggling to figure out what to say when my father stands and urges Mom to do the same. “Please continue to treat Marissa, right. Mr. Richards.”
Am I imagining the emphasis Dad placed on Simon’s name? Am I imagining that there’s something going on here that I don’t know about? Is it possible Dad knows who Simon is and is covering for me? But no, why would he do that and risk facing my mom’s wrath? Dad has always been a distant presence in my life and he’s never stood between me and my mom’s disapproval before.
I’m still thinking things over a few minutes later when we’re outside. I turn to Simon. “Do you think my—” My words trail off when Simon’s car arrives. It’s a limo, now. “What happened to your—”
“The other was a rental. Noble has a thing for Porsches. I thought we could bond over them, but I never even got him out of La Rouge, unfortunately. This is the studio’s car.” Simon takes my arm, and we climb into the cavernous cabin of the limousine.
“Where to, sir?” his driver asks, looking back at us.
“Ah. What’s your address? I was too busy taking notice of other things last night.”
Face heating, I tell the driver, who nods and rolls up the privacy window, effectively shutting out the world, and I’m hit with flashbacks from soft porn films on Cinemax.
The seats are plush leather, and soft music plays overhead. I’m sitting across from Simon, but his legs stretch toward me and there are only inches of space between us.
The light is low in the car, but I swear I can see his blue eyes glittering across from me. The confines of the backseat seem infinitely small now. I brush my fingers against the leather, and the sensation shoots up my arm. I’m on edge, my nerves all attuned to this man sitting across from me. I rub my arms, even though it’s perfectly fine temperature-wise here in the car.
Simon sees me, and he takes off his coat. “Are you cold?” Before I answer, he places the heavy coat over me, and I’m engulfed in the soft fabric. His musky scent envelops my senses, and I’m dizzy from it.
Then I realize he’s sitting right next to me. He’s turned toward me, his leg brushing mine. I clutch the coat, completely unsure how to proceed. I’m so torn between wanting him to kiss me and wanting to run in the opposite direction that I simply don’t move, don’t talk, don’t do anything.
I’m grateful he helped get Charles off of my back and played nice for my family, even my dad, who I’ve decided can’t possibly know who Simon is or he would have said something. But I suspect Simon now thinks I’m going to help him with his little scheme. I want to help him, I do, but as I told him before, I really don’t think I’ll be able to pull it off. I’m a different girl now than I used to be. I’m smarter. And in truth, while I sometimes chafe at my mom’s dramatics and want to stand up to her and others, I like a lot about the mature woman I’ve become. I organize my sock drawer for fun, for God’s sake! My books are sorted by genre and then alphabetized. I think going to the Container Store is exciting. Charles always told me I was about as interesting as a wet rag whenever he got angry with me.
The thing is, I’m mostly good with being a wet rag now.
Mostly.
Sometimes I wish I was still the kind of girl who ran into the street and danced when it rained. I wish I could go up to a hot guy at a bar and flirt with him and not worry about the consequences. I wish I was a girl people would notice more, if I’
m being honest.
But I’m not. I’m just plain, boring, good girl Marissa now.
I do what I’m told and I don’t protest.
I get engaged to a man I don’t love and I go to the school my parents went to and I get the degree they wanted me to get.
Even this sweater I’m wearing is one Mom bought me for Christmas last year. It’s cashmere and stylish, but modest. It isn’t bright or flashy.
Sometimes, however, I imagine what it would be like to cause a fuss again. A ruckus. To be a colorful, impulsive woman as an adult—smarter than the wild teenager I’d been, but still vibrant and passionate and interesting.
But then I remember Brian Hall. Waking up alone and scared in that car wreck. I remember the betrayal I felt—because he’d been a bad boy, and we’d been teenagers, but I’d thought he’d loved me.
I remember how the pain of his betrayal had hurt more than the physical injuries I’d sustained.
And I remember I don’t ever want to hurt that way again.
“Marissa?” Simon looks at me, his blue eyes intent. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head and hold onto his coat. “I’m sorry. You’ve helped me several times now, but I don’t know if I can pretend to be your girlfriend. I just don’t know.”
I brace myself for his anger, his annoyance that I’m such a wishy-washy wimp. Charles always hated when I wouldn’t make up my mind—usually because I wasn’t sure which choice he’d prefer—and would get frustrated with me.
But Simon isn’t Charles. He’s shown me that already.
“I already told you I’m okay with that, Marissa. I’m happy to help you. I’m happy I got to spend time with you last night and just now, whether you agree to help me or not,” he says gently.
I swallow as I think of making out with him yesterday. Yes, it was crazy and impulsive. It wasn’t me at all. But it also felt really, really good.
“If it helps sway you, however, think of what I’m asking you as purely a business deal. I have no intention of getting into a relationship, and I’m sure you’re not wanting one either since breaking up with your boyfriend.” He touches my wrist lightly. “I won’t push you, though. I want you to make your own decision. Just know that I think it would help the both of us, and I wouldn’t want to do it otherwise.”
