by Tawna Fenske
“Thanks.” I think. Speaking of family— “I’m going to go say hi to Mari, okay?”
Nick spots her in the corner and waves. “She just getting here?”
“She came straight from taping a demo for Shrink to the Stars. Want to come find out how it went?”
He kisses me again before releasing my hand. “You go ahead. There’s something I need to do.”
The way his fingers just skimmed the breast pocket of his suit has me speculating about that something. Is my ring in there?
Flashing one last smile, I stride toward my middle sister, who’s been waylaid by our youngest. Mari looks sophisticated in off-the-shoulder Chanel, while Lana glows in green Dolce & Gabbana. I’m so proud of my sisters, for how they’re forging their own paths, stepping out of our parents’ shadows, becoming strong, confident—
“Lauren, sweetheart.” Fingers clamp my arm, and Shirleen Judson—aka sex siren of seventies cinema, aka my mother—tugs me to stand beside her. “Lovely party.”
I frown at her empty seat. “Weren’t you just sitting over there?”
“I wanted to speak with you.” She smiles and waves at someone en route to the bar. A director, I think? The faces blend together these days.
My mother lowers her voice. “Things seem to be going well with Nick.”
“I suppose so.” It’s not the gushing response she’s probing for, but I won’t give her the satisfaction of seeming too eager. Too needy.
“Don’t be coy, Lauren.” She tucks a swatch of hair behind my ear, then flutters her fingers at someone strolling through the side door. “There’s a reason you work behind the cameras. You’re not that good an actress.”
The words don’t sting because I won’t let them. Also, I never wanted to be an actress. I’ve made a name for myself as a producer, so Shirleen Judson can suck it.
Not that I’d say that out loud. “Was there something you wanted?”
She mother sighs. “You’ve got an attractive man with a promising career and a good family. You’re running out of time to close the deal.”
This conversation again. “Marriage isn’t the crowning achievement it was in your day.” A low blow, but she asked for it. “I’ve got my own promising career. Maybe I don’t care about marriage.”
“Sweetheart.” She rubs my shoulder, a comfort I’m annoyed to find myself craving. “Is that why you and Lana looked at wedding gowns last week?”
I blink. “How did you—”
“Mothers know everything, dear.” She squeezes my shoulder, then drops her hand with a smile. “I’m proud of you, darling. Now go close the deal.”
She walks away while I’m still processing her words. Is she proud of me for dating the man Business Week called “Hollywood’s most up-and-coming entrepreneur,” or for my own career achievements?
My Oscar nod last year solidified my standing as part of Judson royalty, and God knows my mother had her own Hollywood career. It’s not like she wants me barefoot and chained to a stove.
But deep down, I know I won’t earn her awe until I’ve achieved the great trifecta. Career, beauty, and the cover of People magazine’s wedding issue, not necessarily in that order.
Squaring my shoulders, I pivot and march toward my sisters. Mari turns and meets my eye, and I’m opening my mouth to call to her when a mic squeal slices through party chatter.
“Heeeyyy, everyone! Thanks for being here.” Nick’s voice is smooth as melted chocolate, and I turn as my heart kicks to a quick canter. He’s standing on a raised platform, and when he catches my eye, he winks. “Part of why we’re here tonight is to celebrate the opening of Armbrust Anaheim, so thank you all for making it happen.”
I clap along with everyone, heart in a full gallop now. His modesty is one thing I admire about him, and I love that he makes it sound like the new Armbrust Resort was a joint effort.
But I know he turned down his parents’ offer of seed money. He designed all those pretty little cabins himself, slinging a hammer right alongside his crew. He did it on his own, and I’m damn proud of him.
My husband.
I know I said I don’t care about marriage, and I don’t. But seeing him up there, dark skin golden under the lights, I can’t stop picturing our future.
Nick clears his throat and continues. “I’d like to thank my parents, Angela and Darius Armbrust, for not disowning me when I quit law school to work construction.”
A ripple of laughter moves through the room, but I keep my eyes on Nick. On the flicker of anxious pride in his eyes. I wonder if anyone else sees it.
“I’d also like to thank Lauren Judson.” He turns to me and smiles. “Girl, you’ve been my rock through all of this. I can’t thank you enough.”
More applause, and I demur like I learned to do before I could walk. My brain snags on the word “rock,” curious if it’s a clue.
“Speaking of rocks,” he continues, and my breath catches in my throat. “I have an important announcement. Well, an announcement and a special request.”
Oh my God.
This is happening. It’s really happening.
Tears needle my eyelids, but I blink them back. With the sharp points of my manicure, I pinch the skin between my thumb and pointer finger the way I learned at sixteen.
“Do this when you think you might cry,” my mother instructed on the eve of my first major awards ceremony. “The pain will distract you.”
But nothing distracts me from the gleam in Nick’s eye, the shape of him in that well-tailored suit, the fullness of lips I’ve kissed a thousand times as he lifts the mic again.
“Let me back up a little bit,” he continues, voice cracking a little. He laughs and clears his throat, glancing at the bright light shining down on him. “Wow, this is harder than I thought. I’m not used to being in the spotlight.”
Should I help him out? I grew up in the spotlight, so public speaking is like breathing. I edge closer to the platform, my breath coming quicker now.
“Let me try this again.” He shifts the mic to his other hand and smiles at me before lifting his gaze to the crowd. “Ten months ago on a trip to Colorado, I went to see of my favorite performers.”
Fondness squeezes my heart. We’d been dating two months when Nick invited me on a weekend getaway. “We’ll see Gary Clark Jr. at Red Rocks Amphitheatre and stay at this cool little bed and breakfast.” He smiled almost shyly, pulling me closer. “I know it’s not the luxury digs you’re used to, but—”
“It sounds amazing,” I’d interrupted, stretching up to kiss him. “Just like you.”
And he is. This public event, the retelling of our first weekend getaway—all of this is the proposal of my dreams, if I were the kind of woman to dream of such things.
Which I’m not.
But I’m just saying—
“—the trees, the sky, the entire landscape,” Nick’s saying, and I realize I’ve missed some of what he’s just said. “And I found myself thinking there’s only one thing that could make this better.”
He meets my eyes again and I hold my breath. This is it.
“So what I’m wondering,” Nick says, tugging the collar of his shirt. “What I’m planning, that is—”
“Yes!”
Oh, God.
That was me, wasn’t it?
I glance around, and yep. Everyone’s staring.
But I don’t care because the man of my dreams is proposing, and the least I can do is make it easier on him. Nick cocks his head, smiling with a question in his eyes.
And I have the answer.
I take another step forward and hold out my hand. My left hand, in case he wants to slip the ring on. Nick looks at me uncertainly and pulls the mic closer. “Hold on just a second, babe.” He smiles. “Almost done.”
Right. Of course, he wants to get the words out. I glance at the edge of the platform and see my brother, Gabe, with his camera rolling. The upside of growing up in show biz is that there’s always someone to capture life’s majo
r moments.
Nick clears his throat again, so I put my hand down and command myself to be patient.
“Just last week, I signed the title on eight acres west of Denver.” He smiles and a flush of pride moves through me. Building a rustic resort in Colorado has been on his bucket list forever, and I’m thrilled I’ll be by his side as he makes that dream come true. “As part of that project, we’re building a new a state-of-the-art performing arts center.”
This part is news to me, but okay. It sounds amazing, and I can’t wait to hear more. But come on, let’s get this show started.
Nick meets my eye like he’s psyching himself up for something. I offer an encouraging smile as he takes a deep breath. “Right now,” he says, “I would like to formally ask Laurence Judson to m—”
“Yes, I’ll marry you!”
Oh, shit.
All the blood drains from my head as I realize what he’s just said.
Laurence Judson?
My humiliated heart claws for explanation. Like maybe he’s seeking my father’s blessing, even though it’s patriarchal and outdated and—oh, God now my dad is striding toward the platform.
But everyone’s staring at me.
Everyone.
Literally, everyone.
Shame rushes icy and bitter through my veins as I square my shoulders and refuse to fucking cry. Refuse to meet anyone’s eyes as my throat squeezes tight and all those eyeballs drill into me. Disgrace tastes bitter on the back of my tongue, and it’s all I can do to stay upright, to balance on these mile-high heels and hold my head up as I quietly die inside.
How could you be so stupid?
My father grabs the mic and launches into a speech about the new Laurence Judson Performing Arts Center and his business venture with Nick. Surprise! They’ve kept it under wraps for weeks because—honestly, I stop listening because my ears are buzzing with the heat of humiliation. I fix my eyes on a potted plant in the corner, blinking back waves of embarrassment.
Do not cry. Do not cry.
My mother steps into my line of sight, her face filled with pity and concern and the tiniest hint of I-told-you-so. She’d never say it out loud.
She doesn’t have to.
Nick’s talking again, explaining how he plans to move to Denver for a year to oversee the project personally. Moving, for God’s sake. The opposite of proposing.
And the fact that he never mentioned it, never said a word to me about relocating to Denver…well, I think it’s safe to assume I’m not part of his plan.
I tilt my chin up and keep my eyes on my dad. Nick’s wrapping up his speech and I applaud so hard my hands sting. Now Dad’s saying something and oh my God is this almost over?
And then, it is.
And then, the man of my dreams is walking toward me.
I swallow hard and try to force my face into a smile. My mouth won’t cooperate, so I settle for balling my hands into fists and fixing him with a shark stare. Flat-eyed, no emotion. It’s what I do best.
Nick stops dead in his tracks. “Hey, Lauren.” He drags a hand over his head the way he does when he’s not sure what to say. “Uh—so I guess I should have warned you about that. About—well—”
“Moving a thousand miles away? Planning a project with my dad?” My voice sounds cool and calm, which surprises me. “That’s your business, isn’t it?”
Nick looks unsure for the first time I’ve known him. “You want go somewhere and talk?”
“About what?” I sound like an idiot, but I can’t help it. Maybe we can pretend this didn’t happen. Maybe we can go back to—
“I think maybe we’re on different pages, Lo.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, the distance between us a big, gaping hole. “Uh, marriage and all. It’s not really where I’m at right now.”
Like that wasn’t fucking obvious. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”
Everything is not fine, which he can clearly tell from my tone.
Nick’s brow furrows. “Look, uh—I’m gonna be gone a while on this project.” He pauses, choosing his words with care. “I assumed since you’re starting that new film, you’d be glad about having time to yourself.”
If there was any doubt Nick and I are on different pages, he just snatched the book and lit the damn thing on fire. I take a deep breath, insides quivering from the effort of keeping emotions in check. “Of course.”
Good God, I need to get out of here. I need this conversation to be over so I can run to the bathroom and sob like a pathetic little girl.
But Nick’s still talking, still hammering nails into my heart. “You’re amazing, Lo. It’s not about that. It’s just—”
“Let’s call it quits.”
Nick blinks. “What?”
At least he’s not misunderstanding. He knows I’m not talking about heading home to watch Netflix in our PJs with a bag of Ruffles. He hears what I’m saying.
My palms feel sticky and I can’t get enough air because my heart bangs against my ribs like it’s fighting to get out.
But I slam the door on that motherfucker and look Nick square in the eye. “We need to split up.”
***
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Acknowledgments
My eternal gratitude and fangirl admiration go to Susan, to Joel Gregor, PsyD; and to Adam Fenske, PsyD and MFPC (that’s the professional acronym for “My Favorite Psychologist Cousin,” right?) Your feedback, tips, and insights into Mari’s professional world have been invaluable, and I can’t thank you enough. Any errors or liberties taken with the psychology aspects of this story are mine alone.
So much love and thanks to editor Susan Bischoff not only for the awesome dev edits, but for the kickass brainstorm session that made all the difference in the world. After 35+ published rom-coms, you’d think I’d have learned before now that it’s smart to plan ahead. Who knew?
Thanks also to Lauralynn Elliott for the copy edits, to Meah Cukrov for being a fabulous assistant, and to Amy Pinkston for the awesome graphics. You ladies rock!
Big thanks to Fenske’s Frisky Posse for the ARC reviews, character names, typo hunting, and general moral support. I’m especially grateful to Regina Dowling, Nicole Trudeau Westmoreland, Tina Hobbs Payne, Becky Claxon, and Cherie Lord for eagle-eyed ARC reading. I am so damn glad to have the best street team any author could wish for.
As always, I appreciate the continued career guidance and professional badassery of Michelle Wolfson at Wolfson Literary Agency. Thank you also to Lauren Blakely for being an amazing agency sistah as well as the brilliant mind behind Piece of Cake Audiobooks and the audio version of this story.
Speaking of which, kudos to Erin Mallon and Jason Clarke for bringing Mari and Griffin to life in audiobook form. I am so grateful!
Hugs and kisses and awkward snuggles to my whole family, including Cedar Zagurski and Violet Zagurski, Aaron “Russ” Fenske, Carlie Fenske, baby Paxton, and the world’s best parents, David and Dixie Fenske.
And to Craig Zagurski, for being my favorite romance hero of all times. I love the snot out of you, hottie.
About the Author
When Tawna Fenske finished her English lit degree at 22, she celebrated by filling a giant trash bag full of romance novels and dragging it everywhere until she’d read them all. Now she’s a RITA Award finalist, USA Today bestselling author who writes humorous fiction, risqué romance, and heartwarming love stories with a quirky twist. Publishers Weekly has praised Tawna’s offbeat romances with multiple starred r
eviews and noted, “There’s something wonderfully relaxing about being immersed in a story filled with over-the-top characters in undeniably relatable situations. Heartache and humor go hand in hand.”
Tawna lives in Bend, Oregon, with her husband, step-kids, and a menagerie of ill-behaved pets. She loves hiking, snowshoeing, standup paddleboarding, and inventing excuses to sip wine on her back porch. She can peel a banana with her toes and loses an average of twenty pairs of eyeglasses per year. To find out more about Tawna and her books, visit www.tawnafenske.com.
Also by Tawna Fenske
The Ponderosa Resort Romantic Comedy Series
Studmuffin Santa
Chef Sugarlips
Sergeant Sexypants
Hottie Lumberjack
Stiff Suit
Mancandy Crush (novella)
Captain Dreamboat
Snowbound Squeeze (novella)
Dr. Hot Stuff
The Juniper Ridge Romantic Comedy Series
Show Time
Let It Show
Show Down (coming in 2021!)
Just for Show (coming soon!)
Show and Tell (coming soon!)
Show of Hands (coming soon!)
The Where There’s Smoke Series
The Two-Date Rule
Just a Little Bet
The Best Kept Secret
Standalone Romantic Comedies
At the Heart of It
This Time Around
Now That It’s You
Let it Breathe
About That Fling
Frisky Business
Believe It or Not
Making Waves
The Front and Center Series
Marine for Hire
Fiancée for Hire
Best Man for Hire
Protector for Hire
The First Impressions Series
The Fix Up
The Hang Up
The Hook Up
The List Series
The List
