Maisy passed, and Derrick ordered a beer. Vivian mumbled her order of a white wine.
“I’ll have a whiskey sour,” I said. I was in a whiskey mood.
“That sounds good. I’ll have the same,” Grant said.
“How did you two meet? Sit up straight, dear,” Mom said, adjusting her swan napkin.
Shit. We’d forgotten to establish our relationship history. Before I could open my mouth to tell the lie that was half-baked, Grant began.
“We actually met on her first day at work. She was waiting on the elevator as I was stepping off. Her arms were full of boxes and things for her desk.”
This was the real story of how we met five years ago, and I was curious as to how he would spin it, considering the end of this particular interaction was far from romantic.
The waitress brought our drinks, and I watched as he stirred the ice around, smiling to himself.
“I helped her take everything to her office and tried to make small talk as she unpacked. I wondered how I’d ever manage to get any work done with such a beautiful woman just down the hall from me.”
At that, I snorted. Grant ignored it.
“She unpacked No Exit, by Jean-Paul Sartre. It’s an existentialist play from the 40s. And we proceeded to argue for the next forty-five minutes on whether or not No Exit was the greatest piece of existential literature, or if Waiting for Godot was. I maintain it’s Godot. And that was the day I knew she was the girl for me. I spent the next three years trying to get her to notice me and trying to make her jealous. I guess it finally worked, because here I am.” He took a swig of whiskey sour and put an arm around me as if to make his point.
“It’s still No Exit,” I grumbled.
“Well, I have never read either of those. Perhaps I’ll pick them up next time I’m at a bookstore. Sophie, it sounds like you’ve finally found someone you get along great with,” Mom said, pleased at the lie.
A compliment from my mother that wasn’t backhanded? That was a first. I opted not to tell her the contents of the plays, hoping she truly did purchase them.
“Just try not to ruin it, dear,” she added.
And the other shoe drops. I took a deep swig of my drink, not caring that I would likely get chastised for drinking too much. If I was drunk enough, I wouldn’t care.
“Actually, I’m more worried that I’ll ruin something. Sophie here is great. I just hope I don’t do something boneheaded and scare her off,” Grant said, laughing.
Boneheaded?
“Honestly, I consider myself one of the luckiest men on Earth,” he continued. “I don’t know what I did to get such a gorgeous, intelligent, kind, and funny woman, but I’m not going to argue with it.”
I gave him a questioning look. He was laying it on a little too thick, and I was worried everyone would see through the ruse. I needed us to fly under the radar for the week, not write a proposal in the sky with fireworks. If he made us too perfect, no one would believe the breakup that was coming at the end of the week. Boneheaded move or not.
He raised his brows, smirking.
The waitress returned, rescuing me, and I ordered a second drink, ignoring the look from Mom. I’d let Grant take the lead on our romantic history, since he seemed to be able to weave a tall tale that had Mom pleased and Maisy practically swooning at the romance of it all. I managed to resist the urge to roll my eyes at the absurdity of it all, and crunched a cube of ice.
Thankfully, during the meal, the attention was turned to Rebecca and Jordan, and I didn’t have to endure any more of Grant’s manure spreading. Once our plates had been taken, the waitress passed out dessert menus, and the chocolate volcano caught my eye. The muumuu had plenty of room for me to expand, so I didn’t care what I ate at this point.
“Hey, do you want to split one of these?” I showed Grant the volcano made from chocolate cake with a vanilla ice cream core and strawberry lava flowing forth.
“Sophie, honey, do you need to split something like that when you have a dress to fit into?” Mom gave a pointed look, subtly shaking her head.
“You know what, Mrs. McAllister? You’re absolutely right,” Grant said. “Let’s each have one of our own.”
“I’ll have one, too!” Dad joined.
Soon, everyone at the table, excluding Mom, had a giant chocolate volcano sitting in front of them.
“I may have been a little overzealous in ordering one for each of us,” Grant whispered, eyeing the massive dessert.
“Well, let’s see what you’re made of.” I grinned and we clinked spoons.
The volcano portion was made of the most decadent chocolate, rich and moist, which was perfectly punctuated by the tangy strawberry jam cascading down the side.
Maisy was the first to tap out, followed quickly by Rebecca and Jordan. Derrick managed a little more, but soon he had to stop, as well as Vivian. Dad couldn’t handle it all either. Oliver pushed his plate away right before Miles admitted defeat, and Jordan was the first to place a bet on who would be the last man standing. He put his money on me.
I didn’t disappoint.
“I am man enough to admit defeat.” Grant ceremoniously placed his spoon on his plate.
“I’m going to need someone to carry me back to the bungalow.” I was thankful for the flowy skirt, now that my stomach was full of kalua pig and chocolate cake. Normally, I’d walk off such a full stomach, but that wasn’t an option.
“Grant, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to share a room with one of the other gentlemen?” Mom asked, standing and gathering her purse.
“Oh, I’m quite sure.” Grant stood, helping me up.
“It’s just, I think it would be more proper,” she continued.
“I don’t think Derrick’s room has a garden tub, and I plan on taking full advantage of that.” When he’d said “full,” he pulled me to him in an intimate embrace. This was the first time he’d shown affection in such a way, and I was taken aback. Using the element of surprise, he took this opportunity to plant a kiss on me. My knee-jerk reaction was to push him away, but we were due for a kiss.
And what a kiss it was. I leaned into him, encouraging the kiss, despite myself. I could feel it in my toes, and I didn’t want it to end. Fake though it may be, I felt something in the pit of my stomach, and I couldn’t help but to deepen it. Three years was a long time to go without a companion that wasn’t battery powered, and clearly it had left my brain mushy. Mushy or not, he knew what he was doing. No wonder he managed to get all those women. With a record scratching halt, I pulled away, remembering just how many women it had been.
“I think I’ll stay where I am,” he said, arm still possessively around me, looking down at me.
“If you insist.” Mom’s lips were pursed. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Dad gave me a hug and kiss on the cheek as he left.
I was in a half-daze as we walked back to the bungalow, unsure of what in the hell I’d been feeling during the kiss. I told myself firmly that it was merely his experience that had made the kiss so good, and it certainly had nothing to do with attraction. It wasn’t that Grant wasn’t handsome, because he most assuredly was. I’d been immediately attracted to him when we met my first day and was impressed that he’d even read Sartre, much less was able to have a conversation on existentialist literature, even if he was wrong. I dropped onto the bed, feeling overly full and miserable.
I remembered the cocky half-grin he’d given as he took No Exit from my box.
“Sartre, eh?” He sat without asking. “Y’know, Beckett does a better job of capturing the hopelessness of the human condition.”
And that began a two-hour debate on the two books. We’d continued the conversation over dinner that evening, which he left when his girlfriend called and wondered why he was late coming over. That was when I knew that any feelings or attraction towards Grant were stupid.
And they’re still stupid, Sophie. I debated a walk along the boardwalk but di
dn’t think hobbling along would have the same effect.
“My back is killing me from sleeping on that damn thing, so I’m going to soak in the tub. Do you need in the bathroom before I do?”
“No,” I said, staring at the ceiling, thinking about his version of the story he told at dinner. I touched my lips. “Hey, Grant.” I leaned up on my elbows.
“Yeah?” He poked his head back out.
“Why’d you tell that story at dinner?”
“I figured we should stick as close to the truth as possible.” He shrugged.
I nodded, returning back down to the soft comforter. Moments later, I could hear the rushing water filling the tub and my mind continued to wander to Grant in the bathtub.
“For heaven’s sake, girl, he’s not that cute,” I muttered, even though I knew it wasn’t true. “I’ll just have to fill my mind with someone who’s cuter.”
To get my mind off the naked Grant and, let’s face it, the kiss, I made myself a nightcap and took my romance novel to the lanai. Things were starting to heat up between the main characters, and God knew I needed a little heat in my life. Near the end of my nightcap, my eyelids were feeling terribly heavy, and I decided to close them for just a moment…
I had expected Grant’s chest to be smooth but was pleasantly surprised to find he had a dusting of hair. I nuzzled him, taking in the fresh scent of soap, running my fingers over his chest.
“Mmmm, this is nice,” I murmured against his warm skin.
The low rumble in my ear told me he was laughing, but I wasn’t sure why. This dream was sweeter, more intimate than the last.
Wait.
My eyes obeyed when I told them to open, and I was horrified to find myself nose to nipple with Grant. He was carrying me from the lanai to the bed. And I hadn’t been dreaming. I’d actually nuzzled him and rubbed his chest.
“Please put me down,” I said as calmly as possible, not wanting to scare him and cause him to drop me.
“You didn’t seem to mind a second ago.” He deposited me on the bed.
“I was asleep a second ago. I thought I was dreaming. Ryan Reynolds and I were about to consummate our love on a bearskin rug in front of a crackling fire,” I lied.
“I’d imagined you as more of a Ryan Gosling type.” He pulled the comforter back on his sleeper, climbing in.
“Either is fine.” I limped to the dresser where I’d folded my pajamas and took them to the bathroom to change.
Ryan Gosling or Ryan Reynolds, either way. As long as he didn’t find out I’d been dreaming about him.
10
Grant slid his arm around my hips, kissing my head.
“What are you doing? Stop.” I nudged him off as I continued digging in my purse for the pain medication the doctor had prescribed. I was going crutchless this evening, which meant my ankle was going to be quite angry at me. I’d purchased multiple of the long sundresses, and I was wearing one tonight so my bandage was covered.
“Your family is coming,” he whispered.
“So? You don’t have to always be all over me.” If I wasn’t so dependent on him for stability, I’d have stepped away. As it was, I was stuck.
“No, I don’t. But that’s half the fun.” Just to spite me, he pulled me to him, crushing my purse between us. He cupped my face with his hands.
“You know, part of me thinks—”
He cut me off with a kiss.
“—that you just like tormenting me,” I finished, sufficiently irritated.
“Are my kisses so torturous, then?” Just to put the final nail in the coffin, he tucked my hair behind my ear, running the back of his fingers along my cheek.
“They’re all right,” I lied. “I prefer kisses that have meaning.”
“Oh, they’re just all right? I’ll see what I can do about that.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, garnering a low chuckle before he kissed my forehead. I wish he’d stop doing that. Somehow, the gentle kisses on the forehead were more intimate, and I was truly trying to keep this as professional as possible. Besides, I found them superfluous, and they were only succeeding in making my brain fuzzy.
“I brought the extra towels you requested.”
I looked up from the depths of my purse to see the flirty redhead from the bar standing before us, arms full of fluffy white towels, eyes locked on Grant.
Thankfully, he stopped teasing me at her approach.
“Are you two ready for some fire dancing and hula?” Dad asked as he approached, giving us his best, what I assumed to be, hula moves, but it looked more like he’d pulled a back muscle.
“I’ll just put them inside.” Towel girl slid past, using her keycard to get in our bungalow to deposit the towels.
I linked my arm through Grant’s and we followed the boardwalk to the event area. I found that as long as I didn’t apply pressure to my heel, I did a fair job, as long as I had him for balance.
“Wow,” I breathed when the event space came into view.
A canopy of lights was strung above us, giving enough light to see, but not so much that it didn’t still feel intimate, despite the size. The stage was surrounded by tiki torches, and there were more interspersed through the tables. Grant pointed to the spot where two men were taking several kalua pigs from the ground, the meat tender and smoky. My mouth began to water from the smell that wafted toward us, and I was anxious for dinner to begin. God, if I kept eating like this, I’d be wearing that muumuu down the aisle.
Thankfully, Dad had reserved a large table for us all, and we settled around it. We were near the stage, and I was excited about having a front seat view. The ocean breeze was brisk, and I clutched my wrap tighter, thankful for the small amount of heat that was put off by the torches.
“The waitresses won’t be around until closer to dinner. I’m going to grab a drink. Do you want something?” Grant asked.
“No, I’m fine,” I answered, trying to take in the surroundings without looking too giddy and excited.
“Good thing you got this table, Bruce. Maisy was taking her sweet-ass time. We would have had to stand for dinner,” Derrick said as he and Maisy approached.
“On second thought.” I stood, deciding that hobbling over to Grant was better than anything Derrick had to say. Where was he, anyway?
I spotted his shoulder, leaning against a palm tree. My approach was slow and the festivities were loud. As such, he didn’t hear or see me coming. Thanks to the shrubs at the bottom of the palm tree, neither did the girl he was talking to. I stopped, knowing it was a bad idea to listen, but morbid curiosity getting the better of me.
Good thing I’m not a cat, eh?
“Just think about it, okay?” she said in an overly sultry voice. “All I’m saying is I wouldn’t kick you out of bed and make you sleep on a pullout sofa.”
Her voice registered, and I recognized it as the girl who had brought us towels earlier.
That brazen hussy. Instead of bursting through the shrubbery and making a fool of myself, I turned and stalked to the bar as well as I could.
“I need a margarita the size of my face.” I leaned on the bar to take some of the weight off my ankle. It wasn’t hurting as badly as I figured it would, but it still didn’t feel great. There was a small basket of peanuts on the counter, and I fiddled with one, cracking it without any real interest in eating it. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” I knew his affections were nothing more than show, but I had found myself enjoying them more than I’d like to admit. All that “you’re the only girl receiving my affections” must have been a load of crap.
“I thought you didn’t want a drink.” Grant took the stool next to me.
“Changed my mind.” I took a deep sip when the bartender set the margarita in front of me. He’d been very generous with the tequila.
“I see that. Boy, that Derrick is something else, isn’t he? Why does Maisy stay with that creep, anyway?”
“It’s complicated.” I left it at that. The whole family knew why, but it wa
s a sore subject, and one we didn’t talk about. Ever. And I definitely wasn’t about to divulge Maisy’s private life to Grant. I licked the rim of salt and washed it down with lime margarita. There really was no greater combination on earth. At least not right now in my sullen mood. I only had myself to blame, really. I told him he was welcome to go and do whatever or whomever and he’d clearly taken me up on that offer. The towel girl taking full advantage. Trollop.
More salt, another drink, and I bit into the lime wedge that was on the rim.
“Looks like they’re about to start. Better get back to the table.” Grant took my giant margarita in one hand and his own in the other, offering me his elbow. The part of me with still stinging feelings wanted to slap his drink out of his hand and stomp away. The part of me that had started enjoying his attentions wanted to take his arm. I opted for neither and walked myself back to the table, taking my seat as the hula dancers took the stage.
They told the story of a handsome warrior who came home from battle scarred, and how he hid his face in shame. Grant’s arm was around me, and he was drawing delicate circles on my shoulder. I wanted to shrug him off, but I couldn’t with my mother sitting directly behind me. So, I did the next best thing: I drank. Heavily. The margarita was likely supposed to be for two people, but I managed it on my own just fine.
I was halfway through it when dinner came, delivered by a glistening shirtless man. He grinned at me, and I giggled in return, like some bloody schoolgirl. In my defense, I couldn’t quite help it. He was twice the size of Grant, and Grant was no small man.
As if he could hear my thoughts, Grant scoffed. “Think you’ve had enough?” he asked, eyeing the disappearing margarita.
“Nope.” I shoved a forkful of the tender kalua pork in my mouth.
“Just take it easy,” he said. “Maybe drink some water.”
I wanted to remind him that he wasn't my boyfriend, but I chose pointed silence instead. I'd drink as I pleased. I was an adult.
Faking Paradise Page 7
