Faking Paradise

by Lily Montgomery

  “Ready?”

  I squawked as he took us both underwater. Gasping, I came back up flailing.

  “You asshole! You ruined my magazine! And my hat’s all floppy now.” Maybe I could dry the magazine and salvage it. The hat, however, would likely dry wonky.

  Wiping the water from his face, he grinned, and the dimples made me even angrier. Damn his charm. “I told you that magazine was garbage.”

  “Yes, well, not everyone is perfect, and some of us need a little advice every now and again.” I picked seaweed from my shoulder and started for land.

  “You are perfect; you just don’t believe it because of that magazine.” He punctuated his words with a slap on my ass.

  Not responding, I kept pushing through the waves toward the shore, leaving him to hopefully be eaten by a shark. Oh, what nerve he had! And to think I was going to apologize to him. “Pfft.” I had to hike my muumuu up to my thighs to keep it from dragging me back into the ocean.

  Dropping the sopping magazine to the sand, I dried myself off as best I could and picked up the romance. I wasn’t feeling particularly keen on Grant right now, so I’d be fine reading the mushy love story without it interfering with my feelings. Or so I thought. His brief flirtation had me periodically glancing up to watch him in the water. I’d gotten to a particularly steamy portion of the novel and was having trouble not picturing myself and Grant in the starring roles. “That’s good, Soph. Get yourself all riled up with nowhere to go.” At least at home I had a little battery power to get myself through. Here, I was stuck with nothing.

  Apparently having gotten his fill of swimming, he waded through the waves much easier than I had. I watched as he rejoined me on the beach, water running down the hair on his chest, across those glorious abs, and finally disappearing into God only knew what those shorts held. For a moment, I imagined running my hands over him, feeling him respond to my caresses... I snapped back to the book, hoping he hadn’t seen me eyeing his nethers, thanking the heavens he couldn’t know what I was thinking.

  “Can you forgive me?” He sat close enough that he could nudge me.

  “I mean, I’m sure I can.” I kept reading.

  “Will you?”

  “I suppose I can forgive you.” I had to pause to muster up the words. “If you’ll forgive me.” I stopped pretending to read. Damn it all.

  His eyebrows were high, and I didn’t enjoy the taste of crow.

  “Look. I’m sorry for how I acted. I can’t flirt with Tyler, then get mad when you have your dalliances. Especially not when I told you I didn’t care.”

  “Speaking of the dalliances I didn’t have.” He gave me a pointed look and reached in his pocket. “I remember where this earring came from,” he said, holding up the dangly silver earring. “It was the towel girl’s. I saw her again at dinner last night and noticed she was only wearing one.”

  “You mean when she propositioned you at dinner.”

  He blinked in surprise. “How did you know that?”

  “I overheard,” I admitted.

  “That explains the margarita.”

  I nodded.

  “I’ve had a lot of crazy exes—”

  “Which surprises no one," I said.

  “—and this exact thing has happened to me before. She left the earring to make you think I was cheating on you. And it obviously worked. She’s probably ready to swoop in and pick up the pieces after you dump me.”

  “That’s actually kind of genius. Evil genius, but genius.” I took the earring from him. It looked like something a sixteen-year-old would wear, not a self-respecting woman. Then again, if she was trying to break up a relationship, fake or no, then she wasn’t exactly self-respecting. “So, what’s the plan?”

  “First, you give her back her earring. Then, we take this to level twelve. So, just buckle up.”

  “What level are we at now?” I asked, worried about what he’d say.

  “Right now? Two.”

  "That’s what I was afraid of."

  We spent the rest of the day lounging around, not doing much of anything. We had a fancy dinner with my parents planned for later, and I needed to save all the energy I had. I was nervous about the shoes I was wearing tonight, but the dress was too long for flats and I didn’t have time to get it hemmed. Worrying about the shoes kept me from worrying about the dress, which was more revealing than something I’d normally wear. Somehow, I’d let my friend, Jessica, talk me into it. She called me a ten and made a few crude noises, so I rode the high and bought the dress. Now that it was time to wear it, I was having second thoughts.

  “Too late to do anything about it now.” I looked at myself in the mirror, trying to see what Jessica had seen.

  The dress was blood-red, with a deep neckline and a slit in the skirt almost too high for propriety. The straps were too thin to allow a bra, so I had to wear one of those sticky backless ones, because the back was nothing but strings. I prayed my boobs wouldn’t go rogue and reject the bra. If I could really call it that. I wasn’t a small-chested gal, and I was worried the piddly little adhesive would fail me.

  “Why did I let you talk me into this, Jessica?” Maybe Maisy had something I could borrow… or I could wear my muumuu. Grant would love that.

  I sat on the edge of the tub and slid my feet down into the black heels that were perilously high. I was banking on the platform under the balls of my feet to help steady me. They were made up of thick straps that originated in one thick band down the top of my foot, and they zipped up the back. They came up to my ankle bone, and I hoped that would help me remain upright. This dress didn’t really go with a pair of crutches.

  Jessica had helped me find a lipstick that was the exact color of the dress, and I made sure to stay inside the lines of my lips, blotting off the excess on a tissue. The butterflies in my stomach had butterflies, and my knees were noodly. God, this dress was a bad idea. Did I have anything else that I could wear?

  “We need to go,” Grant called from the bedroom.

  Too late to change now.

  Making sure my boobs were in the right place, I took a couple of tentative steps, pleased to find that, other than some mild pain, I could walk fine. Thank God for painkillers.

  Taking a deep breath, I opened the bathroom door and stepped out. Grant was holding his shoe, untying the laces. He looked up as he bent over to put his shoe on, and he stumbled, dropping his shoe and catching himself on the dresser. Standing quickly, he stared at me, shoe still in hand, not saying anything.

  “Say something.” I was not too keen on his silent staring when I was feeling so naked.

  He sputtered.

  “That’s it, I’m changing.” Into what, I had no idea. Damn it, I knew this dress was a bad idea.

  He dropped his shoe and caught me as I turned. “Jesus fucking Christ, Sophie.”

  “Look, I’m not making a fool of myself in this dress. Just let me change.” I tried to pull away.

  “A fool?” His eyes were huge as he took in the dress. “I don’t think so. My God, Sophie, you look killer. I know I said take it up to a twelve, but this dress? This is a fifteen, easily.”

  “So you think it looks all right?” I looked down. The fabric was so clingy I had to forgo underwear, and I felt a little exposed. It didn’t matter what I wore, the fabric clung to my panties in a super unflattering way. “I’m not...I’m not wearing any underwear. Can you tell?” I turned a slow circle, hoping it wasn’t too obvious that I wasn’t. When I made it back around to face him, he had his hands over his eyes, looking pained. “What?” I tried to check my rear in case I had sat in something or had a hole in the dress.

  “Sophie. Don’t.”

  “What? I’m sorry. I just need to know if it looks bad.”

  “Bad?” He uncovered his eyes. “It’s the opposite of bad, all right?” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he put his shoes on, tying them quickly. “And now I know you’re not wearing any fucking underwear, which is the only thing I’m going to be able
to think about all night.” Snatching his coat from the coat rack, he headed for the door as he put it on.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would be an issue.” I followed him, albeit slowly, and finally he stopped.

  “Darling, you can’t wear that dress and then tell a man you’re not wearing underwear. It’s not fair. In fact, it’s borderline cruel.” He placed a steadying hand on the small of my back, and I was hyper aware of just how thin the fabric was. “Christ,” he whispered, removing his hand and instead taking mine in his. We were late for dinner, and I knew we were going to hear all about it. Sure enough, Mother started as soon as we sat down.

  “Well, look who finally decided—”

  “Hey, Mom? Give it a rest. We’re all tired of your bitching.” Was it the dress that had me on edge, or Grant’s reaction to it?

  “Well, I never!”

  “Y’know, Helen, I must say I agree. After thirty-five years, we’ve all had enough.” Dad winked and saluted me with his drink.

  I could see Derrick’s unapologetic staring out of the corner of my eye. Feeling emboldened, I locked eyes with him. “Is there something I can help you with, Derrick?”

  “Hm? What? No.” He pulled his gaze away, and I could hear Maisy whispering something below her breath.

  “That’s quite the dress you have there,” Vivian said.

  “You do look lovely,” Oliver added, cutting his eyes to Derrick.

  “Thanks,” I said as the waiter placed a plate in front of me, hoping that would be the end of the dress talk.

  “The restaurant agreed to do a trial run for the reception so we can make sure everything is as it should be,” Rebecca explained.

  This wasn’t traditional Hawaiian food. It was a tiny portion of a wild salad mix. The rest of the dishes were equal in portion, and absolutely delicious.

  “Well, I’d say this was a home run.” Dad placed his napkin on the table and leaned back, satisfied.

  “I’d say I agree,” Rebecca said. “Everything was delicious.”

  A small black coffee was placed in front of me, on a saucer with a baby spoon. It was followed by tiny carafes of cream and sugar. Grant’s hand had been on my upper thigh since he’d finished his dinner. The initial touch had sent chills over me, and I was thankful that the chicken cutlets I’d taped to my tits were thick enough to not give it away. The slight movement of his thumb across my skin was almost enough to have me running from the table. Having to suffer his intimate touch without it going anywhere was a torture I wasn’t expecting, and I wished I’d cashed out my 401k on a male escort. At least then I’d be able to take him back to the room and rip this dress off.

  “Always a perfect after dinner treat,” Mom said, ripping me out of the fantasy I was concocting in my brain.

  All four girls looked at each other, stunned. Mom didn’t have a complaint? That was new. I poured cream and sugar in my coffee, stirring. Grant opted to drink his black. The familiar intro to one of my favorite love songs began.

  “I love this song,” Grant and I said in unison.

  “It’s a damn fine love song,” Dad agreed, giving me a wink.

  A few couples had gone out to the dance floor, and I watched them sway.

  “Would you like to dance?” Grant whispered so close, his breath tickled my bare shoulder. I shivered, debating on whether this would be a good idea or not. I found myself nodding, despite my better judgment, and he pulled me from my chair to the floor.

  His hand found the small of my back, this time not moving it, and I was surprised to find he was a proficient dancer. He liked art, could dance, and read Sartre. It was a damn shame I didn’t have a chance.

  “You’re leading,” he whispered against my cheek, and had I been wearing underwear, they’d have likely hit the floor from the husk in his voice.

  “Habit,” I admitted. “I was in theatre in high school. We did a waltz during one show, and I had to lead due to my partner’s inability. It’s how I learned. Does it emasculate you?” I teased, hoping that if we were teasing one another, his voice wouldn’t return to the unintentional sultry seduction of one very undersexed woman.

  “On the contrary, Ms. McAllister. I love a strong woman.”

  Every time he whispered, I found myself focusing on my lack of underwear. As if to torture me, he began to sing.

  “My lonely days are over, and life is like a song,” he crooned.

  God, this wasn’t fair. He could dance and sing? I was almost annoyed. I put my head on his shoulder and stopped leading, letting him take over. Feeling the change, he swirled me across the dance floor, my feet barely touching the floor. This was criminal. As the song ended, he gave me one last twirl and pulled me in tight, kissing my hand. I realized he’d danced me back to my chair, and I slowly sat, stunned by what had just happened.

  Oh, I was in big trouble.

  “You’re making the rest of us look bad there, chief,” Derrick said.

  “I think you can manage that just fine on your own,” Grant retorted, sipping his coffee.

  After coffee, we moved to the more casual patio of the hotel, eating appetizers and drinking cocktails. Grant was charming and sweet, making my parents laugh. Even though he was entertaining the others, he kept his arm around me, or his hand on my thigh all night. I almost didn’t want this week to end, now that I’d finally decided to give this fake relationship a chance. I sighed, sipping my amaretto sour, enjoying the feeling of his hand on me. He told hilarious anecdotes of some of the submissions we’d received over the years, somehow making our job sound more interesting than it actually was. When Dad talked about fishing, he was right there with him, regaling him of a time he’d let his brother talk him into going ice fishing. I found myself sufficiently charmed by the story, but when the punch line came, I didn’t roar with laughter like everyone else. I smiled. In the story, Grant seemed...human. Oh, boy.

  “I think I’m ready to turn in. I don’t know about you folks,” Dad said.

  “I think we could, too,” Rebecca agreed.

  Grant looked my way and I gave him a nod, finishing the last sip of my drink. Once we were on the boardwalk back to our bungalow, I took off my shoes, carrying them in my hand. My ankle was doing okay, but several hours in heels was taking its toll on my tootsies. God, I couldn’t wait to get out of this dress and put on a pair of cotton underwear and oversized pajamas.

  The girl who’d left the earring in our room was walking our way, and Grant pressed her earring into my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. My previous ease was replaced by a sudden nervousness, not expecting to see her again so quickly after the earring incident. Of course, I’d rehearsed what I would say a thousand times in the mirror, but with her in front of me, I found everything I’d rehearsed felt contrived. I guess I’ll just see where this goes.

  “Hi.” She smiled. “Do you need any towels or anything?”

  “No. We won’t be needing towels anymore, actually. We’ll be walking around naked from here on out. Buck naked. We’ll just drip dry, thanks. I’ll see you in the room, babe?” Grant gave me a kiss, leaving me with the girl.

  “Well, I have other things to do.” She tried to walk by, but I stopped her, holding up her earring. She swallowed. “Oh.”

  “Oh, indeed.”

  “I’ve been looking for that. Thank you for finding it.” She reached for it, but I pulled my hand back.

  “If I see you near him, or my room again, I will be contacting your manager. And rest assured, you will be fired. And if they won’t fire you, rest assured I will take care of you myself.”

  “Is that a threat?” She narrowed her eyes at me.

  “Well, I’d think that was obvious.” I threw her earring into the bushes, bumping into her as I walked past. “And by the way.” I turned. “That earring is almost as tacky and tasteless as you are.” God, I’d always wanted to do something like that. It made me feel like a total badass. I was grinning as I walked into our bungalow.

  Grant was adjusting the bla
nkets on his pullout sofa, and I remembered him saying that his back had been bothering him. My hair was curled and held up by a clip, which was starting to pinch. I released the clasp and let my hair fall, shaking it loose and welcoming the relief that my scalp felt.

  “Do you...do you want to share the bed tonight? I know you said your back was hurting.” Suddenly nervous, I ran my fingers through my hair, fluffing it and massaging my scalp.

  At my question, he straightened and turned my way.

  “Oh, come on. That’s not a fair question with the dress and the hair,” he gestured toward me, looking utterly put out.

  “I’m sorry. I just thought you might get a better night’s sleep.” I took my pajamas from the end of the bed, turning to the bathroom. Maybe I’d feel better with proper underwear and more fabric between myself and Grant.

  I pulled at the dress’s side zipper, but it wouldn't budge.

  “Shit,” I said, doubling my efforts. “Damn.” I looked at the indent the pressure had left in my fingers and tried yet again, to no avail. “Okay, I’ll just go over the head.” I crossed my arms in front of me, grabbing the sides and pulling up. “Nope. Nope.” I tugged it back down and tried the zipper again, groaning in frustration when it didn’t move. Am I going to have to sleep in this damn thing? I took the few steps to the door and opened it, embarrassed.

  “Hey, Grant?” I walked out, leaning against the wall.

  “Yeah?” he asked, not looking up from untying his shoes.

  “My zipper’s stuck.”

  “What?” His head snapped up.

  “It’s stuck. I can’t get my dress off.”

  “Oh, for all that is holy.” He chucked his shoe to the floor. “You can’t just… take it off over your head?”

  I shook my head. “I tried that.”

  He blew out a breath. “All right. All right. Come here.”

  I stood in front of where he sat on the bed as he tugged and pulled and wrestled with the zipper.

  “Ever had this much trouble taking off a woman’s dress before?”

  “No,” he grunted.