by J. J. Keller
“Is that a phone ringing?” Morgan flexed his fingers, not wanting to let her go.
“Yes, mine. It could be my art instructor.” She climbed from the bed and ran into the living room. Her tight butt, encased in the soft thin cloth, flashed him.
“I’m hungry,” Justin whined.
“Get up and I’ll fix you breakfast,” Morgan said. Justin continued to remain fitted, like a dovetailed drawer. The kid’s stomach growled.
Morgan tickled him until he got off the bed. Jeans tugged into place, Morgan meandered into the living room. Shania talked with a sharp tone into a cellphone. She’d changed, became harder, edgier, in the past three years. She wasn’t Samson after all--or was she?
“Why would you tell the Longviews we were engaged?” She finger-combed her hair. “What?”
Morgan stopped washing his hands. His stomach muscles clenched. He reached into a cupboard, removed a bowl and plate sporting cartoon characters on the outside, and dumped organic oat cereal filling the bowl to the top of Diego’s head. Grabbing the carton of milk from the fridge, he topped the carbs and glanced at Shania. Her face blanched and her hands shook.
“I’ll call you later.” She disconnected and placed the phone on the coffee table. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Morgan twisted the lip on a jar of peaches and pulled out a few slices with the tips of his fingers. He placed them on the plate. His heart rate escalated, but he refused to show any anxiety. Engaged?
“Where you going?” Justin asked from his child-sized chair positioned at the coffee table.
Shania grabbed her coat, slipped on a pair of flip-flops and left the apartment. Odd behavior.
Justin glanced at Morgan and frowned.
Morgan slipped a spoon into floating O’s and placed the bowl and plate beside Justin. “Why don’t you wash your hands before you eat?”
“Where’d Mommy go?” He glanced at the door and then met Morgan’s stare.
“Not sure, buddy. We’ll ask when she returns.” Where had she gone, dressed in a lightweight overcoat, on top of her underwear, and flip flops? The predicted temperature was thirty degrees. Whatever she sought must be important, especially since it involved the Longviews and an engagement.
Morgan had put a napkin beside Justin’s plate when Shania barreled through the door, slamming it in her wake. She wiggled out of her sandals and shook off the coat, keeping her stare on the article. Morgan craned his neck to see the name of the newspaper, Briarwood’s View, a student daily.
“What is it?” Morgan asked, walking toward her as she stood holding her coat between two fingers of one hand and crunching the paper with the other.
He took the jacket and secured it to a peg on the rack. He bent to grab her book bag and portfolio. She wouldn’t normally drop her stuff, nor stand in a stupor while reading.
Her tiger eyes connected with his glance. Anger and fear radiated from their amber depths.
“Justin, eat your breakfast. Your mom and I want to talk, okay?” Morgan asked.
“TV?”
Morgan looked to Shania for guidance. At one time he knew their routine, but Shania had changed and maybe her habits had as well.
“This one time,” she said, her voice resonating like nails scratching sandpaper instead of her usual sexy tone.
Justin grabbed the remote and a few minutes later the sound of a detergent commercial resounded in the room.
Morgan took her arm, leading her into the bedroom. “What’s happened?”
She dropped onto the edge of the bed and bit her lip. “Last Friday my drawing professor, Monsieur Barrett, allowed me to take Justin to class. Justin listened to the lecture and drew an amazing sketch.”
She grabbed Morgan’s hand. “You should see it. His highlighting and shadowing are perfect and instinctive. Monsieur Barrett said Justin was a genius and wanted to get the piece into an art show. The new Longview Art Museum is due to open, and without consulting me, he talked to the Longviews. They were not happy. Monsieur convinced them of the notoriety they could obtain by placing Justin’s artwork in the grand opening. They said the work could be entered only if I brought my fiancé along. I don’t have a fiancé.”
His quick breaths came at a painful rate, making his chest ache. Adam’s name came to mind. “You don’t?”
“No,” she squealed and looked at him as if he had two heads. “But whoever reads the BV will think I do. Look at this.”
He took the paper and smoothed out the wrinkles. Right on the center page was a picture of her being given a grossly large diamond ring. Shania was glancing at the other people at the table, Justin and his pediatrician. He read the caption. “Local MD and Briarwood physiology professor, Adam Raimo, proposes to art student, Shania Miller, during dinner at Meat and Boards.”
“He hadn’t. The show required audience participation. The knight gave me the ring, a token of his affection. An act. A farce.” She rubbed the top of her forehead. “I tried to get Justin’s artwork back from Barrett. He refuses to release the sketch. He wants to be recognized as the one who discovered an astonishing young artist. Although he claims he’ll try to get into another art show, he wants to keep the Longview slot so he can get his name in the press. I’m not sure he’ll try very hard because he told me I’m to bring a fiancé, fake or not, to the opening. How do I get out of this situation? What do I do now?”
“Do you care for Raimo?” His mind regretted the question. Blood rushed to his heart and thumped in anticipation. His stomach tightened as he waited for an answer. Morgan hoped she’d tell him she loved him. Hadn’t she made that statement at the church a couple of months ago, or had the love announcement, indeed, been a figment of his imagination?
She sighed, as if the weight of her future sat heavy on her shoulders. “He’s just a friend.”
“I’ll be your fiancé.” He stood, folded the newspaper and grabbed her hand. “Let me be your intended. Say you’ll marry me.”
* * * *
Shania gazed into his beautiful green eyes. She should refuse. He’d done enough. She’d destroyed his wedding, and hadn’t been in contact with him in two months. Accepting his proposal would be using him. She released his hand. No declaration of love. Did he love her as she loved him?
Shania couldn’t respond to his offer because she actually did want to marry him. A fake engagement would be impossible to accept, desiring him the way she did. She certainly didn’t want a marriage proposal to be the result of a newspaper article. Minutes ticked by and she needed to get Justin ready for class which started in one hour.
“Why didn’t you marry Patty?” she asked. He flinched. She wished she could take the question back. Too soon. They hadn’t had a chance to talk. Her life was a huge palette of changing colors, some blending and others in direct contrast. “Never mind. It’s none of my business. It’s time to get ready for class. I can’t imagine what is waiting for me at the end of today’s lecture with Monsieur Barrett.”
She rose from the bed.
He grabbed her hand. “You were right. Patty and I didn’t belong together. She wasn’t the person I truly wanted. I guess you don’t know someone unless you spend time with them daily. Sometimes even your best friends are false, not truly caring about you or others.”
Was he talking about Beck? Shortly after Morgan moved her into the small house, he refused to answer Beck-related questions. While Shania focused on providing a home for her baby, Beck had been taken prisoner. Morgan had finally told her he and Beck weren’t friends any longer. His cheek tic indicated he wouldn’t say more.
“Thank you for telling me. You hurt me that night, coming to my house. I begged you to kiss me. You didn’t tell me you hadn’t married Patty. At the church I told you I loved you and later I said I wanted to be with you. You kissed my hair and left.”
He lowered his gaze, then wove his fingers with hers and refocused on her face. “I’m sorry. I should have done things differently.”
Her throat hurt again, l
ike it had on his supposed wedding night. Why did loving someone hurt so much?
Shania was a stronger woman now. She would not cry.
“I need to go. Are you leaving today?” she whispered. She focused on pleasant thoughts to keep her mind busy. His bare chest flashed before her. He had a perfect muscular body. He’d obviously worked outside without a shirt during the summer. A faint white line separated his sturdy trunk from where his jeans fit loose on his hips. She released his hand, started to place her fingers on his upper torso, but stopped. Her ribs hurt from her breaths pounding against them. She had hoped he would say, “Become my fiancée because I’m in love with you.”
“Is your class with the professor who’s trying to use you and Justin?” His calm, controlled voice made her quiver. His fists tightened at his sides. Morgan was anything but serene.
“Yes.” She grabbed his arm, feeling the muscles tense under her hand. “He’s doing what he has to survive in academia. To be honest with you, I was so proud of Justin I wanted Monsieur Barrett to get the artwork into a show.”
The warm skin under her fingertips relaxed. He smiled that comfortable easy-going smile she was used to seeing.
“I have to work this weekend, but I’d like to walk you to class. Justin and I’ll get juice and coffee while we’re waiting for you. I’ll leave after we talk.”
“Sounds great. I’ll get ready.” She released his arm. Now, what to wear and how to counter whatever comments resulted from the newspaper article? Should she accept Morgan’s offer to be her fake fiancé?
His jaw tightened. “I’ll be having a word with Monsieur Barrett.”
* * * *
Morgan glanced at Justin who rocked from heel to toe making the green and yellow lights flash on the shoes. Morgan tried to wipe his mind of the red tint that’d flowed over Shania’s face when she’d seen the purchase. Tight funds? He hadn’t wanted to embarrass her, so he claimed the footwear was an early Christmas present.
He anticipated her commenting on the food, but she hadn’t. He figured her mind was centered on her predicament. Morgan had every intention of ending that ruse. The entire article could be a mistake. However what was the likelihood that the week before finals, a university student photographer happened to be at a restaurant catering to Briarwood community?
No, the good doctor had arranged the story. Adam Raimo wanted Shania. He wasn’t getting her. She belonged to Morgan, and he would not give her up again. He should have fought for her initially, should have acted that first day they’d met. Beck had arrived at their apartment infatuated with Shania’s sexy body and beautiful face. Morgan went to meet the paragon a few hours later at the student union. At the sight of her, his pectoralis muscles expanded, the fan-like structure jerked, rattling his ribcage. Later he fell in love with her innocent nature, sensitivity, joy of life and connection to art. He was surprised to learn she was from his hometown of Cyan, Indiana. If he recalled correctly, his father had mentioned Mr. Miller had political ambitions.
Her father’s and Beck’s minds had run along the same track. Both wanted to advance in politics. Beck chose to go into the military, not out of loyalty to his country, but to further his stately goals to become governor of the State of Indiana. Mr. Longview had received assurances Beck wouldn’t be under fire. None of those promises were known by the rebels who snatched him off the city streets in Iraq.
As promised, Morgan took care of Shania, falling deeper in love as time passed. He had numerous opportunities to declare his feelings, but he couldn’t. No, the truth was he wouldn’t because Beck had been his friend. However, any occasion Morgan could get to spend time with Shania, he took.
Even when his world came crashing to a halt. He stared at the white hallway wall and reflected to the day Beck announced he was going to marry Taffy Canterbury, who sported a larger, more brilliant diamond than Shania did. Morgan ended the friendship with Beck the day he found out. Not wanting to end his relationship with Shania, he helped her decorate the little house and went to Lamaze classes with her. Beck’s capture by rebels and subsequent PTSD interrupted Morgan’s plans. Finally Morgan realized Shania held onto the hope she and Beck would reunite, and Morgan had to come to terms with that.
He grieved, then decided to get on with life. Too Many introduced him to Patty Tancor. She was cute, saucy--the opposite of calm, beautiful Shania--and just what he needed to ease suffering. Until that fateful day when Shania came to the church.
“Hi, Justin,” a baritone voice quaked.
Morgan came out of his reverie and glanced at Dr. Adam Raimo. The closer he got, the faster Morgan’s mind raced with accusations.
“Hi,” Justin timidly responded and grabbed Morgan’s hand.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Adam Raimo. You’re ah…Shania’s friend…” Raimo pinched his chin between two fingers as if in thought.
Morgan offered a hand. “Morgan Hardwick.”
Adam gave him a sharp, tight handshake. Morgan wasn’t intimidated, although his stomach tightened in preparation for a confrontation.
Much to Morgan’s dismay the door to the classroom opened, sending students forth and interrupting his conversation with Raimo. A few choice words pounded his mind. He would share them with the good doctor another time and place.
Shania didn’t appear. Morgan held Justin’s hand, and they walked into the classroom. Empty. He heard her voice, raised in anger. The breathing on his neck meant Raimo was hot on his heels.
Justin broke free, running around easels to an open doorway. Morgan put space between him and Hot Breath, easing into the office after Justin. Before he could introduce himself, or even make eye contact with Shania, the less-than-honest professor said, “Ah, you must be the fiancé. I’m Monsieur Barrett.”
“What?” Raimo protested. A heavy silence fell over the office. Morgan glanced at Shania and the look held.
“Awkward,” Monsieur Barrett stated, without the French accent, as he glanced between Morgan and Raimo.
Shania fell onto a hard wooden chair, her bag plopping in front of her. Justin ran to her side, and placed a small hand on her jean-clad thigh.
Morgan wasn’t a man to sit on his laurels. The professor was referring to Raimo as the fiancé, but Morgan would take advantage of the misconception.
“Raimo, you didn’t know? Shania and I are engaged, as of last night.” Morgan smiled broadly.
“You didn’t get married, Hardwick?” Raimo narrowed his eyes.
The asshole wouldn’t win. As far as Morgan was concerned the engagement wasn’t fake, and he had every intention of making her Mrs. Morgan Hardwick.
“No, I couldn’t let the love of my life get away, so here I am.” Morgan laughed, in his head at least. His chest might have puffed out, because he enjoyed Raimo’s uneasiness.
“Three months later?” Raimo expounded, taking a step closer to Morgan.
Morgan raised a hand, palm out.
Shania rubbed her forehead. “The time doesn’t matter. I realize the Longviews could have mistaken we were engaged, Adam, from the newspaper article. I think it’d be silly to ask for a retraction, unless you’d like to do so?”
The ten week, two day, thirteen hour gap from the canceled wedding to now was an issue that Morgan needed to address with Shania. Had she mentioned his absence to Raimo? He glanced at her. She bit her lip. Morgan knew she hated conflict. Confrontation made her nauseous. It took a great deal of courage for her to face Barrett, and now Raimo.
“Not necessary. Maybe I’ll be the most sought after bachelor if people find out you aren’t going to be my wife.” Raimo jeered and then glared at her.
Shania paled and grabbed the arms of the chair. The dig could only be a reference to Beck’s wedding announcement and his past rejection of Shania. The man needed a good beating.
“Dr. Raimo, I’d like to talk to you in private. Outside.” Morgan nodded. His jaw hurt from clenching his teeth.
“No!” Shania shouted and then whispered, “Please, I just want this
to be over. Adam, I’m sorry if you’ve been hurt. I meant no offense. I apologize for my gruff manner on the phone this morning.” She reached out to him. “The most valuable lesson I’ve learned the last three years is how important friends are, sometimes more vital than family. I want to be your friend. Please, let’s be friends.”
Dr. Raimo gave a sharp nod, pivoted and left the room at breakneck pace.
Shania straightened her shoulders. “Monsieur Barrett, I do not intend to have Justin’s work shown at the art museum. If you can find a new show, one not associated to the Longviews, you have permission to enter them. If not, then I’ll be reclaiming the pieces.”
She stood, hoisted her bags onto her shoulder, and took Justin’s hand into hers. “Come along, honey.”
She held out her other palm to Morgan.
He entwined his fingers with hers. His gaze met hers. Crazy wonderful ecstasy overwhelmed him, making his pulse go berserk.
“Have time for lunch?” Morgan asked. They walked out of the building and into the sunlight.
“Yes, this is my last class until a final next Wednesday,” she admitted.
“Terrific. Will you come back to Cyan with me?”
Chapter 12
Shania stood in front of the French door, letting a bit of fresh crisp fall air into Morgan’s house. The slight breeze refreshed her. A large window framed the lakefront, which glowed in its picturesque beauty several yards away. Muted greens, golds and blues created a colorful Monet look-a-like. The squawking voices of Canadian geese pierced through the portal.
She glanced at Justin, sprawled on the chocolate brown sectional sofa, his breath lightly blowing the fur on his toy horse. Birds honking hadn’t woken him. The grilled chicken and mac and cheese he’d eaten for lunch must have set heavy in his stomach.
The thump of plastic hitting tile brought her around. Their limited luggage sat in the middle of the foyer. She smiled and whispered, “Thank you for unloading our car. Did I park over far enough so you could get out if you need to go somewhere?”
