by Lee, Nadia
“Yeah. Anyway, I keep it because it’s such a beaut, but I don’t ride it for the sake of my mother’s peace of mind. She told me she might have a heart attack if I didn’t quit.” Exasperation mingles with love in his gray eyes.
I get a little warm at the idea of the two butting heads with each other out of love. “I think it’s sweet of you.”
“How about you?” he asks as he grabs the pepperoni pizza we picked up.
“What about me?” I check my car to make sure I’ve got all my things.
He opens the door to the mansion. “Ever do anything rebellious?”
I scrunch my face. Pretend to think. “No.”
“How come?”
“I was a very good girl,” I say primly.
The reality is that I wasn’t allowed to do anything that could possibly be considered improper. Dad was paranoid I’d do something that would embarrass him or negatively affect his chances of winning each election. “What would my constituents think?” is most benign of the things he said when I did something he didn’t like.
David nods. “And you spent your weekend doing the training. Bet you got straight As in school, too.”
He places the food on the kitchen counter, then washes his hands. I do the same, ignoring his comment about the As. I was a good student, but not that good. Another thing my dad didn’t like, although his campaign manager said it was okay because it’d make me appear like a normal kid, which would in turn increase “voter relatability.”
“Want something to drink? I have wine, Coke…OJ. Water, if you want that.”
“Coke would be nice. Thank you.”
He takes a small bottle out and hands it to me. He pours himself a glass of Chianti.
We sit on stools by the counter and start eating. The pizza’s nice enough. Still hot, the cheese soft and gooey. But what’s best is the easy atmosphere. I can’t put my finger on it, but somehow it feels comforting and natural to share a quiet meal with him.
Which is weird. We’ve had meals before when we were working late. But what is it about this one that feels so special? Because it’s more personal? Or is it because we have this secret pact?
His phone rings again before we get to finish even one slice. I tense, wondering if it’s the people he hired with more bad news. Maybe the reporters broke into my apartment and planted bugs.
David looks at his phone and grunts. “Mom,” he says, wiping his mouth with a napkin like he’s about to face her in person.
“I’ll be very quiet,” I promise around a small bite.
He nods and answers. “Mom!” He throws out a megawatt smile while he’s at it, even though his mother can’t see it. “What…? No. Of course not.” There’s a pause. “He told you, or you saw?” He lets out a laugh. He’s trying to act as natural as possible, but I can tell he’s thinking, Oh shit. “We’re just having dinner… Uh-huh. Yeah, I know it’s late… Well, you know. I couldn’t… Well, if you’d asked before you sent it, you wouldn’t be so embarrassed now, would you?” He rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes. It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry. Yes, she’s here. Huh? Okay. Give me a sec.” He turns to me, his expression serious. “I just muted her for a bit, but I can’t hold her off for too long. Mom wants to talk to you.”
“What? Why?” I squeak out through a ball of panic in my throat.
“Trent told her we’re engaged, and she’s kind of, uh…beside herself.”
Oh, crap. It never crossed my mind that Mrs. Darling would be this eager. This kind of excitement…it’s just not part of my experience, not even when I was dating Warren and everyone assumed we’d marry. Warren’s mom was too sick, and his dad was too busy with his career. The only one who cared was my father, but only because he was calculating how he could use it for his ambitions.
David places the phone on the counter. “You’re on speaker, Mom, just like you wanted.”
“Erin, are you there?” Mrs. Darling asks. “I just want to make sure.”
I raise an eyebrow. Maybe David’s played tricks on her before.
“Yes, I’m here,” I say. “Hello, Mrs. Darling.”
“Oh dear, that sounds so formal.” I can hear a smile in her tone. “You can call me something much friendlier and more family-like. Mom has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
I choke on the pizza I’m in the middle of swallowing. I can’t call her mom when I’m only going to be engaged to her son for three months!
David reaches over and pats my back.
“Hello? Are you there?” Mild anxiety streaks her words.
I try to answer, but only hacking sounds come out.
“Oh, too soon? Would you prefer Sun instead?”
“Mom, you surprised the crap out of her! She’s literally choking.”
“Then Heimlich her, now!” she thunders like a general leading troops into battle. “I’m not going to lose a daughter-in-law after waiting this long!”
I thump my sternum, hoping it’ll dislodge the food. She has to stop because I’m not her daughter-in-law yet. Actually, I’m not going to be her daughter in anything!
The pizza finally goes down. “Mrs. Darling, I’m really okay with what I’ve been calling you,” I croak, doing my best not to sound panicked or freaked out.
“Nonsense. David should’ve told me about this before. He was acting so mysterious that I had no idea, especially with him living so far away and not being in contact much, you know?”
David looks up at the heavens.
“Of course,” I say soothingly. “I’m sorry.”
“He should be the one apologizing, not you. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have asked you to put the picture in David’s room. Actually, I wouldn’t have sent it like that at all. I would’ve shared it on our app like a person of high technology.”
Her reaction makes me smile a little. She’s actually…cute.
“You still should have,” David mutters.
If she hears him, she ignores him. “Anyway, Alexandra’s turning sixty-seven in three weeks. We have a birthday bash at her home, like we always do.”
“What?” David says, sitting up a little straighter. “I thought she didn’t want to do it this year. Just have a quiet day and have us donate to charity instead.”
“Well, that was the plan, until she heard you got engaged! We’re all expected to donate to charity, of course, but we’re also having the get-together. And naturally you’re invited, Erin.”
Oh my God! Panic twists through me, and the hair on the back of my neck bristles as icy apprehension spreads. It’s one thing to fake an engagement or talk to his mom on the phone, but another to attend his grandmother-slash-the CEO’s birthday party. And from the eagerness in Mrs. Darling’s voice, it’s clear that she wants to get to know me very, very well.
David mouths, Sorry.
I shake my head at him. He couldn’t have known his grandmother would change her mind. But what am I supposed to do? Fake it at the party? How? What do I do? This is much bigger than just pretending to be his date at a charity auction! I clear my throat. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“What do you mean?” Mrs. Darling says.
“Um… I already have plans,” I lie. My weekends are open. Ready to be filled with whatever free training program that catches my eyes. Or David recommends.
“Surely they can be adjusted? I’d offer to alter our party plan, but we already paid for catering.”
I start to feel slightly faint. “Catering?” They aren’t doing potluck? On the other hand, Alexandra Darling is a billionaire, so obviously she can afford to cater. Ack! I’m going to need a dress!
David notices my anxiety. “It’s just a fancy term for ordering meat for the barbecue. We always order enough to feed an entire neighborhood.”
Okay, that makes me feel better. But only marginally.
“It sounds so much nicer to call it catering, sweetie. Your dad is determined to show off his new barbecue sauce and grilling technique. Apparently, they’re going to w
ow us.” Mrs. Darling says it with the sigh of a woman who’s heard something more times than she cares to remember.
“We barbecue every time the family gets together, except for Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s,” David adds.
“We’d do it then too if Alexandra didn’t have the grill cleaned and put away,” Mrs. Darling says. “Anyway, do come, Erin. I promise you’ll love the party, and we’d love to spend time with you and get to know you better. If your plans can’t be adjusted, then I suppose we’ll have to host an engagement party.” She pauses for a second. “Actually, that might be better. You deserve an event of your own.”
My skin crawling, I shake my head hard, even though she can’t see me. That sounds about as fun as being waterboarded naked while stuck in a cave full of giant, flying cockroaches. “No, no. I’m sure I can change my plans. I wouldn’t want to impose.” Anything is better than an engagement party—and therefore a spotlight—of my own.
“Are you sure?” she asks. “I really should be more considerate. After all, you only get engaged once.”
Yeah, except this isn’t real. I should’ve thought about how his family would react. It isn’t like Warren’s or mine. They’re incredibly tight-knit. “Yes. Honestly. I wouldn’t want to be a selfish and thoughtless daughter-in-law.” I press my lips together and cringe a little at the smooth way daughter-in-law slipped out.
“Well…if you’re sure. But if you change your mind, let me know. I love planning parties. And cooking. I bake the best brownies, if I may say so.”
“You absolutely do,” David says.
“I love baking, too,” I say, hoping that talking about brownies will make her forger about the engagement party. “I’d love to have your recipe, if you don’t mind.”
“It’s a family secret. But since you’re going to be joining us, why not?” She laughs. “I’m going to let you two lovebirds go. Enjoy your dinner!”
“Thank you,” I say with more enthusiasm than necessary. It just seems like the thing to do with his bright, positive mother.
David ends the call, then looks at me. “Well.”
“Yeah. Well.” I stare back, my mind numb. This must be how a deer feels when it’s facing headlights.
“I didn’t realize she’d call so soon. Or that Grandma would change her mind about the party.”
“Isn’t it late in Virginia?” His mother always grumbles about having to stay up to catch David after work. She told me so more than once when she had to call me to grab him because he wasn’t answering the phone.
“Yeah, and she’s an early bird, too. I bet Trent or Derek called to let her know.” David stares off into the distance. “Probably got brownies out of her…”
I feel a little guilty. When the opening in the L.A. office popped up, David wasn’t sure, but I campaigned for it. I wanted to get as far from Virginia as possible, put as much distance between me and Dad as I could. If Sweet Darlings, Inc. was going to pay for it, so much the better.
Although I’m not arrogant enough to think I’m the reason he decided to take the position in L.A., I’m sure my little nudges had some influence. Now he’s out here away from his family and misses his mom’s food.
I make a mental note to look up a recipe. Mine probably won’t be as good as Mrs. Darling’s, but some brownies are better than none, right?
Chapter Eighteen
Erin
After dinner, David shows me to a guest bedroom. It’s two doors down from the master suite where the crew hung his cousin’s picture. Unlike his room, this one’s done in ivory, including a four-poster bed. The floor is some sort of dark wood, gleaming softly under the lights. A small desk and a chair are set in the sitting area, along with a plush armchair, perfect for curling up with a book.
“Where are the washer and dryer?” I ask.
“At the end of the hall. The same machine does both, so you don’t have to move the clothes around. Just hit the button, and it’ll do everything automatically.” He gestures to my left. It’s the opposite direction from his bedroom. “The laundry room is stocked and has everything you need. And there’s a bathrobe in the closet here if you want.”
“Thanks. Good night, David.”
“Good night.” But instead of leaving, he stands there like he has something more to say.
I bite my lip, nerve endings firing up. Is it my imagination, or is he leaning just slightly forward? Is he going to kiss me like he on Saturday, when we were role-playing?
My belly flutters. I can’t decide what to do. Should I close the distance?
“Sweet dreams,” he says.
“Okay,” I say blankly.
His mouth quirks into a smile. I almost smack my forehead. Really, Erin? “Okay”?
Then, like the gentleman that he is, he turns and exits, closing the door behind him.
I watch him disappear, my chest oddly tight, my belly settling uncomfortably. Am I disappointed he didn’t try to kiss me? But then, I didn’t really want him to press his lips on mine, did I?
I shake my head. I’m being weird. If I told anybody what I’m feeling, they’d call me insane. And that is the absolute last thing I ever want to be.
Wrapped in the bathrobe David mentioned, I go start the laundry, since it’d be gross to wear the same set of clothes and dirty underwear again tomorrow. Thankfully, none of my things requires dry cleaning. I always check before buying. And since all my clothes look sort of the same—inoffensive pale tops and pencil skirts in gray or black—probably no one will even notice I’m in the same outfit two days in a row. One of the advantages of not dressing to stand out.
Then I head back to the bedroom. The shower in the guest bedroom has toiletries from the Ritz. I smile at the small bottles. Somehow it strikes me as adorable that David collects soaps and shampoos and conditioners from the high-end hotels he stays at on business. He even filched some lotion.
My hair still damp, I slather on the lotion—super rich—and put the bathrobe on again. It’s too small to be one of his. Probably something he got in case his female cousins visit.
Once I have a clean and dry set of clothes—and nothing to do—I go to bed and lie in the dark. I pull the sheets closer, then wonder if David has ever used them himself. On the other hand, he wouldn’t put unwashed sheets on a guest bed. No way of knowing, since I can’t smell anything.
But then, I haven’t been able to since the car accident where Mom and I sustained head injuries. Although people kept quiet around me, I heard whispers that Mom was in a coma and might not make it. Thankfully, they turned out to be wrong. It wasn’t her time yet. Her time came when she decided to go.
I survived, without the ability to smell. But that’s a small trade-off. It’s been inconvenient, since I have to be very diligent about replacing batteries in smoke detectors and using timers for cooking to avoid burning. On the other hand, I’m also lucky because I never get headaches from excessive perfume like some people in the office. And I never have to smell anybody’s BO.
Of course, it also means that I need to worry about my own BO. Which is why I’m a fanatic about personal hygiene.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I turn and place a hand under the pillow to get more comfortable. Maybe I’m having trouble relaxing because I’m in a strange bed. Or maybe it’s because I’m at my boss’s house. I never thought I’d be in a situation like this. Fake engaged for three months!
My stomach hurts again. I put a hand over it…and then I feel that wet sensation you can’t do anything about.
Shit.
I jump out of bed, flick on the light on the bedside table and plunge my hand into my purse for my emergency tampons. I’m a couple of days early. Argh. My period has been pretty regular over the last half a year, so why does it have to pick now to go haywire?
I can’t find the tampons. Annoyed, I upend the bag, dumping everything on the hardwood floor, then I go through my things. No, no, no, no… Come on…
No tampons.
This has to be some k
ind of cosmic joke. I leap to my feet and go through every cabinet and shelf in the bathroom and closet. Maybe David has a stash of feminine hygiene products, just in case. But no. Nothing. The only thing I find is more towels and toilet paper.
I’m not familiar with this area of the city at all. With my phone gone, there’s no GPS to look up a drugstore. And even if I could, I’m not confident I could drive and shop without making a literal bloody mess of it.
And I won’t be able to sleep either, not without turning the bed into a pool of blood. Okay, maybe not quite a pool. More like a small pond or a puddle. But ugh.
I go to the bathroom to assess the damage, roll up some toilet paper as an emergency stopgap, then squeeze my eyes shut as I face the only possibility left: I have to ask David to go shopping for tampons.
Odds are about fifty-fifty that I’ll survive the embarrassment.
Inhaling deeply, I go knock on his door with a shaking hand. Then I spin away, praying David’s too deeply asleep to hear me. Then I pray that Aunt Flo magically falls and breaks a hip and can’t bother me until tomorrow.
But no such luck.
The door opens, and David sticks his head out. “You okay? Need something?”
I bite my lower lip. My face is flaming so hard that I can’t believe it’s not spontaneously combusting. “Um…”
“Yeah?” He stifles a yawn.
“You don’t…um…have…uh…women’s things, do you? Like in case your cousins visit?”
He blinks, but confusion remains in his eyes. “What women’s things?”
“You know. Like.” I hesitate. Then I tell myself he’s old enough to know that women have periods. And that when we do, we need things. “Tampons or pads?”
His face freezes in shock. “Uh… No. Should I…?” Then his gaze drops to my lower region. “Are you…?”
Oh God, please strike me with lightning now! “Yes. I thought I had some tampons in my purse, but I don’t, and I’m so sorry.” I say it all at warp speed, hoping it’ll be less embarrassing.
Nope. Still extremely embarrassing.
“Ah. Okay.” David nods slowly. “Sure. I’ll go get you some. No problem.”
