Just for Show

by Jae

  If nearly dying had taught her one thing, it was that she needed to live her life without worrying what people might think.

  Claire sighed. “I know it shouldn’t be. But I can’t help it.”

  That admission and the look of vulnerability on her face made Lana want to reach out and hug her, but she held herself back. The memory of Claire’s body against hers was still imprinted on her mind.

  “I care about what people think.” Claire glanced down and smoothed her hands over the wrinkle-free satin of her dress before peeking back up. “Especially these people.” She nodded toward the party.

  “But why? They don’t even seem like close friends.”

  “They aren’t.” Claire hesitated. “Well, maybe Renata is. She’s been my mentor from the very beginning. I want her to know that the counseling center will be in good hands with me once she retires.”

  “So you’ll take over one day?” Lana asked.

  “We never actually discussed it, but I know Renata and everyone else always thought I’d be the perfect person for it. I mean, I had it all: a doctorate, a flourishing career, a great house, a loving relationship, and the prospect of having my book published with a prestigious publishing house. But now…” Claire spread her fingers as if she could feel everything slipping through her grasp. “Now it’s all falling apart. I can’t let them see the cracks.”

  “Bullshit,” Lana said fiercely.

  Claire’s eyes widened.

  “Yeah, you’re not in a relationship anymore.” Lana lowered her voice. “So what? Everything else is still true. Well, maybe your house doesn’t look quite as great whenever I use the kitchen…”

  The corners of Claire’s mouth twitched. She started chuckling, then laughing.

  Lana watched her and smiled. She liked the way Claire’s usually serious features relaxed when she laughed.

  When Claire finally sobered, they looked at each other.

  “I, um…” Lana gave herself a mental nudge. “I think I owe you an apology too. I should have given you a bit more background on my friends before we met with them.”

  “Why didn’t you at least tell me about Jill having MS?” Claire asked.

  “It’s not my story to tell. I didn’t want to take the choice away from Jill.”

  Claire seemed to consider that for a moment before nodding. “Apology accepted. So, are we okay?”

  “We’re okay,” Lana said. A weight lifted off her chest, and only now did she realize how stressful the last twenty-four hours of arguing had been. She cracked a smile. “So now that we made up, does that mean we get to enjoy the benefits you describe in your book?”

  It was supposed to be a joke, something to lighten the mood some more, but her body hadn’t gotten the message. Heat pooled in Lana’s belly as she flashed back to the feeling of Claire’s body pressing into hers and that smooth, warm tongue stroking her own.

  Claire’s flush was obvious, even beneath her makeup. “How did you even know about that? You haven’t read the manuscript, have you?”

  Lana shrugged. “No. But don’t all relationship books have a chapter on making up and making out?”

  “So you read a lot of them?” Claire studied her with a curious gaze.

  “Me? God, no.” Lana grimaced. “But my mother devoured books like that when I was growing up. Probably still does.” Not that it did her any good. Her fourth marriage was, in Lana’s opinion, the worst of all—and that was saying something after catastrophic marriage number three. Why did Claire put so much effort and money into this ruse, all for a book that wouldn’t help anyone? Lana didn’t get it.

  “Probably?” Claire repeated. “You don’t know if she’s still reading them?”

  “I haven’t talked to her in years.” Not since her mother had chosen to turn her therapist number nine into husband number four, refusing to listen to anything Lana had said.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Claire studied her with that too-deep-seeing psychologist’s gaze. It was gentled by genuine compassion, but Lana still didn’t like that look directed at her.

  “No, thanks. This isn’t the right place or time.” Most of all, Claire wasn’t the right person to spill her guts to. The last thing Lana needed was another therapist poking into her life.

  “Okay. But if you ever want to talk, I’m here. I even promise to omit the psychobabble,” Claire said with a slight smile.

  “Thanks.” Lana returned the smile and pushed away from the palm tree. “Should we head back inside?”

  “Yeah, we’d better, before my colleagues really start thinking that we are…um…”

  Lana’s smile grew into a grin. “Traumatizing the koi by having a quickie next to their pond?”

  The flush creeping up Claire’s neck was just too cute. “Um, yeah, something like that.”

  Side by side, they stepped back onto the path and walked toward the party. Simultaneously, they reached for each other’s hand.

  As Claire’s fingers entwined with her own, Lana ignored the flutter in her belly. It was only a physical reaction, part of getting into her role a little too much.

  “There you are,” Renata greeted them when they rejoined the party guests. “I was wondering where you two had disappeared to.” Her gaze swept Claire’s slightly disheveled updo and her subtly smudged lipstick, and a knowing grin spread over her face, deepening the lines around her eyes and mouth.

  Claire’s face took on the color of the strawberries on the buffet table. “I just…um, showed Lana around.” She squeezed Lana’s hand in a silent call for help.

  Renata turned to Lana with an amused smile. “So, did you like what you saw?”

  “Oh yeah,” Lana said, with a bit too much enthusiasm. Her cheeks heated too. “The office is very, um, impressive. Not what I expected at all.” That was definitely true for Claire’s kiss too. She had expected the kiss to be more precise and controlled, something that was meant to achieve only one goal: make Vanessa believe they were a couple. The gentleness of Claire’s lips and the hint of passion had been a surprise—as had been her own reaction.

  “No?” Renata tilted her head. “What did you expect?”

  “Something a little more…uh…” Now Lana was the one who squeezed Claire’s hand, hoping she would jump in and help her out.

  “Austere,” Claire said with a smile.

  Thanks a lot. That wasn’t exactly the word she would have chosen to make a good impression.

  Claire reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Lana’s ear. “I’m afraid moving in with me might have given Lana the impression that all psychologists are a little…”

  “OCD,” Lana said at the same time as Claire said, “overly meticulous.”

  Renata laughed, then sobered. “Wait. Did you just say… You already moved in together? Why didn’t you tell me?” A shadow of hurt ghosted across her face.

  Claire put a hand on Renata’s forearm. “I’m sorry. I wanted to, but… It’s a rather recent development, and I didn’t want you to think that it’s too soon after, you know, Abby and everything.”

  “Claire.” Renata slid her hand on top of Claire’s. “I’d never judge you. You should know that by now. It is a little soon, but if it’s right, it’s right. I’m happy if you are happy.”

  “Thanks,” Claire answered, her voice hoarse.

  “You’ll have to excuse me now. I promised Vanessa she could sign my copy of her book.” A slight raise of Renata’s eyebrows gave away what she thought of Vanessa’s showing-off. With a smile and a wave, she walked away.

  Her departure left behind a slightly awkward silence. Lana didn’t know what to say to Claire after their kiss. Finally, she settled on, “I like her. She seems nice.”

  “She is,” Claire said. “We met when I did an internship as an undergrad, and she has become almost like a second mother. I hate lying to her.
”

  “Why not tell her the truth, then?” Lana asked. “You heard what she said—she’d never judge you.”

  Claire snorted. “How could she not?” She lowered her voice so that Lana had to strain to understand her. “Hiring an actress to play the part of your girlfriend is kind of crazy.”

  Lana couldn’t argue against it. “Come on.” She looped her arm through Claire’s. “Let’s check out the buffet. I hear some shrimp salad calling your name.”

  The sound of their laughter filled the entryway as they stepped into the house.

  Claire closed the door behind them and put her purse down on the hall table. “Did you see Daniel’s face when you told him Vanessa had been smoking?”

  Lana flashed an unrepentant grin. “How was I supposed to know she was keeping that little habit from him? Does she really believe he can’t smell it on her?”

  “So much for practicing what you preach.” Claire held up the copy of Vanessa’s book, which Vanessa had insisted on signing for her. “I bet she has a passage on not keeping secrets in relationships.”

  “See?” Lana kicked off her heels and wiggled her toes. “Even Vanessa isn’t perfect, no matter what she wants people to believe. Maybe you should ease up on yourself.”

  Claire sighed. If only it were that easy. “Maybe.”

  In the momentary silence, her stomach rumbled loudly.

  Lana laughed. “Oh my God, that sounds like an entire pack of wolves. Why didn’t you eat something at the party? I told you to try the shrimp salad. It was great, and so were the spinach dip bites.”

  “It all looked good, but I was too tense to eat.” To her surprise, she didn’t mind admitting that much to Lana.

  Lana grabbed her hand, which felt like a natural extension of their evening, and dragged her into the kitchen, leaving her just enough time to kick off her heels.

  “Um, what are you doing?”

  “Don’t worry, we’re not trying that kitchen-sex advice from your book. I’m just making you something to eat.” Lana steered her toward one of the stools. “Sit.”

  Claire remained standing. “It’s much too late to eat a big meal.”

  “Then only eat a little. Sit,” Lana repeated, as if it were her kitchen, not Claire’s.

  With a sigh, Claire sank onto the stool and watched as Lana took what looked like leftovers of a tuna noddle casserole out of the fridge. “Oh, no, no, no. You know I don’t eat carbs after six.”

  Lana put the casserole into the microwave, turned toward her, and reached for Claire’s arm.

  “Um, what are you…?”

  Lana clasped Claire’s wrist with one hand and turned back the hands of her watch to five o’clock with the other. “There.”

  “Lana, that’s… It doesn’t work like that.”

  “It does if you want it to.” Lana looked into her eyes. “You want to eat healthy and stay thin. I get that, and I think it’s great that you’re taking good care of yourself. But is boxing yourself in with rigid rules really the way you want to live your life? Can’t you make an exception every now and then?”

  Claire groaned. “It’s been a long day, Lana. Can we have this questioning-the-way-I-live-my-life conversation when it’s not so late?”

  A grin curled up Lana’s lips. “It’s not late.” She tapped Claire’s wrist. “It’s five o’clock.”

  If Claire had learned one thing about Lana in the month she’d known her, it was that Lana was as stubborn as she was. One of them had to give in, or they’d still be staring each other down across the kitchen island by the time dawn broke. “Okay, I’ll make an exception and eat a few bites. Just this once.” She held up her index finger. “Happy now?”

  “Yep.” Humming off-key, Lana took plates out of the cabinet and cutlery from a drawer.

  Minutes later, they sat at the kitchen island and dug into the—admittedly delicious—tuna noodle casserole. Claire ate every last bite Lana had served her and only her good manners stopped her from licking the plate.

  Luckily, Lana didn’t comment or tease her about it.

  When Claire got up and carried the dishes to the sink, Lana stopped her with a touch to her arm. “Just put them in the sink. I’ll put them in the dishwasher tomorrow.”

  “No, they’re easier to clean if you do it right away, and that casserole dish needs a good scrubbing, so I might as well wash the plates too while I’m at it.” Claire filled the sink with water and added over her shoulder, “You can go to bed if you want. I’ve got this.”

  But instead of leaving the kitchen, Lana reached for a dish towel. “You wash, I’ll dry.”

  As Claire scrubbed the casserole dish, she had to smile at the picture they probably made, doing the dishes in their elegant dresses. They stood side by side at the sink, and their fingers brushed whenever she handed Lana something to dry.

  Who knew that doing the dishes could be this nice? For a while, Claire allowed herself to get lost in the pleasant domesticity of the task. If she had ever shared moments like this with Abby, she couldn’t remember them.

  Within a short amount of time, the dishes were clean and the sink gleamed.

  Claire turned off the light, and they walked down the hall without turning on the hallway light, only the faint glow of the moon from the skylight illuminating the house.

  In front of the guest room, they paused and turned toward each other.

  “Good night,” Claire said.

  “Good night.”

  Neither of them moved toward their respective room.

  “Thanks for the casserole and for everything you did tonight,” Claire added, “especially for being such a good sport about…um, the kiss.”

  “No problem.” Lana grinned. In the dim light, her hazel eyes looked dark like sinful chocolate mousse. “I didn’t suffer too much.”

  Was that Lana-speak for I liked the kiss too?

  Well, it didn’t matter. It had been a necessary part of their ruse, nothing more, nothing less.

  Claire lingered next to her. Come on. You thanked her, now go to bed. She shouldn’t have mentioned that damn kiss. Now crazy images danced through her mind. Images of leaning toward Lana and—

  Are you out of your mind? This is just pretend, and good night kisses aren’t in the contract! What the heck was wrong with her? Maybe all those late-night carbs had gone straight to her head.

  “Um, sleep well.” Abruptly, she backed away, whirled around, and fled to the safety of her own bedroom.

  Chapter 10

  When Claire got home from work on Monday evening, her cell phone rang just as she got out of the car.

  Her agent’s name flashed across the display.

  “Hey, stranger,” Claire greeted her. She had barely heard anything from Mercedes since before Renata’s party two weeks ago.

  “Sorry I made myself so scarce the past couple of weeks,” Mercedes said. “I don’t know what it is, but suddenly, all of my clients are getting book deals at the same time. Maybe it’s something in the water.”

  “Well, whatever it is, I hope it’ll happen for me too,” Claire said.

  “It will. Don’t worry. The photos you sent me will help too. They’re great.” Mercedes let out a wolf whistle.

  Claire hummed in agreement. Even several of her colleagues had commented on the new photo on her desk.

  “But I hope you know that once I send them to Wishing Tree, there’s no way out.”

  “Way out?” Why would she want a way out?

  “Yeah. Once I hit send, you can’t replace Lana with another actress, no matter how crazy her messes drive you.”

  “Oh. That. Right.” That phone call when she’d complained about Lana seemed like ages ago. What a difference a month could make! “I don’t want to replace her.”

  “Are you sure?” Mercedes asked.

  “Yes. I
didn’t think I’d ever say so, but her impulsivity isn’t always a bad thing.”

  For several seconds, only silence filtered through the line, then Mercedes asked, “Who are you, and what have you done with the real Claire Renshaw?”

  “Hahaha. Seriously. I’m not saying I love the way my kitchen looks any time she cooks, but I have to admit that Lana’s impulsivity helps in situations when we need to improvise. Her quick thinking saved our butts a time or two at Renata’s party.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Maybe she could teach you some of her improv skills. They might come in handy for the interview I arranged for you.”

  “What interview?”

  “I arranged an interview on a popular call-in radio show in New York for you, right before you meet with Ms. Huge. It’ll give you a better bargaining position if you show her that you’re willing to heavily promote your book.”

  Claire rubbed her temple with her free hand. She’d have preferred to focus on the meeting with the acquisitions editor, but she trusted Mercedes’s expertise. Another bargaining chip couldn’t hurt.

  “Don’t worry,” Mercedes said when Claire failed to respond enthusiastically. “The radio host is an acquaintance of mine, and she’s great. She’s actually a psychologist too. She used to have a late-night show here in LA before moving to New York.”

  “Can you send me a link to her show so I can check out what kind of questions she might ask?”

  Mercedes laughed. “And here I thought Lana’s spontaneity might have rubbed off on you.”

  “Um, no. I prefer to be well-prepared.”

  “Okay. I’ll send you the link—and I’ll send off the photos.”

  They said goodbye, and Claire entered the house.

  Faint sounds came from the living room, announcing that Lana was back from her shift at the coffee shop.

  Claire had to admit that it was kind of nice not to come home to an empty house. Instead of going straight to her room, she diverted to the living room and leaned in the doorway.

  Lana certainly seemed to feel at home in the house, after living here for only a month. She was stretched out on the couch, wearing a gray pair of cut-off sweatpants that revealed her scar and her tan legs. A faded, purple T-shirt hugged her generous breasts. Bold letters across the chest said, Pilates? Oh, I thought you said pie and lattes.