A Christmas Proposition

by Jessica Lemmon

  “Can you explain to me how I am on my way to a Christmas celebration—that you have volunteered to drive me to, by the way—and yet I’m not allowed to listen to Christmas music on the drive over?”

  “My car. My rules.”

  “That was rhetorical. Don’t be a grump.” She turned on the music again, and again Emmett turned it off. “What if the volume is really, really low?”

  He didn’t pull his eyes from the road, not even to glare at her.

  “Fine. I’ll talk instead.” She cleared her throat. “So, I found this dress for my mother’s art show next month. It’s blue and sparkly and goes perfectly with my new shoes that I bought from—”

  A long-suffering sigh sounded from his chest, and Emmett powered on the radio in surrender. He thumbed down the volume button on the steering wheel, but she considered it a win.

  Hour Two

  “I don’t see why we couldn’t stop at a decent restaurant and order takeout.” She held the fast-food bag between a finger and thumb and eyed the grease spots that had seeped through the paper dubiously. “There are approximately a million calories in this bag. If I’m going to consume a million calories, it’d better be a gourmet meal.”

  Emmett stuck his hand into the bag and came out with one of the cheeseburgers. She watched as he unwrapped the sandwich, took a huge bite and, because that move took both hands, drove with his knee.

  Because he was big enough to drive with his knee.

  One booted foot firmly on the floor, his left knee kept the SUV perfectly positioned in the center of the lane.

  What an irritatingly sexy move that was. Why did he have to be so damn capable at everything?

  She rummaged through the bag until she found her sandwich. A fish sandwich had been the least calorie-laden item on the menu. It was roughly the size of a silver dollar, smashed flat, and half the cheese was glued to the cardboard container rather than on the bun.

  “Great.”

  Emmett’s hand plunged into the bag again and he came out with a container of fries. The burger held in one hand, he wedged the fry container between his big thighs and shoved three or four fries into his mouth. Even with one cheek stuffed like a chipmunk’s, he didn’t appear any less capable.

  She’d been around strong men all her life. Her father and her brothers were all strong, commanding, decisive men.

  Emmett had those traits as well, but it came in a less refined package. Sure, he dressed well, but there was a rough-hewn edge beneath that Armani shirt.

  It bothered her. It bothered her because it didn’t make any sense.

  It bothers you because you find it attractive.

  Just like she’d found Blake attractive? Just like she’d found plenty of other men who were all wrong for her attractive?

  She nibbled on the edge of her fish sandwich, sending a longing look to the fries nestled between Emmett’s legs.

  “See something you like?” He crumpled the empty burger wrapper and tossed it into the fast-food bag at her feet.

  She jerked her gaze to his face and was alarmed to find him smiling over at her.

  “No. I don’t,” she argued a little too fervently.

  His smile remained. Eyes on the road, he proffered the container of fries.

  Rather than resist, she plucked out three perfectly golden, salty potatoes and reminded herself that the bossy, attractive man in the driver’s seat was as bad for her as this meal.

  Four

  Hour Three

  Emmett slid a look over at Stefanie, who was intently scrolling through her phone and had been for the last several miles. What the hell was she doing?

  “You’re going to make yourself carsick,” he grumbled.

  He could feel her eyes on him. Wide, innocent eyes.

  He didn’t understand that observation about her, but it was nonetheless true. The only Ferguson daughter wasn’t naive or immature. She was headstrong and mulish, and he knew from experience, since he had both those attributes in spades. When they belonged to a woman, however, people saw her as a trite, vapid troublemaker.

  Frankly, it pissed him off. He’d known Stef for as long as he’d known Chase, and she wasn’t any of those things. But she must’ve been immune to what the public said about her. She never complained about her image or tried to make herself smaller because the media talked about her.

  “You do your thing, I’ll do mine.” Her snide remark made him smile in spite of himself.

  His “thing” at the moment was chauffeuring her safely from Dallas to San Antonio so that she could hobnob with her friends and ignore him. Which was what being around her was always like. He’d been joking about sleeping in the SUV, but he assumed he could find a last-minute room. San Antonio was a big city.

  He checked the rearview mirror and noticed the same black sedan he’d clocked earlier. It trailed three or four cars behind him. He wasn’t so paranoid that he believed they were being followed—it was a highway and they were all heading the same direction—but neither would he take Stef’s safety for granted.

  He’d been in the habit of looking out for her over the past couple of years, so he supposed that was the reason he’d offered himself up as the human sacrifice rather than asking her to change her plans.

  First off, he knew she wouldn’t. And if she’d gone anyway, he’d have been the one tailing her right now.

  Another glance showed the black sedan sliding into the same lane and vanishing behind a semi.

  It was early yet. He’d keep an eye on it.

  Both eyes.

  Hour Four

  Stef paused her scrolling through her address book, which she’d been desperately searching for a man to marry her for show.

  She was young, rich and attractive, yet this was proving to be an insurmountable task. Every name she passed on the list was either seeing someone or the wrong choice. Like Oliver James, for example.

  She and Oliver had casually dated for three months last summer. He was a successful commercial real estate buyer and a few years older than her. They’d stopped seeing each other mutually when things had simmered down.

  She’d been contemplating texting him to find out if he was still single when Emmett spoke up to ask her if she was cold and snapped her out of her imaginings. Just as well. Oliver was a nice enough guy, but she didn’t know if she could trust him when it came to being discreet. He was showy with a big personality. Always telling a joke or commanding the attention of the room.

  Definitely not a good choice for an undercover marriage.

  Now, though, her eyes rested on a name that she hadn’t considered before. She blinked, considered what she knew of the man and wondered if she could slot him into the role of groom even on a pretend-temporary basis.

  Emmett Keaton.

  She wrinkled her nose, but the distaste she tried to feel wasn’t there.

  Stefanie Keaton.

  It might work.

  At first blush, the idea seemed insane, but when she allowed herself to walk through the steps of arranging a wedding to the man driving, it wasn’t so insane.

  Emmett didn’t like her and she didn’t like him that much, either. Ending a marriage when it was time would be as natural as breathing for them.

  She looked up “marriage licenses in Harlington” on her phone and Google provided the website for the city. She hadn’t exactly lied about going to San Antonio. The smaller district was located about thirty minutes outside San Antonio. If she had told Chase that she was heading to the one-horse town to visit her high-class friends, he would’ve known something was up.

  She hadn’t told Emmett yet, but they weren’t close to where he needed to pull off the highway. She opened a map. In about twenty miles, he’d need to reroute.

  Back to the issue at hand: marrying Emmett.

  The marriage license had a seventy-two
-hour waiting period. If they applied today... She counted the days on her fingers. They’d be good to go by Christmas Eve. The question was, could she find someone to marry them at the last minute on a holiday?

  She opened her email app and pecked out a correspondence to the woman who ran the B and B where Stef had made her reservations.

  Hi, Margaret,

  Do you know anyone who could marry a couple on Christmas Eve?

  She watched out the windshield, considering the timing of the charity dinner. It was a six o’clock dinner, and even with cleanup she’d be out of there by ten o’clock. Once they returned to the B and B, changed into whatever wedding attire she was able to scrounge up in the three-day gap between license and “I do,” that’d mean...

  Preferably midnight, she typed. As Christmas Eve turns to Christmas day.

  She smiled to herself as she finished the email. Married at midnight on Christmas day. Could it be more perfect?

  She slanted a glance at Emmett and frowned. Maybe perfect was overshooting it. She hoped he could summon up an expression other than “The Grinch Who Stole Christmas” for a few of the photos.

  She should probably make sure Emmett didn’t have a secret wife or girlfriend first. He kept his personal life in Stef’s blind spot. She knew him in relation only to what he did at the mayor’s office, and even then it looked to her like a bunch of walking around while wearing a starched white button-down shirt and a stern expression.

  “Do you date?”

  Emmett snapped his head around, a look of incredulity on his face. “What?”

  “Date. Do you date?”

  If she wasn’t mistaken, he squirmed in his seat.

  “Women. Men. Anyone?”

  “Women.” His frown intensified.

  “Are you dating anyone right now?”

  He said nothing, both hands on the wheel in an elbows-locked position.

  “Why?” he finally muttered.

  It seemed too early to blurt out that she wanted to marry him. She’d have to ease into that request.

  “Just making conversation. I never see you with anyone whenever you’re at a family function.”

  “That’s work.”

  “You can’t work all the time.”

  “I can. I do.”

  Yeah, this was getting her nowhere.

  “Your head is the perfect shape. Not everyone can wear their hair that short.”

  “The deep car chatter continues.”

  “I’m just saying, I’m sure you can find a date even though your personality is basically the worst.”

  His shoulders jumped in what might have been a laugh, but no smile yet.

  She smiled, enjoying a challenge. “So? Do you date?”

  “Not as much as you do.”

  She ignored the jab. “Are you seeing anyone right now?”

  “Yes. You. Exclusively.”

  He didn’t take his eyes off the road to look at her so he didn’t see her bite her lip in consideration. As segues went, this was pretty much her only chance.

  “I talked to Penelope about how to handle the Blake situation. Know what she said?”

  “Stay out of it and let her do her job?”

  Almost verbatim, but that wasn’t what Stef was getting at.

  “She said that if I were anyone else, she’d suggest I get married.”

  “She would suggest you pretend you’re married?” he asked, his tone flat.

  “No. She would suggest I literally get married. Marriage licenses are public record. Any reporter worth her salt could verify if it was real or not.”

  Emmett said nothing.

  “I’ve been scrolling through my phone in search of Mr. Stefanie Ferguson, but no luck. I’m almost halfway through the alphabet.”

  He changed lanes, the mar in his brow deepening.

  “You’re going to have a lot of wrinkles when you’re old because of the frowning. Did you know that—”

  “It takes more muscles to frown than smile? Yes. I knew that.”

  “Anyway, when I find my husband-to-be, it’ll only have to last until the election. Once Chase is reelected as mayor, I can annul it, no harm no foul.”

  A minute of silence passed, the only sound in the car a Mariah Carey holiday tune playing quietly on the radio. Emmett stabbed a button on the steering wheel to shut it off.

  “You have to take this exit for where we’re going.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I know so.” She held her phone up and showed him the map.

  “Where is that?” he asked, even as he dutifully changed lanes.

  “I lied about San Antonio. We’re going to a town called Harlington. It’s just outside—”

  “I know Harlington.” His visage darkened.

  “You do?” She’d assumed he was from a similarly wealthy Dallas background as her family. At least upper middle class. “Here. This exit.” She rested her cell phone on the dash, and though he mumbled a swear word under his breath, he pulled off the exit.

  “From here take route—”

  “I can read the map, Stefanie.”

  Yeah, proposing should work out great, she thought with an eye roll.

  She waited a few more silent minutes before turning on the radio again. The Sting song didn’t cause her driver to visibly wince.

  Her email notification lit up her phone and she opened her inbox to read Margaret’s reply, whose answer was an exuberant “Yes!”

  Evidently Margaret’s son was a minister and available on Christmas Eve for a midnight wedding. In the next paragraph of her reply, Margaret went on and on about the beautiful decorations in the sitting room of her old Victorian house.

  Stefanie responded with a quick message. I’m working out the marriage license now.

  Little did Emmett know, the address she’d keyed into her map was for city hall downtown.

  Five

  “Which building?” Emmett drove through the thick traffic of downtown Harlington.

  Yeah, he knew this town. He’d grown up not far from here. Before he’d escaped to go to college. Before happenstance had put him at the same wild frat party as Chase Ferguson. They’d stopped in the center of the room en route to flirt with the same girl. Neither of them had won the girl, but they’d forged a strong friendship.

  From there, Emmett’s world had forked. He’d left behind his former life as a rough kid from a lonely home. He’d dropped out of college and never finished, but his old man hadn’t noticed. Van Keaton had been lost in his own prison of grief since the Christmas that’d robbed both him and Emmett of all that was good.

  Since then, Emmett had been determined to create good. In addition to working with Chase as his head of security, Emmett had also learned how to invest well. Hell, he’d mimicked his friend’s financial habits, had read every book Chase recommended and had listened to countless podcasts on the topic. It never would’ve occurred to Emmett that he could live the way he lived now if it wasn’t for the Fergusons. They took the idea of “living well” to an advanced level.

  Emmett’s work at the mayor’s office might as well be his source of oxygen. He had the Fergusons, who had been a placeholder for the family Emmett rarely saw. His father was a lonely man determined to bask in his own misery, so Emmett let him do it. And he’d never gone home on a holiday. Van didn’t do holidays. Not anymore.

  And neither did Emmett.

  Stef squealed from the passenger seat, going on about how “beautiful” the red bows and pine boughs tied to paint-chipped lampposts were, but he could only offer a grunt.

  Those tattered pine boughs had seen better days and the red ribbons drooped. The shop windows downtown covered in spray snow would require tedious scraping with a razor blade to come clean, and the strings of white lights wrapped around every lamppost s
erved as a reminder of what once was but could never be again.

  “Where the hell is this place?” he asked at a stoplight. He didn’t see any building resembling a B and B.

  “Oh. Um. I have to stop at city hall first.”

  She directed him to the tall brick building between a shoe shop and a store called the Fan Man, which, as far as Emmett could tell, sold ceiling fans and lighting fixtures.

  “What for?” He navigated to an open parking spot, but when she took off her seat belt, he caught the strip of nylon in one fist. She sagged back into her seat.

  “I know you think the idea of me marrying someone sounds—”

  “Insane,” he finished for her, letting her go.

  “Think about it, Em. Blake won’t have a leg to stand on. I refuse to let him use a mistake I made in the past against my family.”

  Every time he pictured her with that guy, rage spilled into his bloodstream.

  “It was the worst mistake of my life.”

  “Huge,” he grumbled in agreement.

  Guilt outlined her pretty features.

  It was the wrong thing for him to say. Blake was predatory and single-minded. And when Chase had found out his sister slept with that pig, his reaction had mirrored Emmett’s. Emmett would’ve happily castrated the bastard to ensure he’d never hurt anyone again.

  “There are worse things in life,” he told Stef. “Trust me.”

  Christmas shoppers flooded the streets, bustling around to finish their shopping before it was too late, many with small children in tow. One little boy with dark hair and pink cheeks rode in a stroller and pointed with one mitten as snow began to fall, and Emmett’s heart crushed.

  That kid was the same age as his brother, Michael, when he’d passed.

  “I was awake for hours last night trying to think of a suitable groom, but after a quick scan of my contacts I came up empty-handed. I decided to check again today in case I’d overlooked someone and then I found myself lingering over a name...”

  “Completely insane.” He shook his head.

  “Do you know why?”

  He did look at her now, having neither any idea why nor any clue as to how she thought this was the best way to proceed.