Bear Faced Liar

by Alice Coldbreath

  She looked up at him as he closed his eyes a moment. When he opened them the expression was raw.

  “I know I did wrong, but I can't lie to you baby,” he said his voice gravelly. “I can't regret what I did, not one bit. Having you here with me this past week, by my side, in my bed...We weren't living a lie baby. This between us - this is the truth.” He reached for her hand and pressed it against his chest. “You're my mate. You're it. All I want. Everything. I want to build a future with you, Pristine Christine. I love you.”

  Pris sobbed again, wrapping her arms around his waist and hiding her face in his chest. He reached down and scooped her up, heading back to the bedroom. “I love you,” he said again as he lowered her onto the mattress and then followed her down onto it. “I'm gonna do everything I can to convince you of it. For the next fifty years if that's what it takes. And one day, you're gonna give in and love me back, Pris. And when that day finally comes, I'm...”

  Pris punched him in the chest. Hard.

  He stared down at her a moment in consternation. “Ow?”

  “Stupid bear,” she said fiercely blinking back tears. “Of course, I love you.”

  Jared rubbed his chest distractedly. “What?”

  “If I didn't you'd be in a cell right now for fraud,” she told him. “Luckily you were telling the truth. You do belong to me, so I've decided to overlook the slightly unconventional courtship.”

  His lips quirked. “I belong to you,” he repeated, a slow grin spreading on his face. He fell back on top of her, heavy and demanding. “Open your legs, Pristine.”

  “You're mine to argue with and fight with and build a life with,” she breathed as she hooked her legs over his hips. “And all your family belongs to me now too.”

  “You can have them,” he growled against her lips. “Bunch of interfering bastards.”

  She slid her hands over the bunched muscles on his back. “But there's one thing I don't get?” she frowned as he kissed and licked over the pulse in her neck.

  “Shhhh baby,” he said gruffly. “I need to make my mark on you.”

  “What?” she shrieked breathlessly. “Wait a minute. Shouldn't there be...I don't know...rose petals and candles...? And romantic music or something?”

  He gave a muffled laugh. “I thought you weren't high-maintenance anymore, Pristine,” he reminded her.

  “But...if it's just a bit of rough and tumble, I don't understand why you didn't just do it before? I mean why wait till now...?”

  He yanked back from her and stared at her this time. “What?” he asked ominously.

  Pris blinked up at him. “I mean if it's just...”

  “I heard what you said,” he cut in angrily. “But I can't believe you would think I would bind you to me when you hadn't said it was what you wanted.”

  She stared at him a moment. “You mean you wanted to do this before?” she asked.

  His head jerked. “For fuck's sake,” he muttered.

  “Well, I'm sorry but I don't know much about shifters and mating so you're going to have to explain it to me, Jared...”

  “I've wanted to do this from the very first moment I saw you Christine,” he said in a low, angry voice. “But I thought you belonged to another man then, so I couldn't. Then, miraculously, you were mine. But any day you could have gotten your memory back and decided to up and leave me.” He was breathing hard, his eyes flashing. Pris watched with fascination. “Every time I've been with you since I've wanted nothing more than to mark you as my personal property and I've had to exert rigid control not to. Every damn time Pris.”

  She reached up to stroke his shoulder. “Sorry, I didn't realize, sweetie,” she said soothingly. “You can do it now. It's fine.” He stared at her. “Or later,” she said hurriedly when he made no move. “No pressure. Just, when the time feels right, honey.”

  He gave a snort of laughter. “You kill me, Pristine. You know that?” He dropped back down on top of her and sank his teeth into the base of her neck where it met the shoulder. Deep.

  Pris gave a muffled shriek. “Ow-ow, Jared!” She twisted her hands in his hair, gripping it tight.

  He gave a satisfied groan against her neck and then started lapping at the puncture wounds. She winced, but the pain was receding to tingles already.

  “Nasty bear,” she whispered. He just growled again. “My nasty bear,” she said yanking on the roots of his hair. He growled again in assent. “How do I mark you though?” she mused aloud. “I know, you can get my name tattooed on your chest.” He gave an amused growl this time. “But that could be awkward as everyone thinks my name is Priscilla,” she sighed. His growl this time definitely had an edge to it. Jeez, how long was he going to be lapping at his damn mark? she wondered. He pulled back his head to look at his handiwork and gave a satisfied grunt.

  When she tried to sit up he planted a hand in the middle of her chest and pushed her back down with a 'what the hell,' look on his face.

  “I want to see it,” she explained.

  He snorted again. “You can't see shit. Only other shifters can see it.”

  “Oh. Seems like a lot of fuss about nothing.” She laughed at his look of outrage. “Only kidding,” she sighed and opened her arms to him to cushion the blow. “I know this is bad,” she whispered once he was back in her arms. “But I do like to tease you, Jared.”

  “I've noticed,” he rumbled from his chest.

  “Do you mind?”

  “Nah, I kinda like it,” he admitted with a lop-sided grin.

  She ran a hand down the side of his face. “So, we're sort of married now?” she asked. “Shifter married.”

  “I'm still putting a ring on your finger, baby,” he said darkly. “Just shifters knowing you're taken isn't enough. I want everyone to know. We can see a lawyer and I'll sign a pre-nup,” he added. “Seeing as you're so loaded.”

  “No, we won't!”

  “Yes, we will,” he argued right back. “Goddamn it, woman! I'm gonna spank that ass if you keep this up.”

  “I've decided I'm going to tell everyone Priscilla is my stage name,” she carried on as if he hadn't spoken.

  He drew a sharp breath. “We'll be telling everyone you're not a damn stripper,” he pointed out.

  “No, we won't Jared!”

  “What the hell is this now?” he asked in disbelief, rolling onto his back and taking her with him.

  “Well,” said Pris. “I much prefer being Pristine Christine, Jared Hunt's ex-stripper to Christine Lascombe, heiress.”

  “You always were and always will be, my Pristine Christine,” he growled.

  She tossed her head in assent. “Good, so we're agreed,” she said breezily.

  He stared up at her speechless for a moment. “You want to carry on pretending to be an ex-stripper,” he said incredulously.

  “Yes.”

  “Why, in god's name?”

  “Because. I like who I am now. And I like how people see me. Confident, sexy, yours. I don't see why I should change it.”

  He rolled her back underneath him. “Chrissy,” he growled.

  “Jared.”

  “You plannin' on wrappin' me round your little finger?”

  “This is all your own fault,” she reminded him. “You wanted me and now you got what you wanted, you can’t complain about the consequences.”

  “Ain’t complainin’,” he rumbled, rubbing his chin along her shoulder. “Never that.”

  “Good, ‘cos me and Deb had a conversation.”

  He sighed. “What about?”

  “The family farmhouse.” She felt him go still.

  “What about it?”

  “Us buying out Daisy and Luke and living there.”

  “What?” he asked incredulously. “You want to live at the family farm?”

  “Uhhh…yes, Jared! That right there is my dream house!”

  “Pris,” he rolled over onto his back, taking her with him, so she was gazing down at him. “Honey, when you had that conversation with
Debs…you didn’t remember what your dreams were! You didn’t know who you were! It wouldn’t be fair of us to expect you to just settle…”

  “Jared, no,” she said firmly, sitting on his stomach. “Did I explain that The Heights is actually mine?”

  He breathed out heavily. “No. No, you did not,” he said.

  “It’s a beautiful house,” she said. “But it’s not my dream house. It’s not the house where we’re going to raise our kids.”

  She saw his gaze go on high-alert. “You want kids with me, Pris?” he asked softly.

  “Yes. And I want to raise them in the big farmhouse. They can play in the orchards and on the wrap-around porch.”

  His hands came to her hips. “What about Aunt ‘Tunia?”

  “She’s all for it, Jared. The place is just too big for her.”

  “I mean where will she go?”

  Pris looked down at him wryly. “Jared,” she said. “Honey. You need to face facts. Your aunt feels like a change. She’s talking about moving into town into her own apartment, but…” she pulled a face.

  “What?”

  “I don’t think it’ll be long before Amos proposes to her and she’ll be his wife number three.”

  “Amos Fletcher?”

  “He’s your aunt’s gentleman-caller.”

  “He is?”

  “He’s sweet on her Jared. They’re a cute couple and they can grow old together. Amos has got a Winnebago and your aunt wants to travel a bit and sight-see. They’re perfect together. You must see that, honey.”

  “Amos Fletcher?” he echoed disbelievingly.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know, babe. Amos is a grumpy old bastard.”

  “Not to your aunt, he isn’t,” she replied firmly. “He’s very sweet and blushes when he talks about her.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

  “I wish you would.”

  18 hours later

  “There’s one thing I still don’t understand,” said Jared with a frown.

  “What’s that?” murmured Pris, who was curled into his side.

  “How come you knew so damn much about make up when you don’t hardly wear any yourself?” asked Jared, playing with her fingers. “You can’t have just learned it all from YouTube.”

  “I didn’t,” sighed Pris. “I was always interested in cosmetics – loved them. But my Father strongly disapproved so I could never pursue it. And I do wear make-up, honey. I always did, but I’d had it drummed into me that I should be subtle, so I was timid. I used to buy make up and hide it at the back of my wardrobe.” She pulled a face. “When I became Pristine, it gave me the freedom to be bolder and experiment. I didn’t get the chance to tell you, but Bettina’s offered to go into partnership with me at Bettina Lorena’s. I’d really love to do it.”

  Jared turned his head to look at her and cleared his throat.

  Pris looked at him shrewdly. “You’re going to ask me what my job was before, aren’t you?” He went a little red. “You thought I was a total trophy wife, didn’t you?” she laughed. “I’m a majority shareholder at Lascombe-Holmes enterprises and sat on a lot of charity committees. That was my job. It was the polar opposite of hands-on. I never thought I was a people person,” she said softly and looked at Jared.

  “You? Not a people person?” he shook his head.

  “Guess I wasn’t very self-aware.”

  “You sure you want to be a beautician, in a small-town beauty parlor?” he asked quietly.

  “I’ve only ever been surer about one other thing in my life,” she told him, tightening her arms around him. “Besides, in a year or so…I reckon we could open a sister store to Bettina Lorena’s, maybe a couple of towns over.”

  “That so?”

  “I’ve got the name ready and everything.” At his look of enquiry she said “What else - Pristine Christine.”

  24 hours later

  Christine and Jared crossed the lawn to the terrace where Rosemary, Jenna and Vanya were sat drinking coffee outside The Bell Tower Spa and Golfing Hotel. They were hand in hand and Christine’s face was wreathed in smiles.

  “Oh God,” said Rosemary. “Look at her face. Now it all makes sense. Why didn’t we think of that?”

  “She’s quite transformed with happiness,” marveled Vanya.

  “Will they even let them in dressed like that?” fretted Jenna, peering over her coffee cup.

  “You really think one of these waiters would have the nerve to ask him to leave?” asked Rosemary with raised brows.

  Vanya rose out of her chair to greet them. “Darlings! Welcome! Come and join us!”

  And, so they did.

  Epilogue

  Cranston Falls, one year later

  Pris glanced up at the Bakelite clock face, as she tidied away her cosmetic stands onto her new shelves. The extensive revamp of Bettina Lorena’s interior had meant they all had increased storage space for their beauty products. Lois had filled hers with an array of vintage wig forms which all had quirky virtue names, courtesy of Billie. They modelled the human hair wigs and extensions which Lois had branched out into, and was currently doing a roaring trade in. Pris’ shelves showed off a comprehensive selection of the entire Matinee make-up range these days, and Bettina’s had about every shade of shellac and gel nail polish you could imagine. Each of them now had their professional studio style photograph above their workstations, and they had turned out just as effective as they had hoped. Pris loved hers, with her red sparkly burlesque showgirl outfit, back-seamed hose and feather train, though Jared had nearly had a heart attack when he’d seen it. She’d had to explain at length that their clientele was female and the concept was all about making women feel good about themselves. Carole-Ann was still their poster girl and a life-size cut out of her looking like Rita Hayworth stood proudly in the window, advertising their Hollywood Glamor Makeover.

  “What are you up to tonight, Pris?” Lois asked as she fitted a blonde flip wig onto a green velvet head known fondly as Temerity. “Don’t tell me you and Jared are decorating your house on a Friday night.”

  Pris laughed. “Not tonight. I’m going to be reveling in my gorgeous Shaker style kitchen,” she said with satisfaction. “Carole-Ann and Grady and Debs and Luke are coming over for dinner, so I’m cooking.” She had sold The Heights almost immediately and then used the proceeds to renovate and update the farmhouse. Other than that her personal fortune remained largely untouched, other than when she had bought into her half of the business. Rosemary and her husband Phil, who was a financial advisor had taken over the management of Pris’ stocks and shares now she no longer had the time to devote to them. Although still a regular contributor, Pris no longer sat on any charitable committees as she did not have the time. Stuart’s last art show had flopped, especially since someone leaked to the press that the heiress co-hosting its event launch with him was an imposter. Pris wasn’t sure if it was Jenna or the P.I. who’d stirred that up, but it little mattered as she was no longer in touch with either of them, and it had been a five-minute wonder that had soon disappeared without trace.

  Lois rolled her eyes. “You ever hear of taking it easy?” she asked. “You had us all over on Wednesday night for Book Club. Maureen hasn’t stopped raving about your baked brie since.”

  “I like to cook for my loved ones,” said Pris. “What can I say? I’m a nurturer.”

  “Don’t we know it,” said Lois in a sing-song voice.

  “What about you?” asked Pris. “Another date?”

  Lois had recently entered the dating scene, much to the delight of her friends. “Maybe,” she answered coyly.

  “Spill it, missy!” demanded Bettina who was busy re-stocking the mocktail bar with swizzle sticks and flamingo napkins. “You seeing that Clinton again?”

  “He is being rather persistent,” Lois said with exaggerated nonchalance. “But I just want to keep things light.”

  “Don’t freeze him out too hard,” Bettina recomme
nded. “Remember, you need a date for Pris’ wedding.”

  “Nuh-uh!” said Lois firmly. “I’m sitting on the girls table for that one! With you, Billie and Carole-Ann.”

  “Carole-Ann will be bringing that lummox of a husband of hers,” Bettina pointed out. “And no doubt Billie will have her permanent shadow in that boy who’s always mooning after her.”

  Lois rolled her eyes at Pris. They’d tried explaining that Patrick was Billie’s platonic BFF, but Bettina persisted in believing they were courting.

  “Speaking of Billie,” said Pris, “I’ve taken two orders for her custom-made corsets today. The Harlow and the Mansfield.”

  Friday was one of Billie’s college days, so she wasn’t based in the salon. In one corner they now had a permanent set up of three mannequins and a bunch of shelves known as ‘Billie’s Boutique’ which sold vintage accessories like brooches and scarves, as well as retro-style clothing sewn by Billie herself from old patterns, and lately, those of her own devising. The mannequins were dressed every week and she had invariably sold every item by Friday. She also had an online Etsy store and was studying a fashion module this semester which she was loving.

  “Well, that’s fabulous,” said Lois. “She’ll be pleased as punch. She’ll soon have enough for that car she’s saving for.”

  “You’re still all coming over on Sunday to help me with the wedding favors, right?” asked Pris in an abrupt change of subject, realizing she hadn’t reminded them once during the week.

  Bettina snorted. “As if we have any choice! Carole-Ann is taking her duties as Maid of Honor very seriously. We’re practically running drills in preparation for the big day!”

  “Well, Carole-Ann just wants to be as perfect a bridesmaid as Pris was to her,” said Lois fairly.

  Carole-Ann and Grady had married the previous Christmas in a winter-themed wedding. There had been some lively fights when the solitary Grady realized his mate wasn’t about to up-sticks and move up the mountain with him on his say-so. Since then, both had learned to compromise, and they lived in Carole-Ann’s condo in the week, and Grady’s secluded log cabin every other weekend.