My Fake Fiancé

by R. R. Banks

  “It's fine, Mom,” I say. “It's not like she has anything worthwhile going on in her life.”

  “At least I'm not selling myself for a ride from the airport.”

  “You couldn't whore yourself out for a ride to the end of the block. Case in point, you’re twenty-one and never been kissed,” I snap back.

  “But I have been kissed,” Sarah whines.

  It's a cheap shot and I know it. But, at the moment, all I care about is demonstrating that I can get under her skin just as much as she can get under mine.

  “Pretty sure a peck on the cheek in fifth grade doesn't count as a kiss,” I say. “Nor does kissing that pillow you grind every night, either.”

  “Sasha!” Sarah cries and I know I scored a direct hit.

  Our mom sighs and shakes her head. “Are the two of you ever going to grow out of this?” she asks. “Can't we just have one holiday where we’re peaceful and kind to each other?”

  My scathing reply dies in my throat as I focus on my mom. She looks tired. Intellectually, I know nothing is horribly wrong with her. She isn’t not dying. But, when she looks this tired and frankly, so old, it dredges up feelings of compassion and guilt I'd rather not feel. I give my mom a small smile and try to defuse the situation, rather than escalate it for a change.

  “She started it,” I say.

  “I didn’t start –”

  Sarah realizes she’s walked herself into a trap, and pauses. The joke is meant to lighten the mood, and it seems to work as the three of us burst into laughter. It's a loud, good-hearted belly laugh – I can't remember the last time the three of us laughed this much around the table.

  Eventually, our laughter dies down, and my mother slowly turns her eyes to me once more.

  “I want to meet him, Sasha,” she says. “This mystery man of yours. Since he lives in the area, I want you to bring him over for dinner.”

  “Mom, I don't think –”

  “Nonsense,” she cuts me off. “If he can drop you off in the middle of the night, I'm sure he can spare a couple of hours to meet us.”

  “He has to spend Thanksgiving with his own family, you know,” I say.

  “Then don't bring him over on Thanksgiving,” my mother says. “Bring him over for dinner another time.”

  I shoot a withering glance over at my sister, just waiting for her to chime in with her usual snarky commentary. Surprisingly, she remains quiet – but I know she's just biding her time to say something sarcastic or hurtful.

  “I don't know, Mom,” I say.

  “I do,” she replies forcefully. “I want to meet your boyfriend. I mean, after all, who knows how many more opportunities I’ll have to meet him.”

  Here we go again. When she's not getting her way, she doesn't hesitate to use the, “I may be dying card,” and I've been silently wondering when we'd reach this portion of our program. It's like an automatic reflex with her at this point.

  I look her in the face and sigh loudly. Sarah looks at me smugly, a condescending smile spreading across her face. She's obviously making a Herculean effort to keep her snark in check.

  “Yes, Sasha,” Sarah chirps brightly. “Why not invite your sweetie over for dinner. Say – tonight?”

  “I don't know if he'll be able to make it tonight,” I explain.

  “Gee, what a surprise,” Sarah says with a snide chuckle. “No really, I’m shocked.”

  “Well, you could at least call and ask him,” my mother says. “If he can't, then we can arrange it for another night. I'm not going to let you leave until I meet your boyfriend, Sasha. You're my daughter. I want to know more about your life – including who you're dating.”

  I fight to keep from rolling my eyes. Her interest in my life is belated – to say the least. But when my mother is determined to find something out, she typically will. She's relentless. Which means, I need to find a boyfriend really quick. If they find out I lied about that, I'm never going to hear the end of it – especially from Sarah. And I can't stomach the thought of that.

  My mind is spinning at a million miles an hour as I contemplate my situation. There are a million questions and zero answers at the moment. All I know is that I need to come up with a boyfriend as soon as possible just to keep them both off my back. And that's when the idea hits me.

  I sigh, a bottomless pit of anxiety opening up in my stomach as I realize what I have to do.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Wow,” Chris says dryly. “I must have done something right in a former life to deserve this honor.”

  “Shut up,” I chuckle.

  “Seriously,” he says. “I'm surprised you came all the way out here yourself and didn't send a car. Or Neal.”

  “Neal's busy doing – something,” I say. “And besides, do I need a reason to pick my big brother up from the airport?”

  “Yeah, usually you do,” he replies. “Which tells me something's up.”

  I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Whatever, Chris,” I say. “How did things go over in London? How was your flight?”

  He purses his lips as he looks at me. “I spent fourteen and a half hours next to a fat guy that smelled like pretzels and dirty feet,” he says. “In first class. That's how it was.”

  I laugh. “Sounds rough,” I say. “How did things go in London though?”

  He shrugs. “Hard to say just yet. They're mulling the proposal over. But I have a feeling we'll be able to expand into that market soon enough – even if it's not with them. I spoke to a few other companies while I was over there, so I have contingency plans waiting in the wings.”

  “That's a good thing,” I say. “Expanding internationally is something Dad wanted to do, but he could never quite crack that nut. He'd be proud of you.”

  Chris looks at me with a strange look on his face. He's not wrong. I do want something from him. Need it, actually. That's the only reason I came all the way out to pick him up at Sea Tac after his flight. I needed to spend some time alone with him. I'd already given my mom and Neal a reason for Sasha's disappearance, now I just need to get Christopher on board with it.

  “Yeah, something is definitely up,” he says. “You want something.”

  A wry grin touches my lips and I glance over at him before turning my attention back to the road ahead. We pass the truck stop Sasha had talked about ditching me at and I feel a faint stirring inside of me as her face pops into my mind – I quickly try to squash the thought out of existence.

  I need to get her out of my head. While she didn't say it outright, I'm not an idiot. She probably tossed my card in the trash can the minute she stepped through her front door. It was obvious she never intended to call me. I can't lie and say it doesn't cause some small amount of irritation – maybe even a touch of hurt mixed in with it. But, it's her choice, so I'll respect it.

  I don't have to like something to respect it. That's a lesson my brother sitting next to me has there taught me over the years. Although I haven’t always liked him as a person – I always respect him. And I know that feeling is mutual.

  “So?” he presses. “What is it? Is this where you yell at me about Alice wasting your time the way she did?”

  “No,” I say with a sigh. “But I did kind of want to talk to you about that.”

  “Here we go,” he says, his tone surly and defensive. “I've apologized already and –”

  I wave him off, a sudden flash of irritation surging through me. “It's not that, Chris,” I say. “Would you shut up and listen already?”

  He leans back in his seat. “Fine,” he says. “The floor is yours. Go.”

  “Gee thanks, boss,” I crack.

  That smug, imperious tone he gets with people – mostly his subordinates – never fails to irritate me. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, but nope. It irritates me every damn time.

  “So, something interesting happened while you were away,” I start.

  I fill him in on everything that happened at the airport when I went to pick up Alice to now – o
f course, omitting the fact that Sasha and I had sex in his seat in not all that long ago. What he doesn't know isn't going to kill him.

  “Wow,” he says when I finish my story. “That's really something.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it.”

  “Why didn't you call the cops?” he asks. “I think I would have had her thrown in jail, if only overnight, just to teach her a lesson.”

  I shrug. “Didn't really seem to be a need to,” I answer. “She's a nice girl and I didn't feel like getting her in legal trouble. She just needed a place to crash and get away from things for a while. No big deal.”

  Christopher looks at me, a curious expression on his face. A slow smile begins to tug at the corners of his mouth and a few seconds later, he's grinning like a damn fool.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You're sweet on her!” he crows. “You're sweet on this little criminal.”

  “Shut up,” I say. “She’s not a criminal. You have no idea what you're talking about.”

  Talking about my feelings with my older brother is definitely not on my bucket list. We definitely aren't that close. Besides, he wouldn't understand. His relationships are pretty much planned out, color-coded, and organized from the start. I'm pretty sure he even schedules in sex at regular intervals, according to some flow chart. He's as type-A as they come, and everything in his life has to be perfectly organized.

  He wouldn't understand a woman like Sasha. Hell, I barely do. I'm not that far removed from my brother, though, I'm more spontaneous with my sexual escapades and don't believe it can only be had on Tuesdays and Thursdays after dinner but before bed.

  The point is – Sasha is a free spirit. In the short time I got to know her, that's the one thing I learned the quickest. She's not one who's bound to any sort of schedule or color-coded system. You can't plan for her and she doesn't really make any sort of logical sense. And oddly enough, that's one of the things that really draws me to her. She's my complete opposite in so many ways, but that wild, untamed gypsy spirit my mother talks about – and obviously admires – is like catnip to me. Her unpredictability, coupled with the feelings she stirs up in me is something I find utterly intoxicating.

  Again, I need to force these thoughts of her out of my head. It's not worth thinking about since nothing is going to happen between us.

  “It's kind of sweet, really,” he goes on. “That you caught a case of the feels for this urchin.”

  “She's not a fucking urchin, Chris,” I snap. “She just needed some time and space away from her family.”

  He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. Sorry,” he replies. “You just seem strangely defensive for someone who doesn't have feelings for her.”

  “Dude shut the fuck up already,” I say.

  Christopher laughs and shakes his head. We drive on in silence for a while, the hum of the tires against the pavement the only sound filling the interior of the SUV. I'm gripping the steering wheel – too tightly probably – clenching my jaw and trying to calm myself down. I'm not really as pissed at Christopher as I feel. Most of the anger inside of me isn't because of him.

  It's frustrating that I can't see Sasha or talk to her. I just want to be around her. Ultimately, I know that’s her decision to make. I can't force her to want to see me. If she wants to meet up, she'll call.

  I'm used to always getting what I want – within reason. This feeling of longing is entirely new to me and while I may not be used to it, I can't deny that it gives me a little bit of a rush.

  Maybe this is exactly what I've needed all along – a woman who will challenge me, rather than just fall at my feet and give me whatever I want.

  “Anyway,” I say. “I told Mom and Neal that she got called back to Boston on a business deal that fell through or something. She had to take a red eye out last night. I need you to be on board with it. That's why I came to pick you up – I wanted to talk to you about it and explain the situation. I need you to back me up here.”

  “Sure, sure, little brother,” he says. “No problem.”

  “Thank you.”

  “On one condition.”

  I glance over at him and see a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “And what is that condition?”

  “That you answer a few questions for me.”

  I sigh. “Fine. Ask away,” I say. “But this game only lasts until we get home.”

  “Deal,” Christopher says. “First question – what is it that draws you to her?”

  “What makes you think I am?”

  “Can't answer a question with a question. That's against the rules,” he declares. “Answer my questions truthfully or I'm going to shatter Mom’s image of your precious Sasha.”

  “You're such a dick.”

  “I know how to get what I want,” he replies. “It’s not my fault that sometimes, I have to be a dick to get it.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “You're a lawyer, you do the same thing,” he says.

  I really can't refute the point since he's not wrong, so I say nothing, which makes him chuckle, knowing he just scored a point.

  “Now, answer the question,” he says. “Remember – honesty.”

  “Fine. You want honesty?” I say.

  “That's what I asked for,” he replies.

  “Okay, honestly I'm attracted to her spirit and the fire inside of her,” I say. “The way she challenges me. She's unlike any woman I've ever met.”

  “Wow,” he says. “She really did a number on you.”

  I shrug. “Yeah, I guess she did.”

  “Did you sleep with her?”

  I roll my eyes. “That question is too person –”

  He laughs. “It's fair game,” he says. “Especially given the fact that you thought she was my girlfriend for a while. That makes it relevant, counselor.”

  I let out a long breath. “Yeah, we slept together – but not until after I knew she wasn't your girlfriend.”

  “You wanted to though – beforehand, right?”

  “I didn't really think about it,” I say evenly.

  “Uh-huh,” he replies. “If you say so.”

  I give him a look and feel the small smirk creeping across my face. I throw down my trump card, just to irritate and bother my brother – maybe even creep him out a bit, which would be a nice bonus.

  “In fact, we did it right where you’re sitting,” I say. “And it was amazing, I might add.”

  Christopher shoots me a look of disgust and it's all I can do to stop myself from laughing.

  “Did you have to tell me that?” he asks.

  “Hey, you're the one who wanted total honesty.”

  “Asshole,” he says and laughs.

  We ride along in companionable silence for a few minutes before he turns to me again. I can tell Chris has another question already teed up and I brace myself for it.

  “So, why aren't you with her?” he asks. “I can see that you obviously like her – a lot – so why aren’t you pursuing her?”

  “The ball is in her court,” I say. “I gave her my card and told –”

  “Seriously?” he asks, dramatically arching one eyebrow.

  “Yeah, seriously,” I say. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “You really gave her your business card – presumably right after banging her in the seat I’m sitting in?”

  I shrug. “Something like that.”

  “It’s no wonder she ran away from you, man,” he says.

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “Women want to be romanced, little brother,” he says. “Sasha probably wants to feel valued and important – not someone you give a business card to, so you can schedule another… ‘appointment.’ How impersonal is that?”

  “In all fairness, I don't think she knows what she wants,” I reply.

  “Then show her,” he says. “Show her what she needs.”

  I look over at him like he's some alien life form that's been beamed into the passenger seat and some
how replaced my brother without me noticing. I feel like I don't even recognize him right now. This is not the man I've known my whole life.

  “Who are you?” I ask cautiously. “You're obviously not the same Christopher Churchill I grew up with.”

  “A good woman can change you – for the better,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “She can make you see things in a whole new light. At least, she can if you let her.”

  “And this Alice – she's obviously changed you,” I note. “I mean, this might be the first heart-to-heart chat about girlfriends we've ever had. In our entire lives. Is this Alice the same kind of untamed spirit Sasha is?”

  He nods. “I wouldn't necessarily call her untamed, but she is a lot more free spirited than any other women I've ever dated. She even has a pink streak in her hair.”

  “Wow, a pink streak,” I say. “You've gone wild on us, Christopher.”

  Yeah, I know,” he says, obviously missing my sarcasm – or choosing to deliberately ignore it. “But Alice is teaching me a lot about how to loosen up and not be such a –”

  “Uptight control freak?”

  He nods and gives me a shrug. “Yeah, I guess so,” he says. “And from what you've described, personality-wise, yeah, she seems kind of like your girlfriend –”

  “Not my girlfriend.”

  “Not yet,” he says. “And that’s only because you thought giving her a business card after sleeping with her was a smooth move.”

  “Screw you,” I say and laugh.

  “I would, but I've already got plenty of business cards,” he laughs. “Still, it sounds like you should be pursuing this woman, Miles.”

  “It's more complicated than that.”

  “She slept with you, right?” he asks. “Do you think she would have done that if there wasn't some sort of feeling there?”

  “I didn’t get that impression from her, so no,” I say.

  “Okay then, last question,” he says as we pull through the gates and head up the driveway to the house.