My Fake Fiancé

by R. R. Banks

  I should have had a cover story ready. But I wasn't planning that far ahead when I made the spontaneous drive up here. I wasn't exactly thinking at my best. All I can hope is that Sarah can manage to get rid of him.

  “Is Sasha here?” Miles asks.

  “What makes you think she'd come here?” Sarah shoots back.

  “Is she here, Sarah?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  I hear him sigh again and know he's probably growing frustrated. If there's one thing Miles hates, it's having a question answered with another question. For her part, Sarah seems to be enjoying crossing verbal swords with the man and antagonizing him to no end. I want to tell her to knock it off. Miles is quite possibly the smartest man I've ever been around and he's much more experienced at verbal sparring than she is.

  I motion, trying to get her attention to make her knock it off, but she either doesn't see me or isn't paying attention. She's hyper focused on her exchange with Miles.

  “Why do you hate me so much?” Miles asks.

  “What have you done to make me like you?”

  I can sense Miles' irritation from where I'm standing – or hiding, depending on your point of view. If there's one thing he's underestimated, it's Sarah's ability to get under your skin and really piss you off. She can get you so flustered and upset, you wind up saying something stupid and shooting yourself in the foot.

  Personally, I think she's missing her calling – a career as a lawyer.

  “Please, Sarah,” he says. “I really have to see Sasha. We need to talk.”

  “I haven't seen her, but I can take a message for you, if you'd like.

  “I need to talk to her right now, Sarah.”

  “She doesn't want to talk to –”

  Sarah bites back her words, but it's too late. She instantly realizes she said too much. It's the biggest reason I didn't want her playing these word games with Miles in the first place – he's far better at them than she is. I didn't want him knowing I was here at all. Now that he knows, he's going to return to his persistent, annoying self – which is the last thing I want or need.

  Sarah cuts a quick glance at me and I see the apology flash through her eyes. She knows she made a huge misstep.

  “So... she is here,” Miles says. “And she just doesn't want to talk to me.”

  “You need to go now, Miles,” Sarah says.

  “Please have her call me,” he replies. “This is life or death, Sarah. I need to talk to her.”

  “You should just move on,” she says. “Really. You really messed up and she wants nothing to do with you. So – just get over yourself already.”

  “Sasha, if you can hear me – and I'm pretty sure you can – I figured out why you're so pissed, and you have it all wrong,” he says. “You're totally off the mark, Sasha. You maced me for nothing. We need to talk. About a lot of things. I think you know what I mean. Call me, Sasha –”

  “You need to go before I mace you myself,” Sarah snaps.

  She slams the door in his face and quickly locks it. She turns and walks over to me, pulling me into a tight embrace.

  “I'm so sorry, Sasha,” she says. “I didn't mean to blurt that out.”

  I give her a squeeze. “It's okay,” I say. “No big deal. He knows I'm here – so what? It's not like he can make me see him or talk to him.”

  “No, he can't,” she says. “And I have your back, sis. Whatever you need. We'll get through this together.”

  I give her a smile and hug her tightly. “I really believe that,” I say. “Thank you, Sarah.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “She sure is one tough nut to crack,” I say.

  My mother and I are sitting at the center island in the kitchen enjoying some coffee and breakfast. For the last couple of days, I've been trying to get Sasha to talk to me, but she's rebuffed my every effort. I've sent flowers – which she refused. I've sent small gifts – she's returned them. She’s either ignored or rejected everything I’ve tried to do, actually.

  That's okay though, I've got one more trick up my sleeve. I've got something else in the works. If it doesn't get her attention, I don't know what will.

  “It's that wild, gypsy spirit,” my mother says. “Passion burns hot – which can be good or bad sometimes. Depending upon the situation.”

  “What am I going to do, Mom?”

  “Don't give up,” she replies. “If Sasha cares about you the same way you care about her, sooner or later, you'll get through to her.”

  “Or get slapped with a restraining order,” Neal says as he walks into the kitchen.

  “Neal,” our mother says.

  “What? Just being realistic,” he says. “Some women are exactly what they appear to be. Some don't want to be chased. And others can be a little –vindictive at times.”

  “Sasha's not like that,” I say.

  Neal laughs. “No, she's just the type to steal someone’s identity, con us into letting her stay with us, and oh yeah, blast you in the face with pepper spray for no reason. Other than that, she sounds like a perfect angel.”

  When Neal found out about Sasha, he was less than thrilled – and his opinion hasn't changed at all over the last few days. I mean, I guess I can't begrudge him his feelings – she did play us, after all. He's entitled to his feelings. But he just doesn't understand her like I do. He doesn't know her.

  He also doesn't know that not only am I in love with her, but that she's carrying my child. I haven't made that announcement public let. It's just between me and my mom for now. Just until I figure out what's going on with Sasha.

  “You should really cut her some slack, Neal,” I say. “You don't know what she's been through.”

  “Do you?” he asks. “I mean, do you even know for sure that her name is actually Sasha?”

  “Shut up, Neal,” I snap. “You have no idea what you're talking about.”

  “Boys,” our mother says. “Let's cool things down a bit. We have a party to plan for, remember?”

  “Isn't that why you hired party planners in the first place, Mom?” Neal asks. “To give us more time to bitch at each other?”

  I can't hold the laughter in and it forces its way out. Neal and our mother join in soon after and the mood in the room becomes considerably lighter. Neal comes over and gives me a hug. It's a bit awkward and clunky, but we make it work.

  “I'm sorry, man,” he says. “I just don't –”

  “Don't worry about it, Neal,” I say. “It's a strange situation.”

  “To say the least,” he says and steps back. “Anyway, I have to go pick up my suit for tomorrow. I had to have it tailored.”

  “Putting your best foot forward for the party, huh?” I ask. “That's new.”

  “He's trying to impress Rachel Sullivan,” our mother says.

  “Who's Rachel Sullivan?”

  “She's the daughter of Mayor Sullivan, actually,” he says.

  “He's quite taken with her,” she says.

  “Someone has to give you grandbabies, Mom,” Neal laughs.

  My mother and I share a look, but say nothing. The timing isn't right. Neal bounds out of the kitchen. Sometimes, it's hard to remember he's actually twenty-eight years old. He has the attitude and energy of someone much younger.

  “So, what's your plan?” Mom asks once Neal is gone.

  “I have a little something planned for tonight,” I say. “If this fails, I'm officially out of ideas.”

  “If this one doesn’t work out, we'll just come up with something else.”

  “I'm glad you're feeling optimistic,” I say. “I'm sure as hell not feeling it right now.”

  She takes my hand and gives me a gentle squeeze. When I look at her, she gives me a warm, sincere smile.

  “Of course, I'm optimistic,” she says. “I'm going to be a grandmother.”

  The moon hangs high overhead in a clear nighttime sky. It's a cold, but perfect night.

  “Mr. Churchill.”

  I turn
and see a tall, thin, dark-haired man approaching me. He's wearing an off-the-rack suit, round, wire-rimmed glasses, and a green and red bowtie. A candy cane colored scarf and bright red earmuffs complete his ensemble. As I look around at everybody else in the group, I notice for the first time, that they’re all dressed in a similar way to the man. As a whole, they look like a bunch of rejects from Santa’s workshop.

  Yeah, I probably should have talked to them about not dressing so – festively.

  The tall man is rubbing his hands together for warmth and I have to keep from rolling my eyes. It's cold, but it's not that cold – I'm in nothing but jeans, a dark button-down shirt, and a dark sports coat. But hey, whatever.

  “You must be Mr. Elias,” I say, reaching out to shake his hand.

  “Carl, please,” he says.

  “Carl,” I reply. “It's very nice to meet you and I really appreciate you doing this on such short notice.”

  He waves me off. “We're a caroling group, this is what we do. Plus, the amount you offered to pay ensured we wouldn't turn down the job. Rest assured, we appreciate your generous donation and will put on a good show.”

  I laugh. “It's only fair. I've heard nothing but good things about your ensemble. I know it's going to be great.”

  He nods. “I have to say though, the song choice threw us for a moment,” he says. “We're used to Christmas carols this time of year.”

  I shrug. “It's a special deal,” I say. “I'm trying to make a good impression on someone, if you know what I mean.”

  He gives me a knowing look. “I do know what you mean,” he says with a mischievous wink. “And we'll make sure to provide that good impression.”

  “I know you will,” I say. “Are we ready?”

  “I believe so,” he says. “The musicians are just about done tuning up their instruments and our singers are good and warmed up.”

  “Excellent.”

  Carl turns and starts doling out instructions to his band of merrymakers. A few moments later, they head off on foot. We're just down the street from Sasha's place. I didn't want the entire group to pile out of the vans in front of her house and cause a commotion. I wanted to maintain a small element of surprise.

  They all assemble in front of Sasha's house and get ready, turning on their amplifiers and doing last-minute checks. All of the lights on their Christmas decorations are on, as are the lights inside the house – which makes me breathe a sigh of relief. My biggest concern going into this was that Sasha wouldn't be home, and that I put this all together for nothing. It’s not like I could have called to confirm they’d actually be home.

  My stomach is all tied up in knots as I look at the Gates’ house and I hesitate for a moment. I kind of feel like I'm in the bottom of the ninth with the bases loaded, two outs, and I'm down by three. Like I have to knock this one out of the park or it’s the end for Sasha and me – before we ever officially got started.

  It's irrational to think that way – sometimes, things require considerable amounts of time, patience, and effort – but the thoughts remain all the same.

  It's the fact that she won't talk to me that has me so freaked out. The fact that she's pissed at me – over what I’m certain sure is a simple misunderstanding – has weighed heavily on me for days. But that also goes to demonstrate the depth of my feelings for her. If this had been any other woman, at any other time in my life, I would have let her walk away without a second thought – especially if she freaking maced me.

  Yet, here I am, pulling out all the stops to chase Sasha. It profoundly bothers me that she walked in during the wrong time part of the conversation, automatically assumed the worst, and bailed. To have her instinctively think the worst of me like that hurts a little bit, if I'm being honest with myself. But not so much that I'm willing to throw everything we have together away.

  Sasha – and our child – are more than worth fighting for. I'll do anything to win her back.

  The neighborhood is quiet, and it almost feels deserted – or, to put a Christmas-y spin on the somewhat creepy setting — not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse. I laugh to myself, although I'm particularly glad I didn't say that out loud. That was a horribly cheesy line. Feeling a little more in control, I finally turn to Carl and give him a nod – it's showtime.

  The violins start first and the somber strings echo through the silent neighborhood. The other instruments join in as the opening of Bittersweet Symphony plays loud and clear. A moment later, the vocals start. Yeah, it’s not quite the same as the original – it’s a choral version of the song, after all – but, it’s still pretty damn good. At least, I think it is.

  I see movement behind one of the windows. Somebody pulls the curtain aside and peeks out at us. I’m standing somewhat behind the band, out of sight. The last thing I want is for Sasha to not come out because she sees me out here.

  I hold my breath when the front door opens. Sarah comes out and watches the impromptu concert, a look of confusion on her face. A moment later, Sasha comes out behind her, looking equally puzzled. Their mother brings up the rear and stands in the doorway. I take the opportunity to come out from where I’m hiding and stand before them as the music goes on.

  “I heard somewhere along the way, that this is your favorite song,” I say.

  Sasha and Sarah exchange looks, their faces darkening with anger. Their mom though, looks absolutely delighted.

  “Did you arrange all this, Miles?” their mom asks.

  I nod. “I was hoping to get Sasha’s attention.”

  “Well, I’d say you have it,” she calls.

  “I think you should leave, Miles,” Sarah says.

  “I don’t think that’s your call to make,” I retort.

  Sasha looks at me and I can see the conflict on her face. I can tell that part of her wants to turn and run back into the house, locking the door behind her. The other part – the other part of her misses me and wants to fall into my arms and have me tell her everything is going to be okay.

  I let out a small sight of relief. As long as I can see that her feelings for me still exist, and that she hasn’t closed the door on us completely, I should have a chance to turn this all around.

  Sarah looks ready to throw down and fight, her face dark and contorted with rage. She steps forward, but Sasha puts a hand on her shoulder, stopping Sarah in her tracks. The two lean their heads together and whisper a few quiet words to each other – Sarah no doubt, giving her a thousand reasons to stay the hell away from me.

  “This is all so sweet, Miles,” Kathy calls, still transfixed by the music. “And so romantic. Do you think you’ll have something like this at your wedding? The music is so pretty.”

  “Mom!” Sarah snaps, drawing a confused look from Kathy.

  Sasha breaks the huddle with her sister and steps toward me as Sarah continues to glower at me. As the final strings of the song fade away, I find myself staring into Sasha’s glittering eyes and my heart lurches in my chest.

  “Dirty move,” she says, motioning to the musicians.

  I shrug. “All’s fair in love and war.”

  “I guess we should talk,” she says.

  “I’d say so.”

  She sighs. “Okay, let’s talk.”

  Chapter Thirty

  We’re sitting beneath the harsh fluorescent glare of the all-night diner. It’s full of drunks, obnoxious teenagers, and people who look like they just walked out of a casting call for the next hillbilly zombie horror flick. It’s not a pretty sight.

  Sarah, of course, had strenuously objected to me leaving with Miles, but I convinced her it was better to get this over with as soon as possible. Even she had to agree I would have to talk to him at some point. Probably better to rip the band-aid off now than let it keep festering.

  Our mother remained blissfully ignorant of it all, of course.

  Miles sips his coffee, staring at me over the rim of his plain ceramic mug. I pop a french fry in my mouth and chew on it slowly, doing my best
to appear calm and in control.

  Not for the first time, I feel somewhat flattered by the lengths this man will go in pursuit of me. Of course, that doesn’t change what I heard in his office that day. Not one little bit. I’ve replayed it in my head a thousand times since then and it hurts just as bad today as it did then. Maybe it’s irrational – I’m sure Miles will say it is – but it hurts because it feels like he’s completely rejected me.

  Despite everything that’s happened, my heart continues to flutter when I look at him, and I get that strange, weightless feeling in my lower belly. I might be hurt and angry, but I can’t seem to shut off the love I feel for this man. It would be so much easier if I could, but I can’t make myself do it.

  Admitting that I love him – if only to myself – scares the hell out of me. It gives him power over me while diminishing my own control. At least, it feels like it does right now. I’m the only one feeling exposed and vulnerable. Not him. I have no idea what he feels for me.

  I silently take a breath and slowly release it through my nose, trying to regain control over my emotions. I remind myself that this conversation needs to happen. Better that it happens now and gets out of the way rather than let it continue to fester and rot away at my heart and soul.

  “You and Sarah seem like you’re both in a good place with each other,” he says.

  “What makes you say that?” I ask.

  It’s a true statement – he’s right. We are in a very good place with each other, but I guess I’m feeling petty – like I need to contradict him at every turn or something. Yeah, I need to cut that shit out. That’s a childish thing to do – not to mention horribly unproductive.

  “Well, there was that whole mama bear routine when I stopped by your mom’s place the other day,” he says. “Plus, you two were talking, not shouting, at each other. Kind of makes it seem like you’re in a good place.”