by Claire Adams
"Mickey," Penn said with a playful smile. He grabbed a shaker and pretended to make a drink. "He's a down-on-his-luck bartender in love with a beautiful torch singer. Until one night he gets a big enough tip he can finally ask her to elope."
"Oh, so now we're eloping?" I asked, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach.
"Come on," Penn pleaded. "There has to be a song along those lines."
I started singing and was delighted when Penn froze. He stood with the empty shaker suspended in the air until I laughed through the chorus. Then he went about his pantomime of Mickey the bartender.
For my part, I grabbed the mic and brought my song through the round tables. I pretended to flirt with patrons, sing while I caressed the faces of other men. Then, I brought the wistful end of the song right up to the bar and jumped up to sit on it and sing just for him.
The embers in Penn's eyes died out with the last note. "That was fun, but what if I'm tired of pretending?"
I didn't know what to say, but we were interrupted. A man stepped apologetically from the doorway and cleared his throat. "I don't mean to intrude, but I have to know if you are available," the man said.
"Available? No, she's not," Penn said. He rolled up his sleeve and suddenly looked every inch the protective bartender boyfriend to my sultry singer.
"Are you her manager? Because I have to say, you would be wonderful here on a Friday, Saturday night." The man held out his business card and I took it. "Just think about it. You want to sing and this stage is yours."
"Well, what do you know," I chuckled when the bar owner disappeared. "Mickey and his singer might make it, after all. The perfect happy ending to their love story, don't you think?"
Penn shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I'm a cynical bachelor, remember?"
I rolled my eyes. "How could I forget? Oh, yeah, you proposed to me."
"To make my mother happy," Penn said. "Which is really the height of irony seeing as my parents were never married. They fought too much, wanted all different things, and never agreed on anything. That was my example of love, and, I gotta say, I'm not impressed."
I crossed my arms and leaned on the bar. "So, you really are faking the whole thing?"
"Yeah," Penn scoffed. "It's just a harmless diversion."
Harmless, I thought as my heart tumbled over and over.
I shook my head. "No. I don't think anyone's that good an actor. I bet you're really a romantic, you're just too stubborn to admit it."
Penn tossed down a bar rag and walked around the end to join me. "Sounds like a challenge to me. The only problem is, I think you're the one that's not up for it. Are you telling me that Ms. Practical, Ms. Life Plan, could actually be so spontaneous as to fall in love? Doesn't work. You're ruled by your head, just like me."
I stuck out my hand, rankled that he thought me so cold and sharply leveled. "I accept your challenge. I bet by the time our little fake engagement has run its course, I will find a way to show you what real love looks like."
"How Shakespearian," Penn chuckled. "Then again, I've always been partial to the farces."
We shook on it, and I schemed over it all the way back to his house. There, it didn't seem fair to point out the obvious love between Alice and Xavier.
Penn's father held both of Alice’s hands while they stood by his town car and said goodbye. Alice was leaving for her encampment and would be back to start her treatments in earnest. Xavier brushed her hair back and skimmed her cheek with his fingers as they talked.
Penn saw, too, but didn't say anything. The tense clench of his jaw told me he didn't trust it. He was waiting for his father to push her away or his mother to run off. He must have seen them like this a dozen times only to have it erased by other, harder memories. Love was never just one thing and it wasn't always pretty.
I tried to think of a way to tell him that. I wanted to tell him the most beautiful love I had seen was my mother comforting my father even as she lay dying. It had been an ugly, sobbing scene, but deep in my heart, I knew it was love. The memory made me flinch, and I tucked it away again where it wouldn't hurt.
Then, Xavier spotted us. The cool, considering look he gave me made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I had, overnight, become exactly what Penn's father had accused me of. I was holding a position that I did not deserve and scheming over ways to make it real.
"Back from enjoying the luxuries of the spa?" Xavier asked.
Penn shrugged. "We didn't really get into the whole spa, pampering, hovered-over thing. But it was nice, and I suppose I have you to thank for that."
"Don't mention it," Xavier said, but he looked at me with an arched brow.
"Thank you," I said and made a beeline for the house.
Penn's father was on to me, and I didn't like how his dark eyes seemed to look straight through me. I hoped he was about to go off on a round of business meetings or conference calls, but Xavier seemed to be at leisure. He strolled into the kitchen as I was washing an apple in the sink. I pretended not to notice him, but that made everything worse.
I got nervous and when I'm nervous, I sing. I didn't even realize I was doing it until I turned around and saw Xavier's face. The sharp suspicion was softened as he held his eyes almost closed and listened.
When I stopped, Xavier's eyes flew open. "You really do have talent and that's the truth."
"Why do you say it like that?" I asked, my fingers bruising the apple. "Do you think I'm lying about other things?"
"I'm not sure." Xavier was honest. "There's something you're hiding, but I'm not sure it has to do with Penn."
I shrugged, determined not to give an inch to a man who'd always gotten everything. "You're paranoid. Actually, it's very understandable. You're stuck in a situation that you cannot control where you are trying to protect people you love. The only problem is that what you're trying to protect those loved ones against will never be under your control. So, you're looking for someone to blame."
"Do they teach grief-counseling in hospitality school?"
I sighed. "Still studying my background check?"
"No," Xavier said, "and I'm not going to apologize about that."
I set the apple down and looked at Penn's father. "And, I'm not going to apologize for being here for your son. He apparently needed someone on his side for once."
Xavier gave a sad laugh. "That's the truth. I'm not against him–I've never been against him–it's just that we never seem to be on the same team. I just hope that you really are."
"Trying to control things that are out of your control is going to exhaust you."
His smile had a sharp edge. "So wise for someone so young. That's what's off about you. Still, I have to admit that you're right. Just remember, Corsica, love is out of everyone's control."
Penn joined us in the kitchen, wary of our quiet and serious tones. "Please tell me you are not trying to interrogate my future bride."
"No," Xavier sighed. "We were just talking about how love can reach out and knock you off your chosen path, no matter who you are or who you think you want to be."
"What was all that about?" Penn asked me when his father left.
"Are you sure he isn't on to us?" I asked, rubbing my forehead.
He snorted. "You're the one that invited him to stay here, remember? Don't worry, business will soon grab his attention again. The man can't live without his work. You'll see, nothing else will matter when there's a new deal on the table."
I felt my headache tighten. It wasn't Xavier that I was worried about. It was my deal with Penn. How was I going to keep up my end if I myself was falling in love?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Penn - 11
Corsica is wearing a new dress, I thought. Or maybe one of her few designer pieces in a new way. I didn't want to admit it, but I had snooped through her room earlier in the day.
She was a complete mystery to me, even more so now that I knew her suitcase was very light. Yet every day she was a new combination of fashion and expens
e. It seemed to prove she was used to making something of nothing, but I worried it also showed her desire for only the good things in life. What if Corsica wanted nothing but the best money could buy?
I could give her anything she desired, but that thought made my heart twist hard. That's something my father had tried to do with my mother. When it didn't work, he covered up the failure with alcohol and things only got worse.
Maybe this was Corsica, rich or poor, I hoped.
She swatted away my father's hand when he tried to add a few herbs to the sauce she was cooking. "I don't care how sophisticated your palate is, if you screw up my mother's recipe, I'll toss this whole pot in the ocean," Corsica said.
My father laughed, and I hated to admit I liked the sound. Instead, I sauntered into the kitchen and leaned over Corsica's shoulder. "Looks good, but not nearly as good as this outfit you're wearing."
She elbowed me in the ribs. "Quit teasing me. I'm living out of a suitcase."
"If you won't let me help with the cooking, then I'll just go pick a wine," Xavier said.
I nuzzled her neck long after my father had left the kitchen. "I wasn't putting on a show for him," I said, lips still tracing along her shoulder. "You look wonderful."
"I've been wearing one of three dresses this whole time. I might need to go shopping while we're here." Corsica shied away from my continued kisses.
"No," I said, wondering if she expected me to pay for a spree. "I think it's just you. You look more elegant when you're relaxed."
Corsica shook her head, unwilling to accept the compliment. "How can I relax when your father's been critiquing each step of this recipe and you're distracting me? Do you really want burned sauce?"
I laughed and caught her hand. "I don't care if we have to throw the whole dinner out. What's this wonderful song?"
Her cheeks colored as I pulled her into a slow dance. We swayed, pressed close together in the kitchen until my father returned.
He put the bottle of wine down on the counter and made no move to give us privacy. "I can play this song," he said, then his phone rang. "I promise I'll play it again for you later, but I have to take this call."
"That's too bad," Corsica said as my father promptly disappeared. "Why can't he, of all people, just take the night off?"
I shrugged. "He likes working and, God knows, it's the only thing he does well."
"He plays piano really well."
I let Corsica return to the stove to stir her sauce. "I remember one time my father made me go with him to a charity event. I had to wear a white suit. Xavier picked it out, of course, because no one else but my father would think to put a seven year old in a white suit."
"You must have looked so sweet," Corsica smiled.
I grimaced. "Who knows? All I could think was I was being tortured. It was a really fancy event, but the caterers took pity on me and brought me a bowl of spaghetti."
Her lips curled up in a smile. "Your father let you eat spaghetti in a white suit?"
"No," I said. "He had left me at our table an hour before that, some conference call or something. I was mad and hungry, so I dug in. By the time he returned, I looked like something out of a horror film. He was so angry, we left right then and there. I went to stay with my mother that weekend."
"So, you don't like nice clothes," Corsica said with a shrug. "When I was seven, all I wanted was a new dress for Easter. My father said no and it almost broke my heart. Then, my mother found me daydreaming over an old lace tablecloth we had. In the morning, the tablecloth was gone and I had a beautiful dress complete with embroidered rosebuds. It was perfect."
"Sounds like you were Cinderella," I said.
Corsica's eyes drifted away. "I thought I was, too, until we went to church. My father had been drinking already and he told everyone how I got such a pretty dress. I think he was trying to compliment my mother, but all the kids made fun of me the entire day."
I froze. "Your father drank, too?"
She turned to the stove and took her time tasting the sauce. "Your father is really serious about his sobriety. You should give him a chance."
My voice was harsher than I intended. "You have no idea what he's really like. This, all of this, is just an act. He was always charming, always so interested in everyone, and always so loving. Then, I realized that was just the secret of his success. Underneath it, the part that drinking revealed, he's petty and jealous and mean."
"That wasn't just the alcohol?" Her eyes were shadowed, strained.
"If I believed that, then I would have to believe my mother was beaten just by accident. And, I'm sorry, I just can't look at all those times he sent her across the room with a slap and think that it wasn't really him."
Corsica put down the wooden spoon and came to stand right in front of me. "You were so young. You must have been terrified."
I flinched away from her hands. "I wasn't terrified. I was outraged. The only problem was I was just a little boy, and I couldn't protect my mother."
"But you were there for her," Corsica said. She refused to let me turn away and grabbed my face with both hands. I didn't see any pity in her eyes, only understanding. "You were powerless, but you did what you could. You shouldn't have to feel guilty if it wasn't enough."
Our lips brushed and I felt a jolt like an earthquake. Somehow she understood, and that connection shook me harder than the bright pulse of desire I felt for her.
#
That pulse had turned to a knot by morning and when I woke up, I was stiff with wanting Corsica. The song we had danced to echoed in my head, despite the fact that the version I heard was the one my father had played for her. It was tangled with thoughts of my hands sliding around her waist, her lips brushing mine, and our legs pressing against each other under the linen tablecloth. Then there was the glorious few minutes when my father had gone to bed, but Corsica worried we should keep up our engaged pretense.
We had stayed curled up on the leather sofa, my hand brushing along the bare heat of her shoulder and arm. Before it was obvious that we were alone, I stole a kiss. Or, more like it, Corsica had surrendered a kiss to me. Her head falling back on the sofa, lips opening so I could taste her deeper.
I groaned and sat up. I had to find a way to make Corsica spend the night with me. There had to be a way our ruse would force it. Then, I could kiss her like that again, take it further, and hopefully get her out of my system before I lost my mind.
"Hello?" I was still groggy and hard when I answered the phone call.
It was my assistant and before I hit the second syllable of my greeting, he let loose a long list of things I needed to get done as soon as possible.
"I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm doing all I can, but there's a reason you're the boss and I'm the assistant," he complained. "And, I know I shouldn't interrupt your family vacation, but I'm afraid some of this stuff needs to be sorted out now."
"Family vacation?" I yanked on a pair of jeans and headed to the kitchen for coffee. "Is that the excuse you're giving people?"
My assistant paused, annoyed that I was off-topic. "Yes. I mean, no. You told me it was a family medical emergency. Then, I just assumed you were taking the rest of the time to spend with your family."
"Yeah, that's it," I said, completely distracted as the front door of the house opened.
Corsica sailed in, lit up with residual energy from her long, morning run. My mouth watered at the thought of tasting her salty skin.
"Are you swearing at me? I didn't know when else to call. Is there a better time?" my assistant all but wailed into the phone.
"What? No. I'm not swearing at you. Now is fine."
Corsica noticed me and gave me a bright smile. "I'm going to make scrambled eggs and hash browns. Want some?"
I was starving, but not just for breakfast. My mind dangled between the ache Corsica gave me, that grew more solid every time I saw her, and my need to get back to normal before I lost it completely. "No, thanks. Coffee," I said.
She
brought the pot and a mug over to me and then noticed the phone balanced on my shoulder. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt."
Corsica was being so nice that it made me mad. All I wanted to do was throw the phone and make love to here on the kitchen floor. She, on the other hand, didn't look at all affected by my half-nakedness. It burned me that I wanted her so badly and she just breezed back to the stove as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
"Boss? You still there?" my assistant squeaked.
"Yes, let me just get somewhere quieter where I can concentrate," I snapped. I made sure Corsica noticed me, all business despite my lack of shirt, as I paced around the living room. I grabbed the laptop that I didn't need, a pad of paper that was actually covered in a thin layer of dust, and hustled off to my unused office.
She was getting the message until my best friend Phillip threw the front door open and didn't even pause before interrupting me. "Oh, good, your phone is working. I love when I walk long distances just to find out I'm being ignored."
Corsica smiled and offered him a cup of coffee. "It's a business call," she explained on my behalf.
Phillip snorted. "Then you know what a workaholic he is. Too bad; I thought he was finally starting to see the light."
I couldn't defend myself with my assistant anxiously delivering a litany of work tasks into my ear. "This will only take a second," I snapped at Phillip. "I'm not a workaholic. And your place is not even a mile from here."
"Who cares if you're back to your 'all work and no play' ways," Phillip asked with a rude gesture directed at me. "I'm just here to see if Corsica wants to join me for a little sightseeing. Maybe some window shopping down Cannery Row?"
I hung up on my assistant, but not before Corsica beamed. "I'd love to go. Thank you! Let me just shower and get ready. Ten minutes. All I need is ten minutes," she called over her shoulder.
Phillip watched her go and whistled under his breath. "Ten minutes? I believe it, but, God, she could have said three days and I think I would still wait. What in the hell are you doing, Penn?"
