False Facades (Best Sellers: Best Romance/Humor )

by Martha Greenwood

  She caught herself before she completely collapsed against him. Wait a minute. What am I doing? What are we doing? Why am I kissing him? Why is he kissing me? Wait . . . how did we get to this point? He finds out I'm a girl and we begin mauling each other? Wait. I need to think. His fingers started tracing a circular pattern along her spine and she shivered.Uhh . . . just a few more minutes. She could feel his lips curve in a smile against hers and her own lips quirked in response. Wait! No, missy! You stop right now. No more "few minutes" or you'll never stop. Her fingers trailed against Vincent's nape and his arms tightened around her. Did you hear me? Stop!

  Sammy opened her eyes and she pulled back sharply. Vincent almost fell over. He blinked at her, eyelids heavy, and murmured thickly, "What?"

  She drew in a tight, shuddering breath and licked her lips before running her hands through her tousled hair. She realized her heart was still pounding. I mean, pounding very hard. Because hearts always pound. Always. Because if they don't, that means I'm dead. So my heart is just pounding quicker than normal. Yes, that's what I mean – She realized she was mind-babbling and that was never a good sign. Her nerves were wrecked.

  Vincent grinned at her now and she didn't know quite how to respond. Attempting to smile brightly, she joked, "Perhaps we should make a pact to never lean on a door again?"

  Vincent's grin broadened. "I don't know. I quite liked the way things turned out."

  She blushed. Shifting her eyes to the floor, she mumbled, "Um, I think we should talk before – uh, yes, I think we should talk."

  "Sure," he responded just as absentmindedly. Sammy looked up just in time to see his arms reach out for her again.

  She ducked. "Vincent, talking, remember?"

  "I know. You could talk while I . . . hold you."

  Another duck. "I don't think that's possible.

  "Sure, it is."

  She caught his hands. "Wait. Why?"

  He raised an eyebrow in confusion, twisting his hands around to entangle his fingers through hers. "Why what?"

  "Why do you want to . . . hold me?" Her cheeks flushed as she coughed.

  Vincent turned equally red and he fumbled with his words. "Well, it's pretty obvious, isn't it? I just . . . want to."

  "Why do you want to?"

  Vincent could tell she wasn't going to make it easy for him. "Because I, well, I – hey, why didn't you tell me you were a girl?" His brows snapped together and a grimace thinned his lips.

  "I – it's a long story," she looked away and twisted her fingers painfully. "I had a pretty rough past and I – well, you see, there was this – I have this uncle and he – he – are you mad at me?" She blurted out like a panicked child before glancing back at him.

  He watched her quietly before reaching out to draw her close to him. Wrapping a hand loosely around her wrist, he slowly reined her in until she was but a step away from him. His fingers trailed down across her palm until they entwined with hers. He offered her a smile. "I don't know why you chose to keep this secret from me for so long … or how I didn't notice until now." He frowned at that point before refocusing his attention. "But I guess you must have had your reasons and I'm ... not mad. Perhaps a bit frustrated and feeling a bit stupid but mostly … relieved ... and happy." The corner of his lips tilted up in a lopsided grin. "Almost deliriously happy."

  She couldn't help but smile.

  Vincent started to slowly pull her in closer. Keeping his eyes steadily on hers, he murmured, "Like I said before, I don't know why you chose to keep this from me for so long, but now that I finally know, you can definitely be sure to count on me. I'll help you keep this secret as long as you want - I promise."

  Her smile continued to spread as he leaned toward her. She could only whisper, "Really? Why?"

  He paused for a moment in his descent and blinked at her. An awkward amusement touched his lips. "Why?" He continued his momentum. "I guess it's because I li –"

  There was a knock at the door and they froze. Their eyes slanted toward the door out of the corners of their eyes and Vincent had to stifle his curse.

  Hesitating, he swooped down to peck her lightly on the lips before heading toward the door. "Don't move. I'll be right back." A huge grin spread across her face as she watched him march over to the door and she suddenly had the funny notion of attempting to spin around and around and around until she was dizzily spent.

  Vincent swung open the door with a growl and his expression darkened even further. "You."

  Tristan raised his eyebrows. The corners of his lips tipped up lazily in an attempt at a cordial facial expression before immediately drooping back down. "Yes. Me." He glanced over Vincent's shoulder. "Sammy, come along now. Breakfast."

  Vincent rolled his eyes with a scoff. "Ha. Big fat chance I'll ever let her go anywhere with you. If she's going anywhere, it'll be with me."

  Tristan's eyes veered sharply toward his former best friend.

  Vincent snapped, "What?"

  "She?"

  There was a pause. "Shit."

  * * *

  Uncle Frank was currently engaged in a lethal staring contest with his dear nephew. Terry glared back defiantly and though he couldn't voice his insults, it appeared his rapid blinking was some attempt at Morse Code Cursing.

  Frank Westlane pursed his lips. His nostrils flared as he bent over Terry's face. "You stop that right now or I'll smack you into oblivion."

  Terry rolled his eyes.

  Frank's eyebrow twitched and he looked at the doorway quickly. No one. Good. He quickly pulled the pillow from beneath Terry's head and slammed it over the boy's head. He pinned it down and snarled, "Who's rolling his eyes now, huh? Huh? Who's the stupid one now? You can never beat me, you stupid, stupid, stupid little boy. Just because you woke up doesn't mean anything. You're only a step up from a vegetable. Can't even talk. Can't even move. Can't even fight back. Samantha is still going to be mine. I still have you. I can still –" He shrieked suddenly and collapsed on the floor with a groan. He clutched the pillow tightly as he rolled around in pain.

  A doctor stepped in then and his eyes went round. Rushing toward the bedside, he tried to help Frank up. "What happened, Mr. Westlane?"

  "The stu –" Frank coughed. "I mean, my nephew suddenly jerked and kneed me in – He kneed me. I thought you said he was just responding to stimuli. You never said he could move."

  The doctor immediately went to check on Terry. Although the boy looked a bit pale and he was blinking rapidly, he seemed to be in a good condition. He was heaving a bit but it seemed like he was getting enough air. The doctor pressed his fingers down hard on the boy's side and Terry's arm immediately flew up in response. An expression of joy lit up the doctor's face and once again, Frank got a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  "Congratulations, Mr. Westlane. Terry's reacting to pain and the body will now jerk involuntarily to the pain's source in an attempt to ward it off. That means no nerves were harmed and the body's basic functions are coming back. I expect he's beginning to recuperate." The doctor smiled broadly, "Every time you come visit, it seems like Terry's condition improves. How did you get Terry to react to you this time?"

  Frank gritted his teeth before wheezing out, "I was, uh, fluffing his pillow and I guess . . . I accidentally jabbed him. The next thing I knew, his knee had slammed into my . . . stomach." Oh, if only it had been my stomach. No, the dumb boy had aimed for the "family jewels". Frank winced in pain.

  That was when he noticed Terry's eyes. They were gloating this time, shimmering emerald pools of dancing victory. Frank could almost hear his mocking. Who's stupid now, old man?

  Frank curled his lips. Stupid brat.

  * * *

  Vincent felt like cracking his head against the wall. God, he had just promised Sammy and now he'd gone and blurted it out to his worst enemy. He felt so foolish and of course, that was when Tristan decided to pipe up, "So, Sammy, you finally told him, huh?"

  Wh – WHAT?? He spun around to frown at the g
irl. "Sammy, what does he mean by 'Oh, you finally told him'?"

  Sammy cringed.

  Vincent turned back to see the most infuriating, smug expression on Tristan's face. "You knew?"

  "Yes. I knew." Tristan stepped around Vincent to enter the room. "Sure took you long enough to catch up."

  Vincent bristled before slamming the door. He took a deep breath before whirling around to Sammy. Jabbing a finger at the other boy, he enunciated carefully, "Tristan knew before me?"

  Tristan took a seat on Sammy's bed and propped his chin up in his palm, watching the scene with avid enthusiasm.

  Sammy answered softly, "Uhh . . . kinda?"

  Vincent bit his tongue to keep himself from yelling. He also clasped his hands behind his back to prevent himself from throwing himself at the blonde boy who appeared to be enjoying this entirely too much. "How?"

  "Oh, it wasn't like I told him. It was by accident. He just looked down my –" Sammy immediately snapped her mouth shut.

  "Looked down your what?" When Sammy turned pink, Vincent's eyes flew toward Tristan and to his dismay and fury, found the normally composed boy quite flustered as well. That was definitely not a good sign. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER, YOU BASTARD?"

  "Now, now, Grenford, watch your language. We have a lady present," Tristan calmly retorted, even though his cheeks were now completely crimson.

  "What. Did. You. Do. To. HER!"

  "It was a complete accident, Vincent! I – I dropped my spoon that day and bent down and it was a baggy shirt and he was in front of me and he – he – he saw."

  "Oh." Vincent nodded. Then he tried to tackle Tristan. Sammy clung desperately to the back of his shirt.

  "Vincent! Accident! Accident!"

  "Yeah, right. We're going to have a huge, bloody accident here soon enough," Vincent growled as he swiped at Tristan.

  Tristan's eyes flashed as he snapped, "Hey, man, at least I didn't catch her in the shower!"

  Sammy couldn't help but let out a small squeak of dismay. Both boys turned to scrutinize her. She turned pink.

  "Sammy?" Vincent asked. He had a strange feeling he wasn't going to like what's coming next. "Is there something else you're not telling me?"

  She gulped. "No?"

  "Sammy." His voice turned low with a dark warning note. "Who else knows?"

  "Not – not many people."

  "Who?" he repeated.

  "Will."

  "That's it?"

  "Danielle."

  "My sister?" he exclaimed.

  "Yes."

  "Anybody else?"

  "My sister," Tristan supplied helpfully.

  "Carrie knows too?"

  "Yes."

  "And?" Vincent prompted, words grumbling in his throat.

  "Uhh . . ."

  "Caine," Tristan offered up again.

  Sammy narrowed her eyes at the other boy. "Gee, thanks."

  "Anytime," the blonde boy replied breezily.

  "No one else?"

  "No. No one else. I think. Wait. Yes. One more. Jack. But really, that's all."

  "That's all? Great. That's lovely. That's all." Vincent smiled sardonically. "Sammy, that's practically everybody!! I can't believe I'm the last one to find out!"

  She chewed her lip anxiously. "Well, no. I mean, Tristan's other friends still don't know yet."

  "You're talking about Marco, Polo, and gang?"

  "Uh huh."

  "Oh great. I'm so happy I get to find out before Tweedledee and Tweedledum."

  Tristan snorted and the other two turned to glare at the boy. "What? It's funny. You have to admit, Sammy, that among your 'close' friends, Vincent is really the last one to find out."

  Vincent twitched again and Sammy moaned in desperation, "You're really not helping, Tristan!"

  Vincent suddenly recalled Sammy's weird response earlier to Tristan's words and he froze. Rubbing his chin softly, he asked quietly, "How did Caine find out?"

  "He supposedly has a sixth sense about females," Sammy quickly responded, relieved that they seemed to be back on safer grounds now.

  "How did Jack find out then?" Vincent's complexion darkened by the minute and alarm bells began ringing in Sammy's head.

  "Um, Carrie told him." A sagging feeling began to weigh down on Sammy's shoulders.

  Vincent finally remembered that day when he found Sammy and Will in the same bathroom and his blood pressure jolted up. "Well, then how did dear Willy find out?"

  "Uh, um, well . . ." Sammy panicked. "Hey! You know what's funny? How Carrie found out! It turned out she thought I was really a guy and that I –"

  "How did Will find out?" Vincent's voice was soft, lethal. He had stopped rubbing his chin and was now cracking his knuckles. Tristan's blue eyes darkened as he took notice of Vincent's stiffness and he quickly met Sammy's gaze. He could only shrug helplessly, but his eyes warned her to tread carefully.

  Sammy squirmed, nervously tugging on the hem of her shirt before closing her eyes in defeat. "He – he almost found me in – in – in the shower."

  "Almost?" His tone was sharp.

  "I had a towel on."

  "Ah, I see. A towel."

  She opened her eyes and almost screamed. Vincent's eyes were burning and the gray color was so cold, they seemed like iced granite blocks. Please, Will, run away. Run far, far, far away. Run -

  The door banged open then and Will flounced into the room with a jovial grin. "Howdy, neighbors! My, my, we having a party this early in the morning –" He stopped abruptly when Vincent turned his head stiffly toward him. The boy was suddenly reminded of that scene in The Exorcist when that possessed girl spun her head around 360 degrees – only it was much scarier now, for this was reality and Vincent was very much in corporal flesh and could inflict much, much, much bodily damage.

  "Uh oh."

  Chapter Twenty One

  A most worryingly feral smile twisted Vincent's lips and everyone blanched in response. As he slowly stalked over toward Will, whose features had gone alarmingly pasty, Sammy sighed in exasperation. Why can't we all be mature about this?

  She let out a loud groan before crumpling to the floor. Her hand darted out to clutch at her ankle. "Oh, ow." No one did say Sammy was a particularly accomplished actress.

  But Vincent might have as well transported in the time he took to get to her side. He dropped to his knees beside her and his hands floated hesitantly around her. "What is it? What's wrong? Cramps again? Need a massage again?"

  Tristan arched an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

  Will can never keep his mouth shut when it came to recounting his friend's many embarrassing moments. "Oh, Vinnie poo was such a dah-ling. Just swooped down on our dear Sammy in the middle of the night and proceeded to gently assuage her – I mean, his -"

  A nerve seemed to throb above Vincent's right eyebrow. "I know Sam is a she and not a he."

  Will blinked. "Oh, you do? Well, uh, isn't this such a lovely surprise! Me, uh, too!"

  The articulate response did nothing to calm Vincent down and the boy was already rising up again, slowly reaching his arms out like a pseudo-Frankenstein. Sammy quickly made another noise of pain and Vincent paused, looking stricken and torn as his eyes darted between the girl and his proclaimed punching bag.

  Tristan chose this time to jump in with his own assertion. "So let me get this straight . . . before he even knew Sammy was a girl, Vincent proceeded to hop into her bed and . . . maul her? When she supposedly was a guy?" He shivered exaggeratedly. "Ick. Vincent, I didn't know you were picking up on Will's tendencies."

  Pink swept across the bridge of Vince's nose and cheeks. "I did not maul her! I was merely extending my . . . services . . . in a . . . gallant gesture."

  There was a long pause before both Tristan and Will cracked up.

  Tristan clutched his stomach while jerking a thumb in Vincent's direction. He chortled, "Did you hear this guy? Gallant! I think your mother needs to fire whoever's teaching you your etiquette lessons."

  "Well, I d
on't know about that." Will grinned broadly before lowering his voice in a seductive caress. "'Cause, hey, baby, I'll certainly be glad to receive your extremely gallant services anytime, anywhere."

  The dark haired boy gritted his teeth. "I told you, it was in the middle of the night and I was half asleep and she was in pain and I just thought – it was an emergency!"

  "Moron," Tristan coughed delicately in his hand.

  Vincent could feel himself getting riled up again – for some reason, since Sammy's appearance, he had an innate feeling that his blood pressure hasn't exactly been its most tip top shape. If he wasn't careful, he just might be able to give himself a stroke. "Listen, I'm not usually a very violent person but –"

  "Pfft." Boy, Will was just adding fuel to his own personal bonfire, wasn't he?

  Vincent's grey eyes narrowed in a stormy glint as he started to roll up his sleeves.

  Sammy decided to jump in then. "Alright, stop! Stop it!" The order was so unlike Sammy that everyone froze in their movements. She jerked her head in a firm nod. "That's right. You heard me."

  Okay. This is working out well, but now that I have their attention, what exactly do I want them to do? The gears in her head clacked furiously before she nodded again. "Alright Will, you go back to your room now before you get killed. You're not exactly helping things here."

  He jutted out his bottom lip.

  "Don't give me that. Go!"

  The lip started trembling and she could have sworn his eyes turned absolutely plate size complete with a teary shine. "No, Will! It's for your own good. Now go before I – I – I –" She searched her mind for a suitable punishment. "- hurt you."

  "Hurt me how? Spanking?" The puppy dog eyes were transformed by an absolutely sly, lascivious glint. He immediately turned around and bent over, wriggling his bottom at her. "Bring it on, mama!"

  She closed her eyes in defeat. Well, at least he dropped the pout.

  Tristan cleared his throat. "Will, you might want to put your ass away before Vincent sends a kick that would transport you back to your room the hard way."