A Bravo Homecoming

by Christine Rimmer

  His eyelids drooped lazily over those sharp dark eyes, a look of pure satisfaction. “Perhaps you would enjoy a T-bone steak, rare, and a large baked potato this evening as a reward for work well done?”

  She clapped her de-callused hands. “Oh, Jonathan. You have no idea.”

  “An hour in the gym first,” he ordered gruffly.

  She was only too pleased to pull on the clingy, sexy workout clothes they’d bought that day and head down to the hotel gym. She kicked butt on the treadmill and then pumped iron for all she was worth.

  And at six-thirty that evening, she was treated to the most beautiful slab of beef she’d ever seen. She wanted to saw off a huge, juicy hunk and shove it in her mouth, to chew without worrying about keeping her lips together, to let the juice run down her chin.

  But she didn’t. She put her napkin in her lap and she picked up her fork and knife and took her time about it. She cut each small bite smoothly and neatly—no sawing. She chewed slowly and thoroughly. She even managed to make polite conversation while she ate.

  Jonathan didn’t once have to reprimand her.

  And it was…. kind of fun really. Kind of graceful and satisfying. Eating slowly with care wasn’t half-bad after all.

  The next day, Friday, they “worked” her wardrobe. Jonathan showed her how to mix and match the various pieces, to make several outfits out of a skirt, skinny pants, a sweater and various accessories.

  They also “did” packing. He produced a gorgeous set of designer luggage and showed her how to pack for various types of excursions—from a weekend in the country to five days in Manhattan to a tropical getaway and an Alaskan cruise. She laughed at that. At the idea of Sam Jaworski packing up her designer duds and heading for the Big Apple or Jamaica or the land of the midnight sun. She also practiced packing for the week with the Bravo family.

  That day, they went out for lunch and for dinner. It was important to use her new skills in the real world, Jonathan said.

  And the next day, all of a sudden, it was Saturday. The last day of her training, the day of her final test.

  Jonathan told her what the test would be: That night at seven, Travis would arrive to take her out for the evening.

  She worked her butt off in the morning, reviewing with Jonathan. It was something of a test in itself, to prove how much she remembered of all that he’d taught her, how much she could apply with seeming effortlessness.

  Over lunch at Quattro, the gorgeous Italian place in the hotel, Jonathan actually praised her outright. He said she was amazing him. He said that he was proud of her.

  She went back upstairs floating on a cloud of success and good feelings.

  Then came the afternoon in the spa.

  It wasn’t as bad as the first time. She didn’t have to get another peel and she didn’t need waxing.

  Still, there was the endless sitting as she had the manicure and the pedicure, the hair color and cut. She worked with the makeup consultant for a couple of hours, learning what products she needed, learning how to apply them.

  It all took too long and she would just as soon have been down in the gym bench-pressing triple her weight, working up a good, healthy sweat.

  But when it was done, well, she looked in the mirror and saw her dream self staring back at her, as tall and strong as she’d ever been—and yet, so much more. Even her too-short hair looked terrific, with highlights and lowlights, the gamine-style cut bringing out her cheekbones, kind of showing off the nice oval shape of her face. And the makeup was perfect. It enhanced her best features and minimized her flaws.

  She returned to the suite, where Jonathan called her amazing for the second time that day.

  By then it was almost six. Time to put on the beautifully fitted knee-length stretch satin dress with its skinny straps and built-in bra. A big rhinestone cuff and four-inch Dolce & Gabbana black lace pumps completed the outfit. She grabbed her small satin bag and the cute velvet shrug to keep her shoulders warm outside in the cool November darkness.

  And she was ready.

  When she came out of her room, Jonathan actually applauded.

  She laughed and spun in a circle. “Pretty good, huh?”

  He got out his camera and took a whole bunch of pictures. Sam almost felt nostalgic. Was it only Monday that they’d started together? Had she come so far in such a very short time?

  It appeared that she had.

  The firm tap on the suite’s door came at seven on the dot.

  She went to answer.

  The look on Travis’s face when she opened the door…oh, it was priceless. He actually gaped.

  And then he said, his voice barely a croak, “Sam? My God. Sam.”

  She laughed in delight. “Oh, Travis…” And she threw her arms around him. He stiffened at first—because she seemed so different, like a stranger?

  She wasn’t sure. She started to feel kind of awkward, that she had maybe scared him by jumping all over him.

  But then he relaxed. His arms came around her. He hugged her good and tight and he whispered, “You are drop-dead gorgeous, you know that?” He pressed his cheek to hers. “And you smell so good….”

  She could have stood there, holding him tight like that forever. She liked it, so much, the glorious feel of his big, hard body pressed against hers. In his arms right then she felt so…feminine. Not soft, exactly. She was too buff for that.

  But smooth. Definitely. And curvy. And very much a woman in every single way.

  Reluctantly, she stepped back from him. They stared at each other, both of them grinning.

  And Jonathan said, “Come along, you two. We’ll have a toast.” He’d ordered champagne. It was waiting, on ice, in a silver bucket. The bellman had already popped the cork.

  Travis filled a crystal flute for each of them and then offered the first toast. “To you, Sam. I knew you could do it. And you have. You’re incredible. I always knew you were good-looking. I just didn’t realize how beautiful you really are.”

  She basked in his admiration and approval, thinking that the week of torture and starvation and grueling hard work had been worth it.

  And then Jonathan said, “Sam, I wish you all the success and continued admiration you so richly deserve. When you get back here to the suite from your night out with Travis, I will be gone.”

  She felt teary-eyed suddenly. “Oh, no. So soon?”

  He nodded his big head of beautifully highlighted hair. “Because, darling, my work here is done. I hardly expected what a triumph you would make of our time together. But you, my love, have come so far, so fast. I swear to you, my head is spinning. I will leave you my numbers. Do call now and then and tell me how you’re doing.”

  “Oh, Jonathan. Yes, I will. And thank you. Thank you so much.”

  He waved a hand. “The pleasure was all mine. Check my website in a few days.”

  She groaned. “That’s right. The awful ‘before’ pictures.”

  “Ah, yes. But also the ones I took this evening. I think any woman would be proud to look as you do right now.”

  She hugged Jonathan before she and Travis left him. He seemed so tiny and fragile in her arms. She whispered more thank-yous. And she promised to call.

  They had dinner at Restaurant Cinq in a gorgeous hotel and art gallery called La Colombe d’Or. The building itself had once been the mansion of an oil baron.

  To start, there was Petrossian caviar with homemade blinis. Sam had never in her life had caviar before. She found she liked the salty, rich taste.

  Then came the toasted goat cheese, roasted beet and mixed greens salad, the three-chili rubbed pork tender-loin with Granny Smith applesauce and roasted corn relish.

  Sam remembered to eat slowly, to enjoy every bite.

  And even better than the wonderful food and great service was the handsome, dark-haired guy in the beautiful charcoal wool jacket and checked silk shirt across the snowy white tablecloth from her.

  He looked at her so…appreciatively. As though he couldn�
�t get enough of the very sight of her.

  Okay, yeah. She knew this thing between them was just for now, just for tonight and the next week with his family. She knew they were only pretending, that it wasn’t, in the strictest sense, real.

  But so what? She didn’t care. She was set on loving every minute of it. It was a new beginning for her. The start of a different kind of life.

  Which, come to think of it, made it mostly real, after all. Yes, she was only going to be his fiancée for a week. But the woman she was tonight, in the black camisole dress with the lacy high heels and the sparkly rhinestone cuff—she actually was that woman now. She had recreated herself in the past week, with Jonathan’s help.

  Her new self was no lie.

  They talked easily, comfortably together, as always. As comfortably as they did when they’d meet for beers at some wood-paneled neighborhood sports bar right there in Houston.

  But Restaurant Cinq was hardly a neighborhood bar. And the way she felt right now, looking at him across the table, the glow of candlelight shining in his eyes?

  Well, it wasn’t the same as when they went out for a beer. Not the same at all.

  They spoke of his family. Of his brothers and sisters, their wives and husbands and also their kids. About how much his dad had changed in the past couple of years.

  “He used to be a real hardass, my father,” Travis said.

  She took a slow, thoughtful sip of her wine. “I remember. You always used to roll your eyes a lot when you talked about him. You said your grandfather, James, was a tough guy, real mean. That he drove all his other sons away. Only your dad refused to go. He stuck it out.”

  Travis nodded. “And inherited everything when Grandpa died. Because no one chases Davis Bravo away or denies him what’s his by birthright.” He leaned closer. “Your eyes…”

  She blinked and then gave a nervous chuckle. “Uh, yeah. I have two.”

  “No, I’m serious, Sam. Your eyes are amazing.” At his praise, she felt a warm glow all through her. And he wasn’t finished. “The way they tip up at the corners—and the color. Just a gorgeous blue. So bright. Are you wearing contacts, is that it?”

  “Nope. But I did get some help from the excellent cosmetician at the hotel.” She sat back in her chair. “You know, I could really get used to all this flattery.”

  “Uh-uh.” He frowned. “It’s not flattery, it’s…” He glanced away. He seemed almost embarrassed. “I’m having a little trouble getting used to the new you.” And then he looked at her again and grinned. “But I’m dealing. I’m working with it. And the view from my side of the table is spectacular.”

  She sat forward, too. “Thank you. I mean that—and now back to your dad. You were saying he’s changed….”

  “Yeah. He’s…more patient than he used to be. Not so overbearing. Not so sure he’s got all the answers before anyone even asks the question. More willing to admit that he’s not always right. He’s mellowed, I guess you could say. And that makes him a lot easier to get along with.”

  “I think I’m going to like him.”

  “I think you will, too.”

  “And your mother?”

  He shrugged. “Other than the relentless matchmaking, she’s a great person. Always there for her kids. All nine of us. She was born a Randall, which is a big name in San Antonio, and she’s involved in all the upscale social stuff. Charity work, the country club. But even with all that, she’s pretty down-to-earth. Not a snob, not in any way.”

  “Good. Because I have been thinking, Travis.”

  Twin lines formed between his dark brows. “You sound way too serious.” His fine mouth flattened out. “You’re backing out of the whole thing, right?”

  “No.”

  His expression relaxed. “Whew.”

  She set down her fork. “But I don’t want to pretend I’m someone I’m not.”

  His dark eyes grew darker. “Did I ask you to be someone else?”

  “No. No, you didn’t. But I…” She put her hands to her cheeks—and was surprised all over again at how soft and smooth her skin felt. Not really like her cheeks and hands at all. “I just mean that beyond the basic lie we agreed on, beyond my pretending to be your fiancée, and also beyond the new clothes and the new look and everything Jonathan taught me about how to…behave in social situations—beyond all that, I still want to be the same Sam Jaworski I was before I walked into the Four Seasons Hotel last Monday morning.”

  “That works for me. It’s not a problem.”

  “Let me finish.” She put her hands in her lap, laced her fingers together. Because Jonathan had taught her not to rest her elbows on the table until she was done with the meal. “I want my own history,” she said. “I want my crazy dad who loves me and raised me after my mom left us, my dad who’s retired now, riding around the USA in his Winnebago Adventurer with his new girlfriend, Keisha, who just happens to be four years younger than I am. I want to be the girl who came from a run-down ranch in South Dakota, the one who’s just spent five weeks straight on the Deepwater Venture and is planning to look for a new job on land now. I want to be the girl who’s had you for a friend ever since she was a lonely, oversize eighteen-year-old hayseed.”

  “Sam.” He reached across the table. And when Travis reached out, she couldn’t help but respond. She gave him her hand.

  Instantly, something deep inside her went all soft and mushy. He wrapped his fingers around hers and the feel of his skin touching hers was so perfect, so comfortable and yet thrilling at the same time, so absolutely right.

  He said, “You were no hayseed.”

  She allowed herself a hint of a smile. “Oh, yeah, I was. And I’m proud of who I was—of who I really am. We don’t need to go into all that’s happened in the past week, into my big makeover. We can just tell them we’ve known each other for years and suddenly, since we’ve been working on the Deepwater Venture together, we realized that it had been…” She hesitated over the scary word. And then made herself say it. “…love all along.”

  “That sounds good to me.”

  “You proposed a couple of weeks ago, the day before you talked to your mom and agreed that you’d ask me to the ranch for Thanksgiving.”

  “Okay, that’ll work.” He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. Her skin seemed to heat beneath that simple brush of a touch. “Did I say something to make you think I wanted you to pretend to be someone else?”

  “No, you didn’t.” It seemed dangerous, somehow, to sit here with him like this, their gazes locked together, holding hands across the table. Gently, she eased her fingers free of his. She picked up her wine again, sipped, set the glass down, each movement smooth and deliberate. Jonathan had said that a fine meal in good company should never be rushed. “I just wanted to be sure we understood each other, that we’re on the same page about how it’s going to be.”

  He hadn’t moved since she pulled her hand from his. He was watching her, his gaze shadowed and yet so intent. “We’re in agreement, Sam,” he said at last. “You can stop worrying.”

  After dinner, they went upstairs to visit the Colombe d’Or art gallery. Sam knew zip about art and recognized none of the artists’ names or the paintings on display. Still, it was fun to walk around the beautifully decorated rooms and admire the bright pictures, her hand tucked companionably in the crook of Travis’s arm.

  Outside, the parking attendant had Travis’s Cadillac waiting. He held her door open for her, and she slipped into the plush embrace of the soft leather seat without a stumble in her four-inch heels, without letting her tight skirt ride higher than mid-thigh.

  “Thank you,” she said as the attendant closed the door. Travis pulled away from curb. She turned to him. “What next?”

  He sent her a quick glance, and then turned his gaze to the street ahead. “Depends on what you’re up for. We can go to a party. Or walk around downtown. Or go see a movie…”

  “Whose party?”

  “Oh, just the CFO of STOI.
” South Texas Oil Industries. It was the company Travis worked for. She knew he got invited to a lot of fancy parties, partly because he was well-liked by the people he worked for. And partly because he was one of the San Antonio Bravos. She was quiet, considering. After a moment or two, he sent her another glance. “Sam?” He said her name softly.

  A shiver went through her, to hear him say her name so low and intimately—and also because she was actually considering choosing the party over the safer activities of a movie or a walk downtown. To hold her own among the management people, the white-collar types. That would be something. As a rule, oil workers and upper management lived in separate worlds. If they went to the party, it would be a true test of all that Jonathan had taught her.

  “No pressure,” Travis reminded her. “Wherever you want to go…” He eased the car to the curb again and parked, but left the engine running.

  She frowned at him. “Why are we stopping?”

  He reached across and captured her left hand. “Whatever you decide, I think you need to start getting used to this.” And before she could ask him what he was talking about, he slid a gorgeous square diamond onto her ring finger. She blinked down at it, all bright and sparkly in the lights from the dashboard. “A perfect fit,” he said, and his white teeth flashed with his smile.

  The party was in River Oaks, one of Houston’s most exclusive neighborhoods. And the CFO’s house was like some English castle, all of stone, with tall, many-paned, brightly lit windows. A wide, curving drive led up to the entrance and every light and chandelier in the place was ablaze in the darkness.

  An attendant opened her door for her. And Travis came around and took her hand, tucking it comfortably into the crook of his arm, just like in the art gallery at Colombe d’Or. She looked down at her smooth, beautifully manicured fingers wrapped around his strong forearm, resting on the fine wool of his jacket. The big square diamond twinkled at her and she had a sense of such complete unreality.

  Like Cinderella in the fairy tale, entering the ballroom already on the arm of her prince, wearing the magic dress created with a wave of her fairy godmother’s wand and a healthy dose of bibbity-bobbity-boo. A modern Cinderella, though, one whose fairy godmother wasn’t a plump, sweet gray-haired lady, but a skinny guy with big hair and a whole bunch of attitude.