She nods. “Yeah. I told them about your father, I hope you don’t mind.” Her expression falters into something like shame and it’s absolutely adorable because of course I don’t mind if it means she’s here. “They told me it was a good idea.”
“Well, we didn’t say it was a good idea,” Sandra says. “More like an interesting idea.” She comes over to the table and plunks down a rugby calendar from a few years ago, one where I appeared naked on the cover. I try and keep that thing buried under stacks of books so I’m amazed she was able to unearth it in such a short amount of time. Maybe she has x-ray vision for cocks.
She points at it. “Care to explain why you’re naked on this French calendar?”
I reach over and try to swipe the calendar from her. “All rugby teams do it every year.”
“And yet they picked you,” she says, holding it up in the air and trying to compare the two of us.
“It’s because I have an incredible arse,” I tell her. “Your sister can attest to that.”
I just wanted to see Val’s face go red and it does, all the way to her roots.
Sandra snickers in response. “Fair enough. So, can I keep this or is this your only copy?”
“It’s all yours.”
Lord knows my nana has a stockpile of them that she insists on giving to her church congregation.
“Thank you,” she says, sliding it into her purse with an eager smile.
“Anyway,” Val says, clearing her throat while giving Sandra a dirty look. “I just wanted you to know that if the offer still stands … I’d love to take you up on it.”
We stare at each other for a moment and I’m hit with the knowing that something is going to change. I’m not sure what but her sudden commitment to this crazy, ill-conceived idea of mine means that her need to say yes to new adventures is bigger than the both of us. I’m in her orbit now as much as she’s in mine.
“All right. Well, we leave tomorrow morning. We better get there before lunch or my nan is going to bring out her spoon.”
They all stare at me, brows raised in unison.
“I take it your nan didn’t whack you with a wooden spoon when you were young?”
“No,” Angie says. “Our beatings came from our mother and were mental, involving the deliberate erosion of our self-esteem.”
“Subtle, but effective,” Sandra adds.
“What time tomorrow? Should I meet you here or?” Valerie asks. For a second I’m disappointed that this means I’m not spending the night with her, but obviously I’m both thinking with my dick and being selfish.
“I’ll come pick you up at the hotel at nine,” I tell her. “Sorry if that’s too early.”
“I can’t promise she won’t be hung over,” Sandra says. “It is our last night in Ireland together.”
The crazy thought of Valerie meeting some other guy tonight, some guy who doesn’t have an outlandish plan of lies, makes a hot coal of jealousy burn in my stomach.
Shite, I’ve got to get a hold of myself. This possessive version of myself, especially over someone I have no right to get possessive over, is entirely new to me.
“Perhaps you two should, you know, exchange phone numbers,” Angie says with a bemused look on her face. “Might come in handy during the fake fiancé thing. Tell us again why you want to do this?”
Since we still have our espressos to finish and they’ve only heard the truth second hand, I tell them the same thing I told Valerie. In the end, Sandra has watery eyes and is clutching her chest, while Angie looks moderately affected.
Then they leave and Valerie and I say goodbye for now. It’s just a wave as she makes her way to their taxi, which Sandra had called without me noticing.
A wave that’s distant and awkward and shy, the kind of wave you give someone you don’t know very well.
And that’s when it hits me that I don’t know her very well.
And I’m about to take her home.
To see my nan.
To see my father.
And have her pretend to be my wife-to-be.
What the fuck could possibly go wrong?
* * *
The next morning I have my stuff packed in the back of my Cayenne and I’m heading over to Valerie’s hotel.
The snow has transformed into grey slush and everyone looks positively miserable at the prospect of going back to work. I’m honked at twice for reasons I can’t discern, and by the time I pull up to the hotel, I’m ready to get out of Dublin before the city starts to implode.
Valerie is waiting on the steps, talking to the hotel’s doorman. I get to observe her for a moment before she sees me.
Am I doing the right thing?
Do you trust this girl to lie for you?
Don’t you wonder why she would?
I can’t say I haven’t been asking myself those questions a lot over the last twenty-four hours.
But now that I’m looking at Valerie, the doubt subsides. Just enough to think that maybe this will work anyway.
I mean, the woman is gorgeous. Even when she’s smiling politely at the doorman (and also frowning in such a way that it makes me think she can’t understand a word of what this guy is saying), she exudes something that I can’t put my finger on. I’m not poetic or worldly enough, perhaps.
The best I can say is that she reminds me of the first day of spring. Not the arbitrary date in March, but that first real day when the sun is out and the air is fresh and you close your eyes and you can almost feel yourself being reborn again.
I can’t say I’ve ever gotten that feeling from someone else before, and it’s just enough to cause my rapidly beating heart to slow.
I take a deep breath and get out of the car, heading to the steps of the hotel.
“Good morning,” I tell her, coming up beside her. “Are ye ready?”
Now that I’m closer, I can see the shyness in her eyes, the fact that she’s as unsure about this as I am.
“As I’ll ever be,” she says, and the doorman attempts to grab her suitcase but before he can I’ve already scooped it up and I’m gesturing to the car.
Meanwhile I can hear someone else behind us talking to the doorman: “Is that Padraig McCarthy? That fool should be back in the game. He looks fine to me.”
I wonder when they’ll learn I’m anything but fine.
I put her luggage in the trunk and quickly go around to her passenger door, opening it for her.
“Such a gentleman,” she comments, looking impressed.
“Definitely not a gentleman,” I say as I go around the front and get in my side. “Just a man who knows his manners.”
She buckles her seatbelt and gives me a smirk. “In America, that’s a gentleman.”
“Nah,” I say with a shake of my head, pulling out onto the busy, slushy street. “I reckon a gentleman is someone with class and education, as well as manners. That just ain’t me. As you’ll find out, I was born a country boy.”
“How many people are in Shambles?” she asks.
“About a thousand.”
Her eyes widen. “Wow. That’s not exactly a place where you can go and hide, is it? I grew up in a suburb and it’s like everyone in your cul-de-sac thought they were entitled to your business.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, it’s kind of like that. You get used to it, but believe me, if you want to fool around with the neighbor’s daughter, you better believe that half the town knows about it the next day.”
“I take it that happened to you?”
“Yeah, but they had a lot of daughters so it was a common occurrence.”
She laughs and runs her fingers down the side of the window. “Well, I have to tell you that as nervous as I am, I’m looking forward to this.”
“You’re nervous?”
She rubs her lips together and nods. “Oh yeah. I mean…” She tilts her head to look at me. “This is sort of insane, you know.”
“I’m aware. But it takes two to do something like this. One to suggest it and the
other to go along with it.”
“Ever the diplomat. But I’m serious.” She clears her throat. “Yesterday when we were discussing how long I was going to stay, you said a few days. But don’t you have to stay longer than that?” She cranes her neck to look at the back of the car. “You’ve packed a lot of stuff for just a few days.”
“Right. Well, I think I’m there … until I don’t have to be.” I don’t want to talk about what I really mean and I know she gets it.
“But isn’t it suspicious that I suddenly just leave and I’m never seen again?”
I shrug. “Yeah. But we’ll just say you’re going to America for work for a month or two.”
“Right after we got engaged? That doesn’t seem right. I mean, I was just engaged and never would have done that.”
I glance at her sharply, heat in my chest. “You were just engaged?”
She gives me a wincing smile. “Yeah. He broke it off a week or two ago.”
“A week or two ago?” I repeat, dumbfounded. I’m not sure how this is going to make things more complicated but I have a feeling it will.
“I probably should have told you. I just thought, you know, a one-night stand doesn’t need to be anything more than that, we don’t need to lay it all out. Although this was my first one-night stand, so maybe it’s common to run away with that person to their hometown a few days later.”
“What happened?” I ask. “Is that why you’re here? I thought it was the job.”
“It was both. His name was Cole. Or is. Cuz he’s still alive. I didn’t, like, murder him, don’t worry.” She gives me an endearingly goofy smile. “Anyway, we were together for a year and engaged for six months, and I lived with him and everything. A week before Christmas he said he didn’t want to marry me anymore but he still wanted to be in a relationship. So I grew a pair and told him that if he didn’t want to marry me, I didn’t want to be with him.” She grows quiet at that, as if she’s wrestling with something inside that she’s not sure she wants to share.
I wonder if she regrets it.
“And the job?”
“And then I got laid off a week later, as you know. So I went from living in this wicked apartment in Brooklyn with my fiancé and rocking this dream job, to having no apartment, no fiancé, and no job.”
I mull that over. She’s had a much tougher hand dealt to her recently than I thought. I’m starting to feel bad that I’m roping her into this.
“Look,” I say, “I had no idea it was like that. This makes things a little more … trivial now, doesn’t it? We’re still in the city, I can drop you off—”
“No!” she cries out. “No, no. Please. That’s my past.”
“But the past often rears its ugly head.”
“So let it. I’m tired of running from it, running from everything. I want to move forward. And yeah, this is a crazy idea, but I think there’s a reason that this is happening for the both of us and so I think we should just see how it plays out.”
With an empathetic look on her face, she reaches over and puts her hand on my shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. Then she smiles and giggles bashfully, her hair falling over her face. “I’m sorry. I forgot how amazing your shoulders feel. You’re a fucking tank, you know that?”
My lips quirk into a quick smile, constantly flattered by her even though she’s saying things many others have said before.
She clears her throat and takes her hand away, as if she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t. “Anyway, as I was about to say before I touched you and got all distracted, I hope this is all okay.”
“You having an ex-fiancé? Of course it is. It was presumptuous of me to assume that you wouldn’t be attached.”
She gives me a steady look. “Listen, I would not have hooked up with you and I probably wouldn’t have even flirted with you if I was with someone else. I am a one-man woman.”
And for now, in this world, I’m her man.
I inwardly wince. This is the second time today I needed a kick in the bollocks over my fanciful thoughts.
“So, while we’re on the subject of disclosing stuff, why don’t you tell me about your past relationships?” she asks. “I should probably know as much about you as I can if we’re going to pull this off.”
“You make it sound like a heist.”
“It kind of is.” She pauses, studying me for a moment. “Have you thought long and hard about this? I’m not questioning your motives or anything, but you are essentially lying to your dad, your grandmother, the town, et cetera. What happens…” She trails off, licking her lips. “You know, down the road, when we go our separate ways? Even if I leave after two days, eventually they’ll catch on that I’m not coming back.”
She’s talking in such finite terms that it bothers me.
I shrug. “It’ll be my problem. I’ll tell everyone we parted amicably and it didn’t work out.”
“So this truly is just for your father?”
I nod, looking her in the eyes. “It’s all for him. He’s dying and … I need to do this.”
“Okay,” she says after a beat. “Okay.” She’s smiling now. “I’m going to help you in whatever way I can. Now, let’s get started on the nitty gritty stuff first. We have, what, two hours in this car? Let’s see if we can create a believable relationship in that time.”
10
Valerie
I’ve never had two hours fly by like this before.
Then again, I’ve never been in a car with such an enigmatic and striking human being before. Usually in these situations I tend to blather on like an idiot in an attempt to fill the awkward silences, but with Padraig, there are none. We’ve been talking the entire time, hammering down the details of our faux relationship.
But as much as he both puts me at ease and fills my belly with butterflies, I’m still a nervous wreck around him. Because, what we’re doing? It really is insane. In some ways I’m surprised my sisters were okay with me walking out of the hotel room this morning and into the unknown (though it may have had something to do with them being both hung over again). I thought maybe Angie would have pulled me aside last night, having changed her mind or come to her senses.
That didn’t happen, and now I’m here, in his lux car and heading down Ireland’s east coast, toward his tiny hometown of Shambles.
So yes, I’m nervous and time is flying by way too fast. I don’t think I’ve quite gotten down what I need to.
“So, give me the gist of it again,” Padraig asks, as if he can read my mind.
“Because you already forgot?”
“Because I’m testing you.”
I purse my lips together as I try to suss him out. “Fine. Here it goes. We met at the same bar we actually met at, but this was almost a year ago.”
“When though?”
Man, he really is testing me. “March of last year.”
“And when did we get engaged?”
“At Christmas.”
“And how did I propose?”
“You took me for a walk along the river after our favorite meal at our favorite Chinese restaurant, and you got down on one knee and asked.”
“Simple, yet effective.”
“Speaking of,” I say as I wave my hand at him. “Where’s my ring?”
He looks sheepish at that, which is to say, he looks positively adorable. Who knew that term could apply to a big burly tank of a man?
“I don’t have one,” he admits. “Everything was closed yesterday and it’s not like I keep spare engagement rings at home.”
“Well, I hate to break it to you but it’s a very important part of the engagement.”
“Right. Well, actually, I was thinking, I could ask my father if I could use my mother’s.”
My heart lurches to a stop. “What?” I ask, wide-eyed. “No. No, that’s not right. You can’t do that.”
“It would mean something to my family,” he says.
“But this isn’t real … my god, don’t you think that�
�s almost insulting your mother, to your parents’ love, to use their ring for a fake engagement?”
He grows silent at that, dark arched brows knitting together as he drives. Okay, so I’ve made him mad. Maybe I was a bit harsh. I’m often blunt, but the harshness isn’t like me.
“Padraig,” I say, loving how his name sounds. I need to say it more often. “What I mean is, I just feel like that might do more harm than good. At least it could invite bad juju.”
He raises his brow. “You mean curse me for any marriage in the future? Don’t worry, I won’t be getting married.”
I don’t know why that surprises me. Earlier we had talked a bit about relationships and I told him all about Cole and some losers before then, and I learned he was an eternal bachelor, though he wouldn’t quite pinpoint why. Still, I didn’t think he had an aversion to it.
Way to pick guys who are only about the engagement, faux or not, I think to myself.
Then I stop myself. I’m not picking him. We aren’t dating. This isn’t an extended fling. This is just me helping out a stranger because…
I’m saying yes to new adventures.
That’s the only reason why.
Or because I do like him and I want to pick him, and I have this terrible, harmful idea that’s been growing in my stomach like a seed threatening to bloom, a seed watered with naivety and hope, that wants to turn all these possibilities of “us” into something real.
That scenario isn’t good. If that seed blooms, it’s only going to lead to future heartache, and I’ve already been through enough.
I clear my throat to break the silence and to defuse my inner awkwardness.
“So, what’s our sleeping situation when we get there? I mean, where do I go?”
He gives me a curious look. “You’re assuming that we sleep in separate beds?”
I nod. “I have an Irish grandmother too, you know, and I know she doesn’t look too kindly on couples sleeping together before marriage. Though she wasn’t a fan of using wooden spoons.”
My Life in Shambles: A Novel Page 10
