My Big Fat Fake Engagement

by Landish, Lauren

  “This is not like you and Violet.” Nope, not at all. Firstly, there’s a huge difference between a few dinners and actually going through with a fake wedding. A wedding attended by approximately three hundred Italians and Italian Americans. Not to mention the Andrews family.

  Courtney and I are just playing kissy at the gym and sharing a few dinners. That’s a cake walk compared to Ross and Vi. My biggest danger is Missy making some bitchy comment to Courtney and Courtney going all verbal Jedi on her ass. You could shut her up with a kiss.

  Nope, not thinking like that or I’ll get myself into an even deeper shit pile than I’m already drowning in.

  He stares at me for a solid minute, and I can see the hamster in his mind churning away on the wheel like a speed demon to replay all the analyzations I’ve already done. He reaches the same conclusion, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “Don’t hurt her, Kaede. She’s my sister.” It’s not a request. But I can understand it. He’s the big brother through and through.

  “I won’t. You know I wouldn’t,” I vow.

  “Okay. Let’s figure out how this is going to go.”

  Suddenly on board with the whole Mission Unbelievable of Courtney and me, he’s ready to get to work on strategies. I am too until my phone rings.

  I gave Ross some shit about answering for Vi in the middle of an important conversation, but I got it. She’s one of a select few he would interrupt business for. I have one person I’ll do that for.

  Holding up a finger, I answer my phone. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”

  “Oh, thank God, Kaede. I know you’re so busy at work, but I’m hoping you can help me really fast.”

  She doesn’t call for help often, usually preferring to handle whatever comes up on her own. She taught me that, standing proud on your own two feet no matter what life throws at you, and life has thrown her some hard shit.

  I was still a toddler when my dad passed of an unexpected heart attack, young enough that I only have vague memories of him. In fact, they might be memories or they might just be my brain extrapolating from the pictures in my baby book and the stories I’ve heard. He’d been a hell of a softball player, the pinch hitter in our church’s league, a good man who loved my mom and me and had no bigger dream than a happy, healthy family.

  Mom hadn’t faltered after we lost him, pulling herself up by her bootstraps. She knew that if we were going to be okay, it was up to her. She’d worked days at an assisted living facility and gone to nursing school at night. It’d taken her years, but eventually, she got that piece of paper and had been another perfect example of chasing your goals with steadfast determination.

  All that to say the rushed pace of her speech means something’s really wrong.

  “Anything, of course.”

  “It’s the dang water heater. Again. The water coming out of the shower is cold enough to freeze an iceberg and I have to get ready for work. I’m supposed to be there for shift change in an hour.” I hear her shuffling around, doors opening and closing, before she huffs. “Actually, never mind, honey. I’ll just take a sink bath and call it good because I can’t be late.”

  “Mom . . . Mom . . . hey, Mom!” I’m trying to stop her swirling the drain like the apparently freezing cold water. “I can be there in fifteen, thirty if you let me just replace the damn water heater this time.”

  I have been holding that water heater together with duct tape and prayers for almost a year. I’m not rich by any stretch, but I do well enough to replace my mother’s water heater without a blink. Well, a financial one. The problem is . . . she won’t let me. That damn pride and self-reliance are both a blessing and a curse.

  “Fifteen it is. Don’t you dare stop at the hardware store and buy me a new one or you’ll have to take even more time out of your day to return it.” The stern voice that used to keep me in line when I was a troublemaking kid still works.

  “Fine. See you soon.” I hang up, already halfway out the door when Ross calls me back.

  “Kaede!” I pause, looking over my shoulder but already gone in truth. “Sorry about . . . I’m protective, overly so, according to Abi. Just fix this, for real. Okay?”

  “Yeah, I gotta go. We’re good.” I don’t believe me entirely either, but I stride out of the gym to my car, heading home.

  I almost turn off to Home Depot anyway, knowing that I could call ahead and have a water heater ready to roll. But Mom won’t let me bring it in the house, so there’s no point. Instead, I pull up to the small white two-bedroom place I grew up. I look over the yard, green and weed-free, the trim all perfectly painted, and the front steps with a new wreath on the door. Mom must’ve bought it because for all her talents, craftiness isn’t one of them.

  Budgeting? Hell, yes. She taught me the value of a dollar and how to squeeze every penny from it. Cooking? Absolutely. From pork chops to strawberry cake, everything from her kitchen is an orgasm in your mouth. Even science, because while I was struggling with high school chemistry, she was crushing it with nursing school pharmacology, and we worked each other through it with flash cards and midnight pots of coffee. By example, she taught me to work hard, never give up, and get shit done.

  But crafting? The thought is near laughable.

  I open the garage door and see Mom in her gardening clothes. She’s beautiful, and I don’t only think that because I’m biased as her son. She wears her fifty-two years of life remarkably well, looking at least ten years younger. Her almost-black hair has only recently needed a bit of coloring to hide the gray strands I thought looked like highlights, and her face shows her history of looking at the bright side of life with smiles and happiness.

  I go to give her a hug, but she holds up her hands. They’re clean from her digging in the dirt, but there’s a brown line under each short nail. “I could wash my hands in the sink, even though it was cold, but I figured I’d do the full scrub-down in the shower because I cannot go to work like this. I’m an infection waiting to happen,” she jokes.

  “All right, let’s take a look then. You think the pilot light might be out?”

  Her good humor goes sardonic. “Kaede McWarren, do you think I would call you over here for something that simple? I’m quite capable of that, I’ll have you know. Did it for years when you weren’t even allowed to light a match.”

  I shrink sheepishly. “I know, Mom. Sorry. I’ll take a look, but you know what I charge. I can’t cut my rates just because you’re family.”

  She grins and holds up her dirty nails. “Well, I could make some peanut butter jungle bars, but you might have more than chocolate chip cookie dough, peanut butter, and coconut flakes in them. You mind a side of dirt for some extra seasoning?”

  I pull a face. “Uh, a little dirt never hurt, but maybe I’ll bill you for the house call later.”

  “Deal.”

  Grabbing the old toolbox, I start poking around the water heater. It’s an old one, a classic Kenmore that was probably new the year the house was built, which means that it’s well past its life expectancy. But a classic thirty-year-old water heater isn’t a thirty-year-old sportscar. People don’t collect them and there’s no aftermarket for parts.

  Instead, what Mom has here is an ugly collection of patchwork parts. I take my time, looking over each piece.

  “Thank you for this, honey,” Mom says, hovering and watching me with a smile. “You’re such a good boy. Really.”

  “Thanks, Mom, but you really should let me get you a new one.”

  Mom, who’s stubborn and tougher than I am, shakes her head the way I knew she would. But I’m hoping that by mentioning it repeatedly, I can wear her down. Eventually.

  “You know I’m saving for it. But I can put up with it for another paycheck or two if you can Band-Aid it along for me.”

  No, Mom, you’re just too proud, I think, but I’m not going to argue it. I understand where she’s coming from. It just drives me crazy that she won’t let me take care of her the way she took c
are of me.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I promise, though I wonder if she’d finally let me replace it if I can’t do anything with it this time.

  “Work and talk, Kaede. Tell me about the gym and about the meeting you had. You knocked the socks off that investor, didn’t you?” I don’t need to see her to know how proud she is of me. It’s threaded through her voice.

  While I tinker with the water heater, I tell her about the contract signing and our plans for expansion. She’s heard them before, but she likes to hear that I’m dreaming big.

  I conveniently leave out any mention of the verbal screw-up I made with Jeffrey and Missy and my resulting fake engagement situation. Mom’s all for going all-in, but I think she’d think this is a bit too much. She’s probably right, but I’m going full-steam ahead.

  Luckily, the problem today seems relatively simple, a worn-out internal fuse. I don’t have the proper one, but I do have a workaround that’ll work for today, a good old-fashioned penny until I can get her a new one.

  The water heater hums to life and I climb up from the garage floor. “That should do it. I’ll hang out for a few minutes to make sure this old thing doesn’t burn the house down.” I give her a warning glare, which she returns in force considering I learned it from her. “But you should be good to start the shower and wait for the hot water to come in.”

  “Perfect! Thanks so much, honey. I’m gonna get a move on so I’m not late. Can you lock up the garage?”

  “Yeah, Mom.” Before she disappears around the house, I remember something. “I didn’t forget about the jungle bars, though!” I call out.

  “Bill me!” she teases over her shoulder.

  Chapter 9

  Kaede

  I didn’t make it back to the gym yesterday but balanced that out in my head with a reminder about the midnight oil I’d been burning the night before. It counts, even if I didn’t find any suspicious members in my file search.

  Ross did the midday and the evening walkthroughs without me, and I’d let him know how much I appreciated that by sending him a text last night that I’d do the morning one so he could stay home with Vi in case she ‘wasn’t feeling well again’. Well, I sent that plus a silly gif I found of a super-complicated handshake-high-five combo. He hadn’t responded, but I hadn’t put much meaning into it, figuring he was busy holding up my end of the workload this time like I’ve done for him before.

  Now that we’re done with the midday walkthrough, I can tell it’s something more. He’s distracted, there’s no doubt about that, but he’s distant too. He avoided me when he finally came in, and he’s keeping everything work related even when I try to chat with him.

  “Good morning with Violet?” I ask with a smirk, trying to get the ball rolling again.

  He grunts. “What do you think about switching to lemon-flavored water for summer? Lemons are cheaper than cucumbers now and feel more seasonal.”

  “Sure. Whatever.” I shrug, feeling the cold shoulder treatment. “We working out this afternoon?”

  “Uh, maybe. I’ve got some stuff to do, but I’ll meet you at five thirty if so. If I’m not there, hit it without me, ’kay?” And with that, he heads off to his office so fast you’d think his ass was on fire.

  That avoidance makes me pretty sure I’ll be working out and figuring out what the hell’s up with Ross alone, but to my surprise, he shows at the treadmill at five thirty sharp, ready to roll.

  We do a quick jog to warm up, and I keep my pace set to an easy 3.5mph. I look over and Ross has his set to 3.7mph, a little faster than his usual. “We pushing it today?” I notch mine up to match his.

  “Need to burn off some stress, I guess,” is his clipped answer.

  The tension continues as we move on to weights. What’s usually a heavy but manageable workout turns into a dick-measuring contest of who can lift the heaviest. We’re always competitive alpha guys, but this is different. He’s still throwing out the joking put-downs like we do to rile each other up, but the undercurrent is different.

  “You mad, bro?” I finally ask. “Something crawl up your ass and die there from the noxious fumes living in your lower intestines?”

  “Talked to Courtney last night,” he grunts out, pumping out the split squats like he’s trying to kickstart the world with his own two feet. And this is just the warmups.

  I hiss, dropping my own weight a little hard to the floor and barely missing my pinkie toe by a millimeter. “What’d she say? What’d you say?” I don’t wait for an answer, my mouth running as fast as my brain. “You know this is the only way. I’ve read every angle and can damn near read the future and see what will play out best. This is it, man.”

  He sets his weight down carefully, fully in control of the dumbbell. “Word for word? She said I could ‘go fuck myself in the ass with a dumbbell if I had any intention of telling her what to do.’ ”

  I blink, shocked. But also . . . not surprised in the least. Courtney’s a force of nature, in and out of the boardroom. And then a laugh bursts out. I can’t help it, that’s funny.

  Ross’s lips thin to a slash. “It’s not funny, asshole.”

  He glares.

  I laugh more, tears coming to my eyes. “It’s so fucking funny. She’s the only one who would dare talk to the Great Ross Andrews like that.”

  Another second and he breaks too, giving in to a small chuckle. “She is. Hate the smug, little, annoying brat for having the balls to do it too.”

  The weirdness is busted, even if we haven’t really addressed the issue. We cinch our weightlifting belts and get down to the rest of our workout, still pushing each other but not going Beast Mode. Well, not more than usual.

  By the end of our squat reps, my quads are screaming and my glutes feel like I might’ve dropped them on the floor and forgotten to grab them when I stood up. I’m going to need a soak in the hot tub before I head out tonight for sure.

  As it gets later, my own internal clock starts dinging an alarm.

  It’s six thirty, and you know what that means.

  Without even meaning to, I start looking for Courtney. She should be here any minute for her seven o’clock Zumba class. When I see her, I damn near swallow my tongue.

  She’s wearing a loose-fitting tank top that lets her sports bra peek out of the oversized arm holes and tight-fitting yoga shorts. Even from the front, I’m thinking of how spectacular her ass must look in those shorts and looking forward to watching her walk away from me tonight.

  “Hey, guys!” she says with a wave, coming over. She stands by my side, a first that doesn’t go unnoticed. Quietly, she says, “Figure we’d better get this show on the road. Put your arm around my shoulder for a side hug. Public PDA without going overboard because you’re at work.”

  She’s got a plan. Of course, she has a plan. She’s Courtney fucking Andrews, planner extraordinaire.

  I do as she says, looking at her so I don’t see if the worrisome vein in Ross’s temple is throbbing like a drum. She feels good under me, even just this. Her skin is warm satin, and I catch a whiff of a floral shampoo. She’s smiling up at me like I’m her favorite glass of wine and she wants to drink me down in one gulp.

  “I can’t believe you’re going along with this.” Ross keeps his voice low too, but it draws both of our attention.

  “As per our last discussion.” She turns to me and smirks. “That’s code for ‘listen to the words coming out of my mouth and don’t make me tell you again.’ ” Back to Ross without missing a beat, she continues, “It’s fine. You did something way worse for Violet, and you were a total dick to her before figuring out what we all knew—that she’s amazing and way too good for you.”

  Ross’s nostrils flare, but honestly, it’s true. Violet is a hell of a woman, and Ross was an asshole to her when they were kids, so he can’t exactly argue facts, something Courtney is skilled at slaying with.

  I’m honestly gobsmacked by how she stands up to Ross. I shouldn’t be, considering that I’ve seen
it time and time again, but she’s just so stunning when she’s in power mode.

  “A few dinners, around the gym, making sure we keep it on the down low. It’ll be fine.” I’m backing Courtney’s play, not that she needs the assist.

  Ross sighs. “I want the record to show that I said this was a bad idea. But . . . fine, I guess.”

  “Not that I needed your permission or blessing, but it’s good to have you on the team, Brother.” Apparently, the team is me and her now, and doesn’t that do something to my insides, which are warm and squirming uncomfortably.

  She pats Ross on the cheek—a little hard, I’m guessing, by his flinch—before turning and almost caressing me gently on the cheek with little heart bubbles exploding in her eyes. “I’m off to class. Can’t be late or Stacylynne will make us do squat twerks.”

  I’m fighting off the image of Courtney twerking in any position. At least right now, in front of Ross. Later? That’ll be a different matter.

  Do not get a boner about Courtney in front of Ross.

  I start repeating Super Bowl Champions in reverse order to reverse the blood flow from my cock to my brain. It works enough for me to stop Courtney.

  “Hey, dinner tomorrow night to go over details? My place?”

  “Sounds good. Seven?”

  I nod, realizing that I just asked Courtney Andrews on a date to my house. It’s like I’ve fallen through the looking glass and everything is topsy-turvy backward on the other side.

  As she walks off, I force my eyes to stay on Ross because if I look at Courtney, I know I’m going to pop wood again from watching her ass sway. God, just the thought of what I’m missing starts sending blood south again.

  Ross sighs. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I’ve been a dick. I’ve known you for over half our lives, man. You’ve always been a good dude. I was the wild one. You were the respectful one. Hell, you were the guy girls would take home to Mama.”

  “And you were the one the girls never told Mama about.”