Faking It For Mr. Right

by Penny Wylder

  “You must be Melanie!” Whatever I was expecting, it isn’t this. Xander’s father looks just like him. An older version, yes. A little grayer on top, and balding in a little circle. But he has the same handsome face and strong jawline. The same mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

  I hold out a hand, but he ignores it and draws me in for a tight hug, just like his daughter once did, kissing me first on one cheek, then the other. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mr.—”

  “Please, call me William. After all, we’re going to be family, are we not?” His eyes continue to shine with what seems like genuine enthusiasm. He glances over at Xander and his smile turns sly. “I can see why she caught your eye, son. She’s beautiful.”

  My cheeks flush, and I duck my head, embarrassed. “Thank you, William.” It feels strange to address Xander’s father so informally, but he brightens when I do, and that relaxes me a little. If he prefers to be called by his first name, who am I to argue?

  “Well, come in, come in, let’s not stand in the doorway all night.” William shuts the door behind us and shoos us deeper into the house. “Relax, kick off your shoes. It’s so nice to finally meet you,” he adds. “I’ve heard so many wonderful things, not just from Xander but from his siblings as well.” Something about the way William talks reminds me of Patricia too—he’s all business, chattering away. It makes me smile.

  “Try not to scare her off, Dad,” Xander mumbles as he follows after us both, flashing me a reassuring wink. “If Patricia and Marco didn’t manage it, then she’s already a keeper.”

  We follow William into a living room that looks more like the kind of parlor you’d see in an old movie, complete with the kind of plush furniture that terrifies me to even think about sitting on. But William plops right onto one of the seemingly antique couches and pats the seat beside him.

  After a moment’s hesitation, I perch on it lightly, all too aware of every spot where my butt meets the expensive fabric.

  “Relax.” William chuckles. “You look like you’re trying not to internally combust.”

  “This is just… a very nice house, that’s all,” I manage, my eyes fixed on the ceiling, the walls, the floors. Anywhere but at William’s piercing gaze. Part of me worries that if he looks at me too deeply, for too long, he’ll see the deception written all over my face.

  William waves a dismissive hand. “You should see the Malibu property, if you think this is nice.” Xander rolls his eyes. His father grins. “What? In this family we enjoy our wealth. We aren’t like some of the wealthy families you’ll meet, all miserly and stingy with every dime. Now, tell me about your family. Xander tells me you grew up in the country?”

  When I tell him the name of my hometown, William nods sagely, his expression knowing.

  “I had a feeling Xander’s business trips to that area might be more than they appeared on the surface,” he replies, smirking. Xander and I trade smiles of our own.

  At least since we kept our story so close to the truth, it’s an easy one to uphold and remember. Plus, it gives Xander a good excuse for all the traveling he did last year, before we actually met.

  Before we met, just a little over three weeks ago now. And now I’m pregnant with his child. Not to mention lying to his whole family about our history. What am I doing?

  My unease must show, because Xander reaches over to catch my hand, squeezing lightly, while his father glances back and forth between us. “Oh, how rude of me. I haven’t even offered you both drinks. Champagne? Whiskey?”

  “Water for me, thanks,” I murmur.

  “I’ll grab us whiskies,” Xander offers, and squeezes my hand once, tightly, before he rises to cross out of the room. I resist a childish urge to shout after him to beg him not to leave.

  Instead, I fold my hands in my lap, around one another, holding tight.

  “So, Melanie.” Xander’s father smiles. “Have you and Xander talked about children yet?”

  If I’d been holding a drink already, I would have either choked on it or spilled the whole thing on myself. In lieu of that, I cough under my breath, then clear my throat, hard. “Um… no, we haven’t exactly.”

  “Because, although he hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with me about it, I’m fairly certain he wants them at some point,” his father continues. “I just want to be sure my son is thinking about the future when he makes a decision as big as marriage, you know?”

  “Of- of course,” I stammer. “And I mean, I do want… kids. Someday. Myself, that is.”

  “Good, good.” His father beams. If he notices a sheen of sweat on my forehead, or the extra unease I’m feeling now, he doesn’t mention it, at least. “Ah, here’s Xander, back again.”

  “What have you been saying to her this time?” Xander arches an eyebrow as he passes his father a glass of Scotch, so strong that I can smell the smoky scent of it from half a couch away. Then he drops back down next to me and hands me a glass of cool ice water.

  I grip it between sweaty palms. “Just talking about our future, of course. Our marriage, our prospective children.” I try to keep my voice hard, but I can’t help it. It cracks a little on the last word.

  Xander frowns, just a little, and glances from me to his father and back again. “Ah, I see. Jumping five paces ahead of yourself as usual, Dad, are you?” He forces a smile, and his father returns it, and I sip my water, praying to remain unnoticed in the background, at least for a little while longer.

  From there, the conversation shifts into easier topics, at least. Xander’s father asks about my career, my background. We agreed not to lie about more than absolutely necessary, so I tell the truth. I talk about being a waitress at a small-town restaurant, about my mother’s passing and me living with my childhood best friend as a roommate at the moment. Part of me worried about Xander’s father judging me. After all, my life is certainly very different from Xander’s, or any of the rest of his family’s.

  But far from it, his father seems impressed. “A good work ethic will serve you well no matter what field you enter,” he tells me again and again. “Service work is some of the hardest around, and servers don’t get nearly enough credit for it. So bravo to you for dealing with so many people in that capacity, day in and out.”

  I laugh, and to be honest, by the end of the night, I warm to William a lot more than I was expecting to. He’s funny, he’s smart. He doesn’t look down on me for my background or seem disappointed that his son selected some poor country girl to wife up. He just seems… genuinely happy that Xander’s getting married. And to someone who—at least according to the lies we just fed him—wants to start a family at some point.

  I’m not sure what I had been picturing tonight. Some miserly old man unwilling to give his son a penny of inheritance until he bent to his father’s will, I guess. But somehow, meeting William makes this whole thing all the more guilt-inducing. Whatever Xander wants from his father, how could it matter enough to lie to his face like this? If it’s just money, then isn’t Devan right? Doesn’t Xander have enough of that? After all, I’ve seen his penthouse, and the way he travels. I’ve used his limitless credit card.

  What more does he need?

  Those questions chase themselves through my mind as the night draws to an end, and William walks us to the front door. Before we leave, he hugs me again, tightly, and pats my shoulder as he lets me go. “Thank you,” he says, gaze fixed on my face. “For being here for him. Xander may not always know what he needs in life, but I have a feeling you’re it, Melanie.”

  The words sink like a weight straight to the pit of my stomach. If only you knew the truth, I think, but cannot say aloud. Instead I make myself smile and wave, and turn to hook my arm through Xander’s, so we can descend back down the ornate front steps to the car, where Andrew is leaning against the hood and texting as he waits for us.

  Before we’ve even reached the car, Xander catches me around the waist and pulls me into his arms. The front door is already shut, so I know it can’t be for his fath
er’s benefit. But still, he kisses me anyway, hard and full on the lips, his arms snaking around my waist to crush me against him. When we break apart, he smiles, breathless, his lips inches from mine. “You were perfect,” he whispers. “That was incredible.”

  “You think?” I murmur, hoping he won’t hear the pain and conflict in my voice.

  “Of course. He loved you.” Xander draws back and holds my hand, continuing the rest of the way down the steps to where Andrew holds our door.

  I hesitate outside the car, my arms crossed, not stepping inside the vehicle yet. Andrew takes one glance at my expression, then Xander’s, and quietly steps away from the car, pulling a cigarette from his pocket as he heads toward a far corner of the drive to give us space. “Does this mean he’ll give you what you want now?” I ask, my voice pitched low, so it won’t carry all the way up to the front door.

  “I think so.” Xander’s eyes look darker than ever in the dim evening light. He folds his arms, his frown deepening. “Is that your concern? Don’t worry. I should be able to convince him to keep his side of the bargain, to give me what I’ll need within a week or two at the most. You’ll be home soon.”

  My heart cracks in two at those words. Tears sting at the corners of my eyes, sudden and unexpected. “Is it really that simple?” I ask, my voice low and threaded with pain.

  His forehead knits with confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s that easy for you to walk away from this, isn’t it.” It’s not a question. I take one step back from him, then another.

  “Melanie.” Now he’s really frowning. “What are you talking about? This is what you wanted; what we agreed. Isn’t it? You get the money, you get your old life back… aren’t you having fun acting in the meantime?”

  The tears burn my eyes. They spill over down my cheeks, which are furiously hot. Whether my face is red from embarrassment or anger, I’m not sure. Either way, I don’t want Xander to see it. I don’t want to be standing here like this, so pathetic. I don’t want to be indebted to him anymore.

  I want to be with him. For real. But I know that can’t happen. It’s clear from the way he’s talking that I was never anything more than an actor to him. A liar and a fake. “I’m not the actor,” I growl, reaching up to grasp the ring on my left ring finger. It sticks around my knuckle—it really is the perfect size for me. I don’t know how Xander managed to get the size so perfect on the first try, after only knowing me for a few days. It takes a second for me to wrench it free. When I finally do, the diamond glitters in his father’s porch light. “You’re the actor, Xander. Because I started to actually believe you cared for me.” The tears fall hotter. Faster. “But that’s my fault. I see it now.”

  I shake my head and reach up to rub at the tears with the heel of my hand.

  “Melanie…” His expression, wounded and concerned all at once, nearly breaks me. Because he doesn’t look like a man in fear of losing his wife. He looks like someone worried about his business investment.

  Which I guess is all I ever was to him.

  “Keep your money,” I hiss. “Keep this too.” I throw the ring at his chest, hear it bounce off and skitter across the pavement, landing somewhere in the grass. I don’t pause to watch it go. I take off down the drive, only pausing for long enough to wrench off the stupid high heeled shoes he bought me.

  I’m not entirely sure what my plan is, or how I plan to get back to the city. I don’t even really know where we are. Somewhere not quite upstate but definitely not New York City anymore.

  Luckily, I don’t make it more than a few hundred feet before I hear a car creeping up slowly behind me. Andrew pulls even with me where I’m limping along the driveway—which is proving to be a lot more gravely than I’d anticipated at first glance, when I wrenched these shoes off in the first place. “Don’t worry,” Andrew says before I can refuse the ride. “I left Xander back at the house.” He nods toward the back seat. “Climb in.”

  But I don’t get into the back. I cross around the front of the car to the front seat instead, and slide into the passenger side beside Andrew.

  He waits for me to buckle up, and then he starts the long drive home in silence. For a while, neither of us break it. He drives without comment, eyes fixed on the road. I stare out the window, my tear-streaked reflection looking back at me in the glass. He only says one thing, when we finally reach the freeway back into the city.

  “Back to the penthouse?” he asks, like he already knows what my answer will be. Probably he does. Everyone here seems to know me better than I know myself.

  Everyone but Xander, the man I was pretending to marry. I swallow hard and run my hand across my eyelids until I see sparks flash behind them. “No,” I whisper. “No, I think it’s time for me to head home.”

  Without comment, without arguing, Andrew switches on his blinker and takes a different exit. He heads toward JFK instead.

  12

  Xander

  I sit on my father’s porch with my head in my hands. The ring glints on the sidewalk in front of me. It was easy to find. But I don’t pick it up. I don’t run after her. I’m trying to respect the space she clearly seems to want. I’m trying to process what the hell just happened, too.

  You’re the actor, Xander. I started to actually believe you cared for me…

  I do care for her. Obviously, or I wouldn’t have gone to all these lengths to provide for her. To make her as comfortable as she could possibly be here. To give her everything money could buy. To spoil her as much as I’m able. I wanted her to be happy, I wanted her to enjoy herself, I wanted her to have fun with this whole charade. But she didn’t look like she was having fun tonight. Tonight, she looked conflicted, hurt, upset…

  Earlier in the night, when I brought up the end of our arrangement, it was meant to soothe her. To reassure her that I wouldn’t try to trap her here or keep her locked into anything she didn’t agree to. After all, I thought she wanted the money out of this. I didn’t think she wanted to uproot and change her whole life for me.

  I didn’t think she wanted me for anything more than the fun we’ve been having. Which is why I tried to suppress my own reactions. It’s why I tried not to read anything more into this. It’s why I tried so damn hard not to fall for this woman, even when every muscle and bone in my body cried out for me to be with her.

  I thought the last few weeks would be enough to sate my desire for her, but every minute I spent with her just made me crave a hundred thousand more.

  I want her too. As more than my fake fiancée, as more than a pretend story to feed to my family. I want Melanie. I want to wake up beside her the same way we’ve been doing every day for the past several weeks. I want to kiss her senseless, I want to spend every night making her cry out with pleasure until she forgets her own name.

  I’m not an actor. My feelings for her are real.

  Shit.

  I shove to my feet and survey the road. I sent Andrew after Melanie, with orders to take her wherever she needed to go. It was the only way I could think to make sure she’d be safe, looked after, even if she didn’t want me to be the one there doing it. But now, I’m starting to regret that decision. It means I can’t chase after her and beg her to stay.

  Instead, I turn around and rush up the steps into the main house.

  “Forget something?” my father calls from somewhere upstairs.

  “I need the car,” I yell back. There’s a grumbling sound, followed by the clink of keys crashing down to marble.

  “Just bring it back in the morning,” my father replies before I even move a muscle. “And not a scratch on it, or it’s coming out of your salary.”

  I don’t wait for him to add more stipulations. I bolt out of the house and beeline for the garage, even as I reach into my pocket and snatch up my cell phone. I hit Andrew’s number on the recent dial list. But it just rings and rings and rings. The second time I try, it goes straight to voicemail. Bastard must have turned off his cell phone.

 
I open up Melanie’s number next and stare down at the digits, debating it. But what I have to say to her isn’t something I can explain over the phone.

  I hesitate, and then finally, I pocket the phone once more, and push the button to open the garage door. Home. They must have gone home.

  I reach the penthouse, only to find it dark, the hallways empty. In the past, I loved living alone. I enjoyed having this sanctuary to retreat to at the end of long business days. A place I could call my own, where no one would disturb me.

  Now, though, it just feels empty and cavernous. I tread through the halls, my heart racing as I hunt for any signs that Melanie has been here. Her bag is still in the bedroom, though I realize that aside from the clothes I bought for her, nothing much in the bag itself is of value. Her toothbrush remains in its place in the bathroom. Her slippers are on the floor right where she kicked them off this afternoon, getting dressed before we left for my father’s place.

  How could I have been so stupid?

  All this time she was right here in front of me. The signs must have been there. Signs that she had more feelings for me than she was willing to let on. But I didn’t notice, because I was too busy trying to control my own emotions.

  I knew I was falling for her. Even back before I’d admitted it to myself. After the first night I spent with her, the whole week afterward that I couldn’t get her out of my head… I knew even back then. I understood that what I felt for Melanie was more than just attraction, more than just lust. There’s a reason she’s the girl I chose to ask, out of anyone I’ve ever met, to pull off this charade.

  It’s not like I haven’t been trying to get what Dad’s been holding over my head for years now. It’s not like I couldn’t have done this some other time, asked some other girl to pretend to get engaged to me in order to get the deeds, to get the keys to the one place I ever felt truly at home and safe. But I didn’t. Because I’d never met a girl I could really see myself marrying.