by Alexia Adams
A shadow loomed in front of her, and Analise put her hand up to shade her eyes. Erik stood no more than five feet from her.
“You’ve got to stop sneaking up on me,” she snapped. Her heart pounded, but she didn’t know if it was from Erik’s sudden appearance or just the fact that he was there.
“Sorry. I was going to call your name but thought that would frighten you as well. Are you normally this jumpy?” Erik reached out and grabbed the strap of her bag; instinctively, she clutched it closer. He raised an eyebrow and waited. Releasing her death grip, she let him carry it for her.
“Not usually. I guess I’m still jet-lagged.”
“When I came by the house this morning and you weren’t there, I thought you’d left. Again.”
This was going to come up and bite her in the ass during every conversation if they didn’t clear the air now. “Erik, I am truly sorry I left without saying good-bye.”
“Why did you leave? We were on the verge of something great. If you’d have stayed, we could have faced Karen’s death together. It would have made us stronger.”
“I left because I felt guilty for Karen’s death. I was pretty sure that in time you would see I was to blame. And I couldn’t bear to watch what we were to each other wither and die when you realized it was my fault.”
“Christ, Analise, how could you feel guilty? You weren’t to blame. You were her best friend.” He raked a hand through his hair.
“And as her best friend I should have done more. I should have stayed with her after school that day. I knew how upset she was. If I’d been a better friend … If I’d come over earlier … ” Instead of wasting time curling my hair because I wanted to look good for you.
“Stop right there. No one blamed you.”
She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the memory, but it was too strong. “Do you remember her funeral?”
“Yes.”
“I stood there in the pouring rain across from you trying to comfort your mother, and it hit me that I was the common denominator. First my mother. Then Karen. Two people I loved, both gone. I had to leave before anyone else I loved died.”
“Analise … ”
“I was eighteen, Erik. Finding your sister … it was too much for me. I had to get away. So I went back to France. I got counseling. And by the time I could face both those deaths rationally, you’d already gone to Toronto to start your law career. You had a new life, and all I had was emotional baggage. I thought I’d make something of myself so when we did meet again, I’d have something to offer. But then my career took off, and I figured you’d long forgotten about me.”
“I never forgot about you.”
“But you were better off without me. Look at you now—a top lawyer, the world at your feet. You’ve become an amazing man, Erik.”
And she was still dealing with dead loved ones.
Chapter 5
“Analise, can you pass me the flour?”
She put down the knife she’d been using to slice cabbage and passed the requested item to Tracy, Erik’s cousin’s wife. They were putting the final touches on a meal for the immediate family. Just a small gathering of fifty.
Overwhelmed by all the people, Analise had sought sanctuary in the kitchen. Tracy, originally from a small family herself, had taken pity on her and kept her occupied. Erik’s mother had popped in from time to time but left the bulk of the work for the two women to do.
“Do you think there’s enough?” Analise surveyed the plethora of dishes on every surface. There was enough food here to feed an entire African village for a week. Everyone had brought something with them, so only a few last-minute items remained to be prepared.
“You haven’t been to a Sigurdson family event before, have you? There won’t be a lot left over once this bunch get their plates loaded.” Tracy tasted the gravy she was stirring. It passed the flavor test, and she poured it into the waiting gravy boats.
Analise took a deep breath through her nose. Garlic, onion, and vinegar fought for dominance over the more subtle scents of cinnamon and paprika. She poured the mayonnaise mix on the chopped cabbage and stirred the coleslaw. As she was checking to make sure the cabbage was evenly coated with the sauce, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist. Her body tensed, and she grabbed the knife. Only when she recognized Erik’s aftershave did she release the blade and relax.
One dead fiancé is bad enough. Two, and people will start to talk.
“Something smells fabulous,” Erik said.
“It’s the food,” she answered. Her heartbeat slowly returned to normal only to speed up again when his lips pressed a soft kiss on her temple. How could Erik, with one small gesture done entirely to keep up the charade of a loving fiancé for his family, make her want him despite her better judgment? Had to be another inexplicable reaction to the recent upheaval in her life.
“It’s not food I’m craving at the moment,” he replied. His lips found the sensitive spot below her ear. Analise let her head fall back on Erik’s broad chest. Why was she fighting this attraction? After all of Jean-Claude’s lies, she owed him no loyalty. Perhaps she should melt in Erik’s heat and mold herself into a new woman.
“Are the tables set up out there?” Tracy’s voice broke through the fog of contentment that had invaded Analise’s brain. When was the last time she’d actually been happy?
“Mmm-hmm … ” Erik replied, his lips tracing their way back to her temple.
“Shoulda known better than to ask a man on the make,” Tracy said with a laugh. She wiped her hands on a towel and headed out the back screen door.
“Alone at last,” he whispered.
“Yes, so you can drop the play-acting,” she replied. Although her body protested, she wiggled out of his arms.
“You never know who’s watching. It’s better if we stay in character.” Erik reached for her again, but Analise managed to avoid his grasp.
“Make yourself useful and take some of this food outside,” she directed. If she was going to escape this pretense without further damage to her heart, she had better keep in mind that it was all a game.
“Not even married yet, and already you’re bossing me around.” Erik heaved a dramatic sigh; however, he picked up two laden platters and headed for the door. As he passed, he planted a kiss on her cheek. The feel of his lips against her skin lingered long after he’d disappeared outside.
All by herself for the first time in hours, Analise slumped onto a stool. Her original plan had been to slide into town, convince her grandfather to go on a brief holiday, then crawl into her Paris apartment and hide from the world for the next six months. Instead, she was neck-deep in family, pretending to love someone she hadn’t seen in ten years.
And for once she didn’t want to be anyplace else.
The back screen door slammed, and a steady stream of Erik’s relatives entered, each picking up a plate, bowl, or container, and exited. Within five minutes, the kitchen was empty of food, and she could hear a chorus of voices calling various children’s names to come and eat. She knew she should go out and join the crowd. Yet her feet wouldn’t move.
Putting her crossed arms on the counter, she rested her head.
Next thing she knew, Tracy tapped her on her shoulder. “If you want to be more comfortable, you can lie down on the bed in the spare room.”
“How long have I been asleep?” Analise stretched. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen asleep on a stool with her head on the breakfast bar. She’d never been so exhausted in her life.
“About twenty minutes. Erik had to, uh, help his mother with something. He asked me to check on you.”
In the hour before Analise had sought asylum in the kitchen, Susan Sigurdson had downed at least three glasses of wine. No doubt Erik was helping his mother sober up before his father’s arrival.
“Sorry. I know you must be busy looking after your children. The last thing you need is to babysit me.”
Tracy pulled out the stool next to Analise and
sat down. “My kids are playing with their cousins. Besides, there are half a dozen moms to keep an eye on them.”
“When Erik said this was going to be a small family dinner, I thought maybe ten, fifteen relatives.”
“It’s a bit overwhelming, isn’t it? You’ll get used to them. And if you need a break from all the noise, just pop into one of the bedrooms and hide under the coats. Don’t go into the bathroom, though—with this lot and two toilets you’d be lucky to get five minutes.”
Analise smiled. “You’re not from around here, then?”
“Lord, no. I’m from Kenora. I know, not a big town either. But compared to Gimli or Akureyri, it’s a metropolis. I can’t imagine how you must have felt coming from Paris to here.” A faint blush swept up her face. She must have been told of Analise’s exile. Before Analise could reassure her that sensitive topic was ancient history, Tracy continued, “What’s Paris really like? I’ve always dreamed of going there. We were supposed to go for our fifth wedding anniversary, but then I got pregnant.”
“It’s hard to be objective about Paris when you live there. As a tourist, it’s beautiful and romantic. As a citizen, it’s constant strikes and noise and, sorry to say, visitors clogging up the Metro and crowding in front of the masterpieces in the Louvre.”
Tracy seemed a bit disappointed.
“But on a warm spring evening, you can pick up a baguette from the boulangerie, grab some cheese and a bottle of red wine from the grocery, and head over to the Esplanade du Trocadéro. From there, you can watch the sun set and the lights of the Eiffel Tower twinkle in the dusk. If that doesn’t appease the soul of the most romantic, then I don’t know what will.”
“That’s why I chose it as the spot to propose.” Erik’s deep voice behind her made Analise jump.
She glared up at him. “I’m going to put bells on you so you stop sneaking up on me.”
“Better yet, stick by my side, and I won’t have to sneak up on you.” His arm wrapped around her shoulder, pulling her against his body.
“Erik! Erik!” His mother’s wail caused the smile on his face to falter.
“I guess Dad has arrived. Come with me?”
“I’ll be out in a moment,” Analise said.
What would Erik’s father say about his son’s alleged choice? Would he be as forgiving of her sudden disappearance as the rest of the family?
• • •
Having hauled a few more bales of straw from the barn for guests to sit on, Erik searched the crowd for Analise’s dark hair amongst the predominantly blond crowd. This was just the preliminary family reunion, immediate relatives only, and already his grandparents’ farm was overrun with people.
When he’d introduced Analise to his father and stepmother, his dad’s face had paled for a moment, but then his father had given her a hug and welcomed her to the family.
Erik’s eyes finally lit on his pretend fiancée.
A shot of heat seared his intestines before taking up residence further down. God, she was beautiful. Why hadn’t he followed her when she left ten years ago? Because you thought she’d be back, that she just needed a little time. He’d been so caught up in his own grief at losing his sister, he hadn’t realized the trauma Analise was going through. To be the one to find his sister’s body after what had happened to her mother—no wonder she’d needed to go away and get counseling.
But here they were again. And déjà vu was doing a number on him. As much as he tried to resist, tried to focus on his plan to ruin the man who was truly to blame for Karen’s death, he found himself drawn to Analise like he’d been in the past. He enjoyed her company, her quick sense of humor, and her appreciation for simple things—like the picnic on the beach yesterday. She’d been as happy munching sandwiches on the sand as other women he’d dated had been eating in a Michelin-star restaurant. Analise was no longer the girl who’d left him. She’d become an intriguing, beautiful woman he wanted to know better—much, much better, if his body had its way. Some things hadn’t changed.
Right now, she was pouring lemonade into cups for a group of children. The smile she gave his cousin Brent’s daughter didn’t reach her eyes. She played the part of his fiancée perfectly, except there was a sadness about her that didn’t jibe with the role of a happy bride-to-be. Most people had put it down to the recent loss of her grandmother. But he wondered how much had to do with the end of her engagement. And he intended to find out. First, he had to get someone else to support his mother so he could disappear for a while.
“Mom, I think Gran wants to speak with you.” Erik steered his mother over to where his grandmother was waving at them. He mouthed the words “thank you” before striding over to Analise. She saw him coming this time, so she didn’t jump at his arrival.
“You look like you could use a break. Come with me for a few minutes.” He took her hand and guided her away from the drinks table.
“But—”
“No buts. We’re an engaged couple sleeping at our respective grandparents’ places. People will expect us to sneak off for some alone time.”
“But—”
Erik spun her into his arms, put one hand on her face, and kissed her until she clung to him. It was meant to be a distraction tactic; however, it resulted in wiping all rational thought from his mind. Good thing all he had to think about at the moment was getting Analise alone. Raising his head, he caught grins on a few of his cousins’ faces. With his arm around her waist, he led her toward the barn.
Her steps faltered as they neared. “No, not in there.” Her voice was filled with anguish, her face drained of color.
The barn. His sister’s body. No, definitely not there. He bypassed the large, red building and strolled toward the trees at the back of the vegetable garden. Although planted to form a windbreak to protect the farmyard, it had been the perfect place to play as a child. Sure enough, a dozen or so children were either climbing the trees, yelling at others already up in the limbs, or trying to dislodge balls caught in the branches.
“There’s ice cream and cookies back at the house,” Erik announced.
The chorus of shrieks and squeals could probably be heard from the neighboring property. Within a minute, the woods were vacated. Pushing through the bushes, they came into a barren circle. A bed of leaves carpeted the area. He sat on the ground, his back against the trunk of a large silver birch and tugged on Analise’s arm to join him.
“Bring all your girlfriends here?” she asked as he directed her onto his lap.
“You’re the only fiancée I’ve brought here.”
“Well, I guess that’s something.”
He raised her face and kissed her soft lips, his hands running up and down her crossed arms until he felt her relax against him. Resisting the desire to make her melt, to take the longing that hummed through his veins to its natural conclusion, he contented himself with holding her. He needed to know what happened to her previous engagement. He couldn’t romance her if another man still held prime position in her heart.
Time to find out what he was up against.
• • •
Dieu, being held by Erik was becoming her addiction. His broad, muscled chest against her back, his strong arms around her … It was heaven. And rather than making her feel weak and small, she felt powerful, as though she were absorbing his strength. Most importantly, however, she felt cherished and cared for. Which was ridiculous, because it was all a sham. Too bad her body hadn’t got that memo.
With her back to his chest, she felt as much as heard his words. “How are you coping with my family? Anyone being too nosey?”
“No, everyone is very nice. A few remember me from … before. If this is just the immediate family, how many are you expecting for the full reunion next week?”
“A couple hundred, at least. Don’t worry, we’ve hired some caterers to look after a lot of the food management, so you won’t be stuck in the kitchen.”
“I didn’t mind.” And she didn’t; helping was part of w
ho she was. She needed to be needed. That was something that had been missing from her relationship with Jean-Claude; she’d never sensed that he needed her.
Erik took a deep breath, and she steeled herself for his next remark. “I know you don’t have much family … Did your ex-fiancé?”
Here it is, the interrogation about my previous engagement. “No, he was an orphan. That’s one of the reasons we connected.” Except Jean-Claude had never wanted family. Something that had begun to come between them the longer they’d been together.
“Tell me about him,” Erik prompted.
“Why?”
“Because you seem so sad. And I want to help, but I can’t unless I know what happened.” His voice was soft and gentle, coaxing the story from her.
The French government should try this interrogation technique—have a sensitive man cuddle the informant. It was way more effective than sleep deprivation and ice-cold showers.
“His name was Jean-Claude.”
“Why did you break up?”
“Because he died. I wasn’t woman enough for him to live for.” A shudder wracked her body, and he tightened his hold.
“You are more woman than most men can handle, Analise. What happened?”
“Turns out I never knew him. Our whole relationship was a sham.” Sound familiar? Maybe I’ve found a new career path—fake fiancée to manipulative men.
“How long were you together?”
“Four years. It started out as a working relationship. He was a freelance journalist.” Or so I thought. “I was a freelance photographer. We teamed up and worked together. It was a successful partnership. His articles and my photos sold to newspapers and magazines throughout the English- and French-speaking world. It was constant travel; as a situation died down, we’d move on to the next global hotspot.”
