Accidental Fiancé

by R. R. Banks

  "Where did we meet?"

  "I don't really think that matters. We need to know about each other."

  "Don't you think people are going to ask?"

  "I have never been asked where I met the men I've dated."

  Of course, every man I've ever dated came from the same tiny town, so everybody already knew where I'd met them.

  "Have you dated many men?"

  Oh, shit. Did I type that rather than just think it? I scrolled back up in the conversation to make sure and was relieved to see that I hadn't. This man was just nosy. Of course, that was kind of the point.

  "Enough."

  That didn't mean that I needed to get into the nitty-gritty details of my love life. Or lack thereof.

  "So, what should I know about you? What's your favorite ice cream flavor?"

  "Ice cream?"

  "If we’ve been keeping our relationship casual, that means we've probably been meeting up for laid-back dates rather than anything fancy. So, we've probably gone out for ice cream. Haven't you ever seen a movie?"

  "That's actually pretty insightful. Mint chocolate chip."

  "Green or white?"

  "What?"

  "Green or white? Mint chocolate chip ice cream. Do you like the green or white? That's a detail a boyfriend would know."

  "You're right. It is very divisive. Green."

  "As unnatural as possible. I like your style."

  "And you? What flavor of ice cream do you like?"

  "Vanilla."

  "So, you're boring. Got it."

  "Vanilla isn't boring."

  "Actually, I think that it is so boring it is used in place of the word boring."

  "It's only boring if you want it to be. It's just like life. You can choose to be bored, or you can add sprinkles and hot fudge and maybe a chocolate chip cookie."

  "Now you've left ice cream territory. You are on to full-fledged desserts."

  "Too fast for you? Alright. We'll slow things down. Next question is yours."

  "OK. I'll get back to you."

  I closed out of the message and shoved my phone back into my purse. I didn't know why I had ended the conversation so abruptly. There was so little time to make it seem like we knew each other. But the exchange had taken me by surprise. Even as I got up to walk back out of the park and head home, my heart was fluttering slightly in my chest.

  Chapter Three

  Luca

  "Favorite baseball team?"

  I smiled at the message. It had been three days since I sent the first message to Roxie, and I was surprised at how happy I was to get another message from her. It had taken her several hours to come back with another question, and since then she would talk to me in bursts, disappearing for a couple of hours, and then returning as if the conversation had never ended.

  "Chicago."

  "Which one?"

  "Very good. That was a test."

  I was intrigued by her, and the idea of this whole experience sounded more interesting with every exchange. Besides, I had lost the bet, even if there was some trickery involved, and I always kept my word.

  "Favorite childhood pet?"

  "Never had one."

  "You never had a pet when you were little? Not even a goldfish?"

  "Still haven't. You?"

  "I had a menagerie growing up. Dogs, cats, fish, a couple ferrets. I had a turtle once for a very brief time, but it crawled away, and I couldn't catch it."

  "You couldn't catch a turtle?"

  "Well, I had it in a box when I was sitting on the back of a truck bed and it crawled out without me noticing. I got up and picked up the box, but the truck was already driving away, and I couldn't catch up with it. But I did get a very nice picture in the mail a few days later of him being released back into a river. So, I guess that was a good ending."

  "Good for the turtle."

  "Mr. Boxby."

  "Mr. Boxby."

  I sent an emoji of a hand holding up a glass in a toast.

  "Siblings?"

  "Only child. You?"

  "Four sisters."

  "Good gracious."

  "All married."

  "And things are becoming a little clearer."

  "I thought they might."

  I thought for a few seconds before I wrote the next message, not wanting to offend her.

  "Why aren't you married?"

  Maybe not the most eloquent approach, but it would get the job done.

  "I guess the tasteful thing to say would be that I haven't found the right guy yet. But the truth is closer to I fell in love with the wrong guy, and he put my heart over a cheese grater and used the pieces as a garnish for a picnic."

  "He cheated on you?"

  "Very publicly. Which brings us to why I needed a fake date in the first place. I have no prospects here, and I can't go back and face everyone I know still alone."

  "You won't. I'm totally on board."

  "Thank you."

  Over the next several days we continued to exchange messages, and finally, the wedding was close enough we needed to start planning the trip itself. A week before, I got another message from Roxie. I was enjoying starting my day with her random musings, so I was happy to see her name on the screen. The message, though, was not as pleasing.

  "We're going to have to leave a day early if that's at all possible. The drive is a nightmare, but I got us train tickets that can bring us to my hometown. From there, we'll ride with my parents to the bed and breakfast."

  She had mentioned she and the bride were so close throughout their lives that they were essentially family, and that her parents and siblings would all at the wedding. I just didn’t know that meant a cozy family road trip.

  "Are the train tickets refundable?"

  "You aren't backing out on me now, are you? You can't back out. I've already told my mother and Thea and one of my sisters who never returns my calls that I am bringing somebody. By now it has probably ended up in the church bulletin."

  "The church bulletin?"

  "Well, yeah. It's kind of news there. When I left for New York, they all said that I would be back within a few weeks and finally marry Little Larry out at the truck yard. He'd been eyeing me for years, and they just knew that's where I'd end up. When I didn't come back that soon, it became like one of those charts with the people who ride their bikes across the country. They like to keep track of me. You cannot be the reason they have to print a retraction."

  It came in several messages, each one more confusing than the next.

  "I have no idea what any of that meant, but you can tell me the story on the way. I'm not backing out. We're just not taking the train."

  "The drive to the resort would be really hard from the city."

  "Which is why we aren't driving, either. I have some connections with an airline. I'll get us a flight."

  "I can't let you do that."

  "Don't worry about it. It's not a big deal."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Absolutely. I'll make the arrangements and send you the details. You just show up and be gorgeous."

  I closed out the message and called the airport to arrange our flights. I wanted to make sure I got exactly what I wanted. It had been many years since I had flown commercial, but I didn't think that now was the time to introduce Roxie to my private jet. It would be easier to explain away tickets on a commercial flight without giving her too much insight into me or my financial situation. I spent the next few days packing and getting ready for the week ahead of me. Roxie sent me a picture of the itinerary Thea had sent her and I used it to pack what I thought I might need for the various activities and events of the week. I tossed in a few extra things just to make sure I would be ready for anything. I had been to enough weddings in my life to know that things didn't always go according to plan. If I was going to be the immensely impressive date that Roxie needed, I was going to need to be able to handle anything that came my way.

  The morning of our flight c
ame, and I packed everything into my car so that my driver could bring me to the airport. I had offered to pick Roxie up, but she insisted on getting there on her own. I pulled out my phone to send her a message as I made my way to the airport.

  "Good morning. Are you ready?"

  "If by ready you mean I have my clothes packed and haven't thrown up from nervousness yet, then yes, I'm ready."

  "We'll take that as a victory. Don't be nervous. It's a quick flight, and it will be over before you know it."

  "It's a four-hour flight and at the end of it is the Wedding Week from Hell."

  "Wow, you one big ray of sunshine, aren’t you."

  There was a long pause before I received another message.

  "I'll meet you at the airport."

  I put my phone back in my pocket and stared out the window at the traffic rushing past while we made our way to the airport. As we pulled into the parking lot, I realized that I felt unexpectedly anxious about seeing Roxie. I wasn't nervous, but it was something slightly off from excited. It was an undefinable feeling and one I couldn't remember having before. My driver brought me to the curb and I climbed out, scanning the front of the building for Roxie. She had sent me a picture of herself so I would know what she looked like, not knowing that Greg had shown me the candid shot sent by his sister. I had laughed when I saw it, noticing how obvious it was that she was trying really hard to look good. I didn't know if Roxie took the picture specifically for me or if it had been lingering on her phone for quite some time, but by the look of it, it was a throwback from an unsuccessful foray into online dating. It was one of those pictures that looked like it had been taken by a girl ten years her junior, the phone held high above her as she sat at an unnatural angle and gazed up at the camera. At least she had the decency not to resurrect the duck face. Although the picture seemed dated, there was something about her emerald green eyes that pulled me in. She really was a beautiful woman.

  Something about the picture intrigued me even more than Roxie had already. It didn't seem to fit the woman I had gotten to know over text, but I guess it kind of did. Although we were actually meeting for the first time today, I felt like I already had a good understanding of the kind of person she was. She was smart, snappy, and hilarious, but awkward at the same time. It seemed like her awareness of herself went in and out, causing moments when she was comfortable and relaxed, while other times I could tell she was overthinking what she had said, like she thought that I was scrutinizing her. That seemed like what had been happening when she took the picture. At that moment she was acutely aware she was sending me what she thought was my first glimpse of her. She wanted to do her best to impress me and make sure I didn't regret my decision to do this when I saw her.

  I had picked up the bags my driver had taken out of the trunk and started to walk toward the door when I noticed Roxie. Her body was turned away from me, but as she glanced over her shoulder, I could see the profile of her face and her shimmering blonde locks tumbling down the curve of her neck. She was shorter than I imagined. Five-foot-four, maybe, with plump, kissable lips and a curvy, athletic body. Almost as though she could feel me looking at her, she turned, and our eyes met. She didn't smile.

  Well, that's not a good sign.

  "Luca?"

  I had been near her for approximately fifteen seconds and she already seemed upset. I looked around and then back at her.

  "Did several other men who look like me come by since you've been waiting?" I teased.

  Roxie looked flustered by the question.

  "No. I just –" she paused, and her hands swirled around in front of her for a few seconds as if she was willing the right words to come to mind. After a few seconds, they flopped down in defeat and I realized her brain had not complied with her request. "What else was I supposed to say?"

  I tilted my head at her quizzically.

  "Maybe hello?"

  Roxie pressed her fingers to her temples and looked down on the sidewalk, drawing in a breath.

  "OK. I – we – seriously don't have time for this. We need to get to the plane."

  I noticed her voice was trembling slightly and I took a step toward her. Even though this was the first time that we had met in person, I already felt a sense of protectiveness over her.

  "Roxie? Are you alright?"

  She didn't look up at me.

  "I'm just a little nervous," she said.

  "About the wedding? It’ll be fine.”

  She looked up at me sharply.

  "What do you mean it's going to be fine?" she asked suspiciously.

  "I mean it's going to be fine. You’re nervous about the wedding, right?"

  "I wasn't nervous about the wedding," she said, her voice creeping higher as if it was a ridiculous thing to even consider.

  "That's good. I just assumed…"

  "Well, now I am, thank you! Now that you had to go and say that it was going to be fine!"

  By the end of the sentence, her voice had reached a nearly panicked pitch. I looked at her blankly for a few seconds, feeling at a loss for words.

  "I'm not really following what happened here," I finally admitted. "Is something wrong with 'fine'?"

  "Of course, something is wrong with fine. Fine is the epitome of passive-aggressiveness. Fine is the word that people say when things are terrible, but they don't want to say they're terrible, so they just say they're fine. Like if you were really in the mood for lasagna for dinner but your mom made meatloaf. You don't want to hurt her feelings, so you say...it's fine. Or your roommate bought a new dress and it's at least two sizes too small but she's been really down on herself recently and you know that it's because of that bad breakup with the guy who told her she was fat, so you don't want to tell her that it looks awful, but you can't tell her that it looks good either. So you say...it's fine."

  The stream of words spilling out of her mouth seemed to leave her breathless.

  "The wedding is not going to be meatloaf," I said.

  What the hell did I just say?

  Roxie narrowed her eyes at me and we seemed locked in a stalemate, neither one of us entirely sure of where the conversation was going.

  "I don't like flying," she finally said.

  Oh.

  "Why in the hell didn't you tell me? We could have taken the train."

  "You specifically told me to cancel the train tickets."

  "Because flying is faster. How was I to know that you didn't like to fly."

  "I don't like to fly."

  "That's not particularly helpful at this point."

  This was turning out spectacularly already.

  "Let's just go. I'll feel better once I'm on the plane."

  "Exactly," I said, heading with her through the door and into the lobby. "Once you're on the plane, you'll settle in and see that everything is going to be just fi— fantastic."

  "Actually, once I'm on the plane and strapped down, I just tell myself there's no escape, so I might as well not resist."

  Alright, then.

  "I promise you are safe. The flight is going to go by so fast you won't even realize it. It's going to be over and that's the first challenge. Once that's done, you've already accomplished something, right? I think that not dying on the flight trumps getting to the resort and seeing everybody for the first time. Then it's just one thing at a time from there."

  Roxie drew in a breath as if to steady herself and then nodded.

  "Yes."

  "Good. Alright. Let's get our boarding passes and get this faux-mantic getaway started."

  We had been making our way toward the ticket counter, but as soon as I said that, she stopped.

  "Faux-mantic?" she said, her tone expressing her disbelief that I had just said those words out loud.

  "Yeah," I said with a shrug.

  She stared at me for a few more seconds and then shook her head as she started walking again.

  "I'm going to have to ask you not to talk during the flight."

  I chuckled and fo
llowed her. We stepped up to the counter and I shot a grin to the bored-looking woman behind the computer. She immediately perked up and I noticed a hint of color splash onto her cheeks.

  "We need to pick up our boarding passes for the 10 o'clock flight," I said.

  "You can use the self-service kiosks," she said, then smiled a little bigger. "But I'd be happy to help you. What's the name?"

  "They're under Luca Cavett."

  She turned toward her computer.

  "Lucky her," she murmured.

  "I think we'll just use the kiosk. Thank you," Roxie said.

  She turned on her heel and stalked toward the bank of machines a few feet away. I caught up with her and looked down at her questioningly.

  "What was that all about?"

  "If this is going to work, you can't flirt with other women."

  "I wasn't flirting with her. She was just doing her job."

  "Either you are really good at covering your ass, or you think you can charm your way out of anything." Both, actually. "Or you are painfully unaware of your surroundings."

  Oh.

  "Maybe I just prefer not to think every woman I smile at is going to suddenly be overwhelmed with attraction to me."