Not Her Real Fiance

by Elana Johnson

  “That’s right,” he said with a smile. “Excuse me.” He did position himself through the crowd, leaving Celeste somewhere in the fray behind him. This restaurant was his idea of a nightmare, and he’d much rather drive through a burger joint and find a bench at South Port to eat than stay here for another minute.

  “Do you have a reservation?” the woman at the hostess stand asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “Brad Keith. It was at six, but I called and moved it to seven.”

  She looked down at her paper, which was filled with names and numbers and squares, all of it nothing but nonsense to Brad. “Your reservation was at six.”

  “I know,” he said. “I just said that. But I called and moved it to seven.”

  “I…don’t see that here.” She looked up at him as if he could decipher her number system.

  “Bradley Keith,” he said again. “I called just over an hour ago.”

  “Let me ask Marcus.” She turned toward another man, who stepped over and started studying the chart on the podium.

  “I’m so sorry, sir,” he said. “We don’t have any other tables, and we weren’t able to change your reservation from six to seven.”

  Frustration built within him. “That’s not what the woman said when I called.”

  “When did you call?” Marcus asked.

  Brad could see this was a fight he wasn’t going to win. “Never mind. Thank you so much.” He turned away from the hostess station as Marcus started to say something else. Suddenly, all of the eyes on him felt twice as heavy, and he shouldered his way back to where Celeste stood.

  “Bad news,” he said, leaning closer to her ear. The scent of roses met his nose, as did the brush of her hair against his cheek. “They gave our reservation away. How do you feel about hitting the food trucks at South Port?”

  The tenseness in her body testified that she didn’t feel great about it, but Brad didn’t know what else to do. At this time of night, every restaurant on the island would be busy.

  “Or you have a restaurant on-site at the hotel, don’t you?” he asked.

  “We can’t go there,” she said, turning to exit the building. The burst of sunshine shocked Brad, almost like he’d forgotten it was still light outside inside the dim restaurant.

  “Why not?”

  “And it’s an inn, not a hotel,” she said over her shoulder.

  Brad had seen her walk quickly in her heels, so it was no surprise that her stride in sandals was impressive. She ate up the distance back to the car, getting in before he could open her door.

  “So no to the inn,” he said, almost rolling his eyes.

  “No,” she said. “My family will see us.”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asked, confused. “Oh, and I got you a ring.”

  “I don’t necessarily want everyone to know we’re engaged,” she said. “But I think if you want to convince Carmen that we are, we’d better play the part for a little bit.”

  “Play the part,” Brad said, putting the car in gear and backing out of the spot. The sky held a shade of gold that took his breath away, and he added, “Look at that sunset. It’s gorgeous.”

  “I love watching the sun set,” she said, her voice wistful.

  “Me too.” He glanced at her, thinking something as simple as a sunset would be the first thing they had in common. “The sunsets over the Gulf of Mexico were amazing.”

  “I’ll bet.” She gave him a smile, and he turned onto the road. Getting to South Port took some fancy driving and a huge tip to a valet who insisted their lot was already full. But finally, they each had a tray with a footlong corndog and seasoned potato logs, little packets of ketchup, and a spot on a long stone wall looking out at the water.

  “Ah,” Brad said as he sat down. “This is what dinner should be.”

  Celeste made a noise of disbelief, and she shook her head. Saying nothing, she ripped open one of her packets of ketchup, a squeal coming from her mouth in the next moment.

  “What?” he asked, turning to look at her. Ketchup had splattered her face and the collar of her blouse.

  He couldn’t help the chuckles that came out of his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said, grabbing for an extra napkin. He started pawing at her blouse, only stopping when a growl came from her throat.

  Brad dropped the napkin and pulled his hand back. “Sorry.”

  “You certainly sound like it,” she said acidly, and Brad started laughing fully now.

  “Really,” he said. “Those ketchup packets can be lethal.” He bypassed the condiments and ate his corndog with only the mustard he’d squeezed all over it.

  Down the beach a ways, a band played, and several groups of people played games in the sand in front of them. A volleyball court sat to his left, and he watched the people batting the ball back and forth.

  Brad usually didn’t have trouble conversing with women, but he couldn’t think of a single thing to say to Celeste. They ate in silence, and she wasn’t bringing anything up either.

  He’d just finished eating when a cry went up. “Heads!” someone yelled, and he automatically looked up to find the ball.

  The white volleyball gleamed in the late evening light, and he said, “Watch out, Celeste,” only a moment before sand sprayed everywhere.

  Celeste screamed, and the volleyball bounced just behind her. The man that had been trying to get to it said, “I’m so sorry,” and bent to pick up Brad’s soda, which was covered in sand.

  He handed it to him, and Brad looked at Celeste. She sat very still, both arms held out to her sides, her tray of food on her lap, completely inedible now.

  She spit sand out of her mouth and started brushing herself off while horror moved through Brad. He wanted to help, but he didn’t dare touch her again.

  Celeste stood up and continued to pat herself down, trying to get the sand out of her hair and off her clothes. “Okay,” she said after a moment. “I’m done. Take me home, please.”

  Chapter Four

  Celeste was grateful Brad didn’t argue, and he didn’t try to help de-sand her. He drove her home and walked her up to the front door. “Sorry everything sort of fell apart,” he said.

  She’d never had a worse date than this one, fake or not, and all she could do was look at him.

  He dug in his pocket. “Did you want the ring?” He held it out to her, and she dropped her eyes to it. The gold band was thick, and it housed a diamond easily as big as her knuckle. The cut and setting might not be what she would’ve picked for herself, but as far as wedding rings went, it was great.

  She took it and slid it on her own finger, and though their engagement wasn’t real, Celeste couldn’t help thinking this was the worst proposal in the history of weddings. And she planned them for a living.

  Humiliation drove through her again, just like it had been for the past thirty minutes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten a corndog on the beach—or been denied at Radish.

  “We don’t need to do this,” he said.

  Celeste looked at him. “Six weeks.”

  “Is that a counter-offer?”

  “Maybe I’d like to have a fiancé this summer,” she said, thinking of all the fun she could have on the island if she had a handsome man on her arm. She didn’t have to marry him in the end. She was just tired of being alone, of waking Gwen when it was time for them to go to bed, of hoping one of her exes would text that day. So, so tired.

  “Do you object?” She had several, but she kept them all dormant, because Brad looked like he was seriously considering the engagement.

  His blue eyes flashed with fire. “Why me?”

  “You’re the one who asked me.”

  “I can just tell Carmen the truth.”

  “That woman will fillet you alive.” Celeste started working the ring off her finger again. “But okay. You take it—” Her voice muted as his fingers came over hers, the warmth seeping into her skin.

  “Keep it,” he said. “And maybe we can try
for a do-over at Radish tomorrow night.”

  Celeste didn’t know what to say, but she stalled in taking off the ring. She had no idea where the words came from, but it was her voice that said, “Sure, let’s try a do-over tomorrow night.”

  “Seven,” he said. “I’ll pick you up again.” And with that, he gave her a salute and walked away. Celeste watched him go for the second time that day, wondering what she’d gotten herself into. Why she’d wanted to keep this ruse going with a man that was her total opposite.

  Celeste slept little that night, and dawn found her in Gwen’s chair on the screened-in back porch. Celeste had never excelled with extra time on her hands. She got too deep inside her mind if she didn’t stay busy, and her string of texts proved it.

  If we do this, I think we need some rules.

  I have a couple in mind, and I’m open to suggestions.

  What do you think?

  She’d waited for a few minutes after sending those, actually surprised to get a response before she could continue. After all, it was barely six o’clock in the morning, and she hadn’t pegged Brad for an early riser.

  “Which is stupid,” she told herself, glancing up and searching for the horizon line that marked the spot where the ocean met the land. She and Gwen didn’t enjoy nearly the same beachfront property as Sheryl or Alissa, a couple of their sisters. “You barely know him at all.”

  Scratch that. She didn’t know him at all. She knew he’d grown up on the island, but he was a decade older than her, and six-year-olds weren’t aware of jocks in high school. She knew he’d played professional football for a long time.

  The control freak inside her wanted to do a search on the Internet, because it surely knew more about Bradley Keith than anyone or anything else. But the romantic in her wanted to get to know him the old-fashioned way.

  Sure, rules, go, he’d sent.

  Celeste’s perfectly crafted rules from her sleepless night suddenly vanished. The old-fashioned way of dating and getting to know someone didn’t require rules. Did it?

  She straightened her shoulders and shook her head a little to make her hair swish. She’d dealt with difficult and stressful situations way harder than a fake engagement to a gorgeous former athlete.

  “And now a small business owner,” she reminded herself. Well, and Midnight, her black miniature poodle who was currently conked out beside her on the loveseat.

  Six weeks, she typed. Then we can end things. That gets us through the bulk of summer. She sent the message, and before she could even start typing the next rule, he’d messaged back.

  Does it?

  Summer ends at the end of August here?

  I mean, I’ve been gone for a while, but seems like it goes all the way to Halloween to me.

  Celeste scoffed. “Halloween?”

  No, she typed out. The Fall Festival on the island is always the third week of September.

  Whatever you say, he said, and Celeste imagined him delivering it with a heavy dose of disbelief. Sarcasm. Mocking.

  Rule 2: No touching unless we’re in public. She sent the message, ignoring his rudeness. She was helping him, but in the back of her mind, she knew her perpetuation of this relationship had a lot to do with her too.

  Fine, he sent.

  Rule 3: No kissing.

  At all?

  At all.

  That seems impossible, he said.

  “Why would it be impossible?” Celeste asked as her fingers flew across the screen, typing out the same message.

  What if I need to kiss you in public?

  Why would anyone need to do that? Celeste had a personal vendetta against public displays of affection, and she could not imagine a situation where she’d kiss a man—and that included any man—in front of anyone else.

  Let’s recap a few facts, he said. You grew up on this island and your whole family lives here. I grew up here and have plenty of friends and family too. Do you really think we’re not going to have to work a little bit to convince them that we really are engaged?

  Celeste read his message, and then reread it. She relaxed so that her phone rested on her lap, and one hand reached over to absently stroke Midnight. She needed the dog’s comfort, and she made a small groan and stretched out her back legs as Celeste patted her.

  “He’s right,” she said, but she didn’t want to admit it. She’d have a few days before her sisters knew about her new boyfriend, and she’d have to have an explanation for the diamond on her finger.

  She glanced down at it, as she hadn’t taken it off yet.

  Fine, she typed out. Rule 3 is scratched.

  Any others? he asked, and Celeste appreciated that he didn’t gloat or make a big deal out of being right.

  If I think of more, I’ll let you know.

  Do you have any? she asked.

  Wear the ring all the time, he said.

  And tell as few lies as possible.

  A pang of regret hit Celeste’s heart. She didn’t go around lying to people either. Besides Gwen, she didn’t see her sisters all that much. And sometimes she and Gwen felt like ships passing in the night. In fact, her sister had already gone to the inn, which was why Celeste could have this texting conversation in private.

  All right, she sent to Brad. She wanted to invite him to eat lunch with her, but they already had a dinner date, and she didn’t want to seem desperate.

  She wasn’t desperate.

  She was helping him.

  He was not her real fiancé.

  Maybe if she repeated those facts to herself enough, she’d be able to stick her rules.

  “I have one more rule, just for myself,” she whispered to Midnight. “Don’t fall in love with him for real.”

  Celeste had always been very good at following the rules. So could only hope that winning streak could continue, because while Brad rubbed her the wrong way right now, she suspected he might be able to change that pretty quickly. After all, he was handsome, and rich, and a Carter’s Cove boy. Everything Celeste had always wanted.

  Chapter Five

  Brad got out of the shower, expecting a dozen more texts from Celeste outlining a few more rules she’d like to see for their relationship.

  The letters had jumbled, but he’d been able to put them together after a few minutes. Didn’t mean her rules made sense.

  He conjured up the beautiful blonde in his mind as he shaved. He could admit she was beautiful. But wow, she needed a beach vacation to take down her professionalism. He wondered what she’d look like without all the makeup, the perfectly positioned jewelry, the tight pencil skirts.

  She had worn jeans last night, and Brad secretly found himself hoping she’d wear those again. Or maybe he liked the skirts.

  “You don’t like any of it,” he told his reflection. He’d once been wound as tight as Celeste, and his doctor had put him on blood pressure medication to get him out of the danger zone for a heart attack.

  He’d calmed down after that. Let his manager take care of some things while he focused on just breathing. That was what Celeste needed to do, and being with her might just put him over the edge.

  He dressed and left the house, wishing he had a dog to say good-bye to. Even a cat, though Brad had never understood the value of felines before. He had a moment of missing the dogs and horses on the farm in Lexington, and he had the thought to call his grandfather. See how the operation was doing. He’d loved going to Kentucky in the spring and summer to work the thoroughbred farm with his granddad, and he often wondered if he should’ve gone there after retiring from football.

  You still can, he told himself. Projects would conclude, and he didn’t need to sign on more jobs. The thought mulling around inside his mind, he got behind the wheel of his truck, thinking he needed to get a motorcycle to be able to manage the summertime crowds. Of course, he’d thought that last year too, and he still had the king-cab-sized truck he practically needed a ladder to get into. He could’ve taken the convertible, but it wasn’t conducive to constr
uction sites.

  He’d never learned to cook, so he breakfasted each morning at Sunny’s, the chime on the door twinkling his arrival.

  “Morning, Brad,” Cindi said, not even bothering to pluck a menu from the pile before she led him to a small table in front of the window. “Coffee or hot chocolate today?”

  “Hot chocolate,” he said, already feeling wound up from the early-morning text-fest with Celeste. She’d woken him, as he didn’t usually go to his construction sites until a more normal hour, but he kept his phone on twenty-four-seven in case of emergencies. Things flooded and sparked, and he’d learned the hard way to be reachable.

  “Comin’ up.” Cindi walked away, and Brad pulled out his phone. He ate alone every morning, unless he’d specifically asked one of his foremen to join him so they could talk about a project. He read the Internet headlines, checked his email, and kept up with the Falcons. That would take him through when his food came, and then he put his screens away while he ate.

  Darius had emailed, and Brad smiled at his phone as he read his friend’s recap of a family vacation. Darius still played professional football, and their off-season wasn’t very long. He’d taken his wife and kids to Italy for a few weeks, and apparently, they’d gone to a beach where clothing was optional.

  Brad chuckled to himself, tapped out a quick response, and glanced up when his hot chocolate came. “Morning, honey,” Karen said with a smile. “How’s your mama?”

  “Just fine, ma’am,” he said, his southern roots slipping into his mouth. “It’s her birthday next week.” Even as he said it, horror hit him. His mother’s birthday. It would be normal to take a fiancée to that, wouldn’t it?

  A sigh filled his whole soul, and Karen cocked her head as part of it came out of his mouth. “You okay, honey? What’re you having today?”

  “The Big Ben,” he said. “Extra bacon.”

  “Double eggs?”

  “Yes.” As if he’d ever passed on the double eggs.

  “All right.” She walked away, and Brad returned his attention to his phone. He should call his mother, but he ended up dialing Bella, his younger sister.