Knowing I’d raise suspicion if I didn’t get my head out of the stainless-steel Kenmare soon, I filled my glass and rejoined Will and my family, which included my paternal grandparents—Nana and Pop Pop Lane. Will and my dad were discussing the holiday playlist. The song selection for the Lane Christmas was something my dad took very seriously. Most families probably listened to back-to-back Christmas albums in their entirety—maybe Harry Connick Junior, Elvis Presley, or even the soundtrack from Love, Actually—but we did things differently. Each year, my dad created a new playlist by selecting individual songs from some of his more than two-hundred holiday albums. Every guest was asked to contribute one song and the goal was to stump my dad by choosing a tune he didn’t own or even recognize. It was probably nineteen hundred and something the last time Kevin Lane admitted defeat.
My dad draped an arm congenially across Will’s shoulder and announced, “Will’s ready to give his song choice. Think you can astound us with your selection?”
Will tapped his fingers together and took a slow glance around the room, stopping when his eyes met mine. He smiled sheepishly. “Robyn warned me the odds were about a million to one, but you can’t win if you don’t play.”
“Atta boy,” my mom called out in encouragement.
After emptying his glass of sangria, Will said, “Drum roll, please.”
Everyone obliged, and I couldn’t contain my smile at how seriously he was taking this.
Will cleared his throat. “My contribution is ‘I Want An Alien for Christmas’ by Fountains of Wayne.” He seemed to hold his breath awaiting the family’s response.
At first, no one said anything, and I wasn’t sure how my father was going to handle it. This was his stage and the rest of us were just players, but after a moment, he clapped Will on his back. “Well, I’ll be damned. You did it. No guest to the Lane family Christmas has contributed an original song in this decade until now.”
Will’s mouth dropped open. “Really?”
My dad slowly shook his head. “Not really.” Pointing at me, he said, “But you were close. Your girlfriend already chose the same song.”
When everyone glanced my way, I shrugged. “Sorry.”
“At least we know he didn’t cheat,” Jordy said.
“It was a great effort, Will. Better luck next year,” my mom said before refilling his glass.
Will walked over to me and smiled softly. “I can’t believe we both chose the same song.” He’d been companionable to me all day, appearing to have recovered from whatever had plagued him the night before. Unless it was part of his performance. He could probably give Perry a run for his money in terms of staying in character.
“Great minds,” I said. “Although you did better than most. Typically, guests—even repeat ones—pick songs we’ve included many times before. They don’t even try. Not only did you make an honest effort, but you would have won if I didn’t get to my dad first.”
“You’re saying it’s all your fault then?” Will teased, his hazel eyes twinkling. “Maybe I should hold back your present.”
“A gift? For me?” I hopped on my toes as excitement danced under my skin. I wasn’t expecting anything from Will. His mere participation in this farce already went above and beyond.
“Yes, a gift. For you,” he said, mimicking the eager tone of my voice. “Do you want it now?”
Nodding, I said, “I’ll give you mine now too.” I reached under the tree to where I’d left his gifts the night before and placed them on the floor by my feet. I wondered if he bought my gift at the mall when we’d separated, like I had for him.
Handing me a small box wrapped in mauve-colored paper and tied with a white ribbon, he said, “Merry Chrismukkah, Snow.”
I gasped. “You bought me something from Pandora?” A minute ago, I’d been pleased with what I’d chosen for him but not so much anymore. I tentatively removed the box from his hand.
“I noticed your bracelet. Sidney has the same…” Will’s face turned red as he realized his faux pas, and he coughed. He glanced at my family before turning back to me. “Pandora is the only commercial you don’t fast forward. I figured you were trying to tell me something.” He raised his eyebrows, clueing me into his lie to cover up his almost mistake. “Open it.”
Of course, we’d never watched television together, and my eyes widened in awe at how fast he thought on his feet. I did as he asked. With shaky hands, I slid the ribbon off the box, ripped through the paper, and removed the lid. My heart jumped into my throat. It was a sterling silver tiara charm with “Snow White” engraved on the ball. When I lifted my gaze from the box, I felt Will’s eyes boring into mine and swallowed hard. “This is amazing. Thank you.” Since my family was watching, I knew limiting my gratitude to a verbal expression would seem weird. I stood on my tippy toes and placed a soft kiss on his mouth. I allowed my lips to linger a few seconds like a real girlfriend would before drawing back. Will’s face had reddened, and I felt the heat of his blush down to my toes.
“Apparently, Snow White does wear a crown,” he said, breaking the awkwardness.
I chuckled and held the charm up for the others to see. “Isn’t this great? You guys remember my nickname from school, right?” My family responded with collective approval of the gift choice.
“My turn,” Will said, bending down to pick up the two packages I’d purchased for him.
I chewed on my fingernails knowing how lame my gifts were compared to his.
When he opened the first one—Off Track Planet’s Travel Guide for the Young, Sexy, and Broke, I joked, “Two out of three ain’t bad.” The gift was inspired by our conversation at the mall about what Will liked to do in his free time. He was young and sexy, and even lawyers appreciated a good bargain.
“Maybe you guys can plan a vacation together,” my mom suggested.
“Great idea, Mrs. Lane,” Will said. “I love it, Snow. Thanks so much.”
Sensing his internal conflict over whether to kiss me again, I pushed the other gift toward him before he had a chance. “Next one.”
His eyes twinkled as he removed the trucker hat from the box and read the inscription. “This is awesome,” he said, placing the cap on his head. He repeated the words on the cap: “I’ve Got Rhythm.”
“You sure do,” my mom agreed.
“I almost bought you a t-shirt with the quote, ‘I sing way too much for someone who can’t sing,’ but I liked this better,” I confessed.
“Me too,” Will said. Pulling me into a hug, he mumbled, “Thanks, Snow” into my hair.
I’d debated buying Will Christmas presents because I feared it might make him uncomfortable, but I took the risk because I wanted to do something nice for him. Racing against the clock to find the perfect gifts with the hour we had apart brought me joy, as did the expression of happiness on his face when he opened them. I knew I wouldn’t experience the same pleasure giving Perry the gifts waiting for him at home—a royal blue cashmere sweater and tickets to see Finding Neverland on Broadway (again).
I looked over at Will, who was examining his new hat like it was a valuable collector’s item, and felt a heavy ache in my heart. In that moment I knew I had to end things with Perry regardless of whether I ever saw Will again after this week. The relaxed and low pressure nature of my relationship with Perry had felt right before and perhaps it was at one time, but I couldn’t go back. Even if I wanted to, it would no longer be the same.
As if reading my mind, Will tipped his hat at me and winked. Not wanting him to see the sadness in my eyes, I flashed a quick smile before kneeling in front of the tree to find the gifts I’d bought for my grandparents.
About a half hour later, all the presents had been exchanged and we snacked on appetizers—a shrimp cocktail and a sushi platter—our lame attempt at the Seven Fishes tradition.
“What is it you do, Will?” my nana asked, and I
wondered what took her so long to spark up conversation with him. Her blue eyes had followed him since she and my grandfather had arrived early in the morning. No matter where he was standing or with whom, Nana was always within earshot of his conversations, and I figured she had her hearing aid juiced to the highest volume so she wouldn’t miss a word.
“I’m a lawyer,” Will said, angling his chair in her direction.
Nana bit the top off a jumbo shrimp and swallowed it down. “You mean you play one on television?”
Will wrinkled his forehead. “Um, no. I’m a real attorney.”
My Pop Pop leaned forward in his bridge chair. “Like on The People’s Court or Judge Judy though, right? You don’t work at a real law firm,” he stated matter-of-factly as he scratched at the thin layer of silver hair on his head.
When Will glanced at me in amusement, I covered my eyes with a hand and sighed. “Will is a lawyer at a real law firm,” I said, dropping my hand to my side. My Nana’s mouth opened and anticipating her next words, I continued, “And, no, it’s not a reality show.”
“That was my next question,” Nana confirmed. “It must be because you can dance,” she said, motioning toward Will. “You know what they say about men with rhythm.”
I clamped a hand against my mouth to stifle giggles.
Pop Pop stood up. “You mean to tell me that Robyn Taylor Lane, my granddaughter…” He paused to point at me. “…is dating a regular person?”
“Didn’t think I’d live to see it,” Nana mumbled.
Will’s lips quivered and his face turned red. “Your middle name is Taylor?”
“Yes. What of it?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest. Of course, I had an inkling where this was going but held out hope I was wrong.
Will’s chest heaved up and down. “Nothing.”
“Stop it,” I said with a punch to his leg.
Glancing at my parents, he said, “The name choice was inspired by Taylor Dayne? Am I right?”
“You bet,” my dad confirmed. “Did you know ‘Love Will Lead You Back’ peaked the year Robyn was born?”
“Priceless,” Will mumbled under his breath.
Chapter 13
Sidney
I could feel Perry’s breath against my mouth as we continued to kiss. His fingers deftly lowered the zipper of my little black dress, and I dropped my hands from his hair. My eyes still closed, I blindly reached for his belt buckle.
The sound of boxes crashing brought me back to earth. I opened my eyes. “What the…”
A woman, probably a few years younger than me, stood before us in a black and white catering uniform. Her brunette hair was pulled back in a bun and her heavily painted red mouth contrasted with the paleness of her skin as she looked upon us in shock. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “Mr. Bellows asked me to bring out another bottle of Crown Royal. I saw you two and knocked down some cereal boxes while trying to make a quick escape.” She turned her back on us, knelt, and began picking up boxes of Corn Flakes and Lucky Charms—my dad’s favorite “healthy” and “not-so-healthy” cereals.
My breath coming quick, I glanced at Perry. His reflection mirrored my horror. The girl’s timing left me both mortified and extremely grateful. If she hadn’t come in when she did…I shook off the thought. Thank goodness she had. I’d find a way to give her an extra-large tip.
Perry removed his eyes from mine and tapped her on the back. “We’ll take care of this. You should get back with the whisky. Don’t want to leave thirsty party-goers hanging.”
The girl stood up. “Are you sure?” she asked while nervously straightening out her black skirt. The color slowly returned to her cheeks.
We replied, “Yes” at the same time and remained silent until we heard the pantry door close.
In a state of shock, I pulled on the bottom of my now-wrinkled little black dress.
Perry rested his gaze at the top of my head. “You might want to fix your hair.” Then he turned his back, buried his face in his hands, and mumbled, “What the hell were we thinking?”
A tsunami of guilt washed over me. I’d teased Will about keeping his hands to himself, but it never occurred to me I would be the adulteress in this situation. Even though none of my pairings since Jake had been serious, I’d never cheated on even my most casual boyfriends, much less gone after another girl’s guy. Hopelessly desperate to be absolved of blame, I said, “This is all your fault. You goaded me.” I smoothed down my hair—a delayed reaction to Perry’s earlier comment.
“Don’t even,” Perry said as he faced me again, his eyes lit in anger.
“You’re the one who accused me of wanting you to ‘bend me over.’”
“I wasn’t serious. Although, given the way you attacked me, I guess there was truth in the statement after all.” He removed two cereal boxes from the dusty floor and returned them to the shelf.
My stomach dropped as I recalled the animalistic way I’d hurled myself at him. It would be magically delicious if Lucky the Leprechaun could cast a spell so this never happened. The only saving grace was that we stopped before it went too far. “I didn’t see you pushing me away. In fact, you seemed very excited about it.” I raised an eyebrow.
“Schuester has a mind of his own,” Perry said, motioning to his privates.
“Schuester?”
“From Glee,” he said, rolling his eyes upward as if he’d chosen the name of someone who was actually famous, like Barack Obama or Michael Phelps.
“You named your penis after a character on Glee?”
“Not just any character—the one played by Matthew Morrison. Better his last name than his first.”
“What’s his first?”
“Will.” He gave me a wry smile.
Will. My stomach curdled as if I’d chugged sour milk. What was I going to say to Will? Even though we didn’t have sex, it was still cheating. My comments about Perry being a “blond god” notwithstanding, I knew Will trusted me. He was a stand-up guy who gave as good as he got. I pictured the disappointment on his face if he knew what I’d done and felt an ache in my gut.
“What are we going to do now?” Perry asked, interrupting my thoughts. His cerulean eyes pleaded for an easy solution.
Unfortunately, I had no quick fix for him. “Why are you asking me?”
“I thought you had all the answers.”
I bit my cheek. “I usually do, but not this time. What was I thinking?”
“Ah. A question I know the answer to.”
I hadn’t realized I’d asked it out loud. “Do tell,” I said, even though I doubted his ability to bestow wisdom at this time.
“You had to have the last word. I said you couldn’t handle me and your inflated ego wouldn’t allow you to let it go.”
“My inflated ago? Pot. Kettle. Black.”
Perry shrugged. “It’s the only reasonable answer to explain why you’d throw yourself at me—a guy who, regardless of his overwhelming charms, you don’t seem to like.”
I wasn’t ready to acknowledge there might be truth in his statement. “What was your excuse, then?”
At the same time, we said, “Schuester,” and chuckled. But we both knew it wasn’t a happy laugh; it was the sad laugh of two desperate, guilt-ridden people.
“I don’t think this is the best place to devise a game plan.” The walls of the oversized pantry seemed to be closing in on me and my lungs cried for fresh air. “For now, let’s go back and get hammered. We’ll worry about this tomorrow.”
Tapping my head, Perry said, “I knew my precious Cherry Bomb was in there somewhere.” He smiled at me.
I snorted and, in spite of myself, grinned back. Things would get ugly soon enough.
As promised, Perry and I rejoined the festivities and drank back-to-back Gin and Tonics, heavy on the gin and light on the tonic. We were both blitzed by
the time the formal dinner was served but managed to hide it well. Perry relied on his acting skills to feign sobriety, and I used sheer determination. On a positive note, Aaron spotted us entering the sitting room together and hadn’t bothered me since.
The antique Howard Miller grandfather clock in the formal dining room pinged six o’clock, and I happily noted we were well past the halfway mark for the day’s festivities. Dinner would be served, then dessert, followed by an hour of after-dinner digestifs during which the guests would begin their departures.
“This room…” Perry said as he scanned the large space, his eyes Olympic-sized pools of blue. He let his sentence drop off, but I knew what he was thinking.
My parents’ estate held two dining rooms—one for cold weather and one for formal dining in the spring and summer. The winter dining room, where Christmas was held, was a Federal/Georgian style with two black marble fireplaces on opposite sides. The long dark wood table, large enough to accommodate more than forty guests, looked like something out of Downton Abbey. But most impressive, at least in my opinion, was the mural they’d hired an artist to paint along an entire wall. It was a Tuscan landscape in a warm orangey hue that added warmth to a room mostly occupied by those not often described as warm and fuzzy.
“I know. It’s something, right?” I smiled at Perry. After we agreed our indiscretion was not up for discussion until later, we’d managed to get along. I suspected we were temporarily bonded by shared feelings of shame and nothing else, but I’d allowed myself to enjoy his company. It felt like the Last Supper before the reality of what we’d done would set in and we’d have to deal with it.
My mouth salivated at the sight of the warm crescent rolls circling the table and when the server got to me at last, I spread a hefty amount of soft butter on mine and took a bite. I closed my eyes to fully treasure the crispy outside and soft inside of the pastry. This was not a day for watching my calorie intake. The fattening dishes on the holiday menu were my most powerful motivator for pounding the icy pavement every morning when everyone else in my residence was still asleep. I also desperately needed to coat my stomach and sober up enough to nail my role as junior hostess. With my father holding court at one end of the table and my mother on the other, I was placed in the center to make sure just about everyone was in conversation-distance with a Bellows.
The Boyfriend Swap Page 18
