by J. Saman
“Everyone is going to ask how you and Amelia met. You need a story.”
“We met in high school.”
She rolls eyes at me again and I’ve treated enough teenagers to know she’s only warming up. “Yes, Oliver. I’m aware. But it’s not like you and Amelia have been in a relationship since high school, have you?”
Yep, Layla definitely thinks I’m a moron. “Clearly not.”
“So, what’s your story for how you reunited?”
Oh. That.
“You obviously can’t say you met up last night. You need a story. And it has to be good because people love good love stories. You can’t go with you met at the grocery store or something lame like that unless you make it funny. Like Amelia accidentally knocked over an entire display stand of toilet paper and you came to her rescue.”
“Um.” Yeah. I’m at a loss.
“You could try saying you met at the hospital. Amelia’s in the OR at Brigham and Women’s two days a week. Where do you work?”
“The OR?”
“Oh my god. Are you for real?” Her hands fall to the table as she gapes incredulously at me. “How do you expect this to work if you don’t even know where your fiancée works?”
Shit. I don’t even know what my fiancée does for a living, let alone works. “Help me out?”
Layla levels me with her blue eyes. “She works for Dr. Mike Saggingballs.”
I choke out a strangled laugh.
“Layla!” Amelia admonishes from the other room. “I’ve asked you to stop calling him that. I nearly said it to his face the other day at work.”
I can’t fight the smile that explodes across my face as I try desperately not to laugh.
“Fine.” Another eye roll. “Dr. Mike Sagginalls. He’s a plastic surgeon. She’s his nurse.”
“You’re a nurse?” bellows past my lips because shit. That is not good. Not good at all.
“She wanted to be a doctor, but well, yeah, so now she’s a nurse.”
I close my eyes, falling back in my chair that creaks under my weight. “I date nurses.”
Layla snorts, her tone mocking. “Yeah. We know. Everyone knows. But why do you look like I just kicked your dog?”
“Because I serially date nurses.” More like take them out for dinner and then sleep with them, but who’s keeping track.
“You’ve got a type,” Layla says like it’s not a big thing. “Now you’ve met your match. Work with it.”
My eyes fly open, and I take in the kid before me. “How old are you?”
She sits up a little straighter, pinning her shoulders back. “I turned fourteen eighteen days ago.”
I can only shake my head at that. She doesn’t look like Amelia at all. Layla is tall and skinny as a rail. Her hair is blonde, and her eyes are cornflower blue. She’s pretty like Amelia though. She’s going to break a ton of hearts one day. Guys will flock to her, and she’ll eviscerate them with her smart mouth.
Same as she just did me.
“Alright, Sprite. Tell me, how should Amelia and I have met?”
Layla opens her mouth like she’s got it all mapped out when Amelia steps into the room, her heels clicking against the ancient linoleum floor. She’s wearing a navy-blue dress that hugs her gorgeous body to perfection without being tight or inappropriate, and matching navy heels. Her red hair is down, similar to how it was last night, and her makeup is minimal. Just some shimmery stuff on her eyelids, mascara, blush, and crimson gloss on her lips.
Oh, and my diamond on her hand, which shockingly only seems to be adding to her beauty. Odd that seeing it sparkle on her hand isn’t giving me palpitations. It didn’t last night either, which I still can’t figure out. Maybe because I know it’s fake? That has to be it.
But goddamn, she takes my breath away. “You look…” Words fail me. Words have never failed me. Not ever. “Stunning,” finally manages to escape.
I think I’m sweating, and it has nothing to do with the subtropical climate of their apartment. Holy Jesus, my fiancée is fucking hot. And crazy if she thinks I’m going to be able to keep my hands to myself. The greedy bastards are already twitching, begging to be set free on her. I’m going to fight heaven and hell to get her back into my bed again.
That’s for damn sure.
“Do I look appropriate to meet my fiancé’s parents?” Her face falls to her hands in shame and she sighs, shifting her weight from one heel to the other. “Layla, since the day you were born, all we’ve ever told you is that lying is bad and now you’re watching me do just that. I’m a terrible role model.”
“If it helps, I would have done it too,” she exclaims, chewing on her thumbnail. “I think it’s awesome and super cool. Like a prank on the planet.”
We haven’t told Layla why Amelia’s doing this. Amelia didn’t want her to know about the scholarship unless she has to.
“Dude, that’s almost exactly what I said last night.” I fist bump Layla, who is giving me a thousand-megawatt smile.
“Thank you. I don’t know if that helps or hurts.” Amelia’s hands fall to her sides.
“You could always wear your tattered Red Sox shirt,” Layla deadpans though there is mischief in her eyes. “Oh, or your pajama pants that are meant to look like baseball pants. Show off your fan-girl Red Sox nation side of things. That’ll really get the future in-laws jazzed about you.”
“Ha. Thank you for settling my nerves instead of hiking them up.”
“I’m only teasing. You look beautiful. Perfect.”
“Wait. You’re a Sox fan?” I interrupt.
“Not just a Sox fan,” Layla exclaims. “A psycho Sox fan. You should see her room. Her clothes. She’s like a twelve-year-old boy with this stuff. Trust me on that one. She has a particular seat on the couch she has to sit in to watch them and only certain foods she’ll eat during the game.”
“That’s not true,” Amelia squawks indignantly and I think a little embarrassed. “It doesn’t have to be the same every time.”
“Oh, you’re right.” Layla holds her hand up. “If they’re losing, you mix it up. I forgot.”
Amelia hisses something under her breath before reluctantly meeting my gaze. “Should we go? We should go. You said an hour. I don’t want to be late.”
“No way. I need to know more about this Sox obsession.” Because it’s adorable and unexpected and I love seeing her embarrassed and flustered. Plus, I might just be a diehard Sox fan myself—though clearly not as superstitious as she is—so if she has cool paraphernalia in her room…
“No. I don’t want to be late to meet them. Please. This is too important.”
Oh boy. She’s nervous as hell. And a little sick. Nothing about what I’m asking her to do sits right with her. She’s doing it for Layla, which I think officially makes her my hero because it doesn’t take a genius to understand all the sacrifices Amelia has made in her life for Layla without even blinking an eye or second-guessing them.
She takes care of Layla, but who takes care of her?
I stand up and clasp her hands, even with Layla no doubt watching us like a hawk. “Relax.”
“You said that to me last night, Oliver, and look where it got us.”
She has a point.
“Listen, it won’t be as bad as you think. My brothers already know. My sister Rina too because we’re very close, and if I tried to pass this as real, she’d call me out in a hot second. My parents are great and will love you. Plus, my niece Stella will be there, and she just turned thirteen, so I think she and Layla will get along well. And if the shit hits the fan, I’ll take full responsibility and keep up my side of things regardless.”
She tilts her head, studying me. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I can and the whole fake engagement thing was my idea to start with.” I cup her face. Her skin is so soft, and I have the biggest urge to kiss her sweet lips, but I won’t dare with Layla right here and Amelia still so unsure. “You still with me?”
She sigh
s while staring at me with something similar to fear in her eyes before she steels her features. Finally, she says, “Yes. I’m ready. Lord baby Jesus, I’m sweating like a preacher in church. If I start to smell, will you tell me?”
I chuckle. “Absolutely not. That’s how lesser men get hit. But you’re perfect. Just as Layla said. You’ve got this.”
Helping the ladies up into the Wagon, I listen as Layla goes crazy over it. I have two cars. One is a vintage Porsche 911 Carrera GTS—it’s what I drove last night. The other is my Mercedes G-Wagon, because this is still New England, and it likes to snow its balls off from time to time.
But if Layla’s going crazy over this car, I’m excited for her to see my parents’ place. Maybe it’s the family doctor in me who likes treating his pediatric patients more than his adult patients. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m the ‘fun’ uncle with Stella. Maybe it’s just that I really fucking like Layla a lot. But whatever it is, I have the biggest desire to spoil the kid rotten.
“Layla, have you ever ridden a horse?”
“A horse?” She cackles. “Yeah. Every day right after afternoon tea.”
“Layla,” Amelia admonishes. “Rude.”
“It’s fine,” I tell Amelia before catching Layla’s eye in the rearview mirror. “If you’re interested, my parents have a stable with horses. My mother loves to ride and now Stella is starting to get into it. If you want, I bet we could get you up on one today.”
“You’re for real?”
“I am with this.”
Amelia smirks at that, shaking her head as she stares out the window.
“Then hell yeah,” Layla screams excitedly. “I’d love to go riding.”
“Awesome. I’ll make sure you get set up when we get there. We won’t eat until around six-thirty, so that will give you plenty of time.”
Layla squeals in the back seat and Amelia turns to look at me, a soft appreciative smile on her lips. I catch her eye and she mouths, thank you. I toss her a wink back, my chest filling with some kind of strange sensation I have no name for or experience with.
I can’t even tell if I like it or not.
Whatever it is, it has me lifting her hand and kissing her knuckles before intertwining our fingers and holding her damn hand as I drive us to meet my parents. This feels like a date. But not just any date. Like a seriously important date. Like there is a lot riding on it, more than just the lie I’m about to tell that I’m trying damn hard not to think about or dwell on.
“I recognized you,” I say out of nowhere.
Amelia’s head flies in my direction. “Huh?”
“I saw you out with Layla…” I pause to think this through. “At the Barnes & Noble in the Prudential Mall. I was walking by, headed to grab a bite since I work at Hugh Healthcare in Copley, and I saw you. You were both in the romance section and I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I approached you and we got to talking. I convinced the two of you to have lunch with me and we started quietly dating after that because you don’t like media attention.”
Amelia makes a snorting noise. “Well, that part is true. Still, I like it.”
“I love it,” Layla whispers wistfully. “It’s sweet and romantic, believable even. How long have you been dating?”
“I checked into that,” I tell them. “I was last photographed with a woman about four and a half months ago. So, let’s say then. We kept it quiet because it came out of nowhere and took us by surprise with how fast and how hard we fell in love.”
“How long have we been engaged?” Amelia asks.
“I proposed to you the night before the reunion.”
“How did you propose?” Layla pushes, leaning forward from the middle seat, desperate to be in on the action. She likes this lie more than Amelia does. Amelia is a mask I can’t read, though she’s staring into the side of my face like her life depends on it.
How did I propose? I was going to propose to Nora at dinner. I had made reservations for us at a very expensive high-end restaurant in New York. It was under the pretenses of celebrating my acceptance to Columbia for med school, but I had the ring ready in my pocket. Then she gutted me like a fish before getting up and walking out on me right there before dessert was served.
So… not like that.
“You did it on your balcony,” Amelia says, breaking the silence, her voice a note above a whisper. “We were watching the sunrise, both of us needing to get ready for the day but stealing an extra moment together. Layla was still asleep in your guest room because she likes to sleep at your place. You put your arms around me from behind and whispered it in my ear.”
A rush of air invades my chest, my voice thick. “I like it.”
And I do, which really sucks. Something about that feels more intimate and genuine than getting down on one knee. It feels more romantic than all the grand gestures you see and hear about. Worst of all, I can picture it in my head. The way Amelia’s hair would look burnishing against the morning rays of the sun. The way her colorless eyes would glitter. How her body would feel pressed against mine. The way she’d smile and tear up.
The way my heart would pound for her.
I lick my suddenly dry lips, trying to swallow when my mouth is like a desert. I release her hand, bringing it back to the wheel.
What am I doing?
I don’t get involved. I don’t date seriously and I sure as shit don’t get engaged by whispering words of love and forever into a woman’s ear. That will never happen. I don’t want it to happen. I spent years of my life with a woman who I sacrificed everything for. Then she took all my love, all my devotion, all my fucking sacrifices, and threw them in my face.
Hell, I should have wrung her neck last night for all that she did to me.
But in severing my heart from my chest, she also did me a favor.
She taught me the hard lessons.
Live your life for yourself and no one else while guarding your heart against those who wish to use it against you.
I like Amelia. I always have. Last night with her was fantastic, and she’s helping me out now. I’ll play my part. I’ll be the doting and in love fiancé. But that doesn’t mean I’m about to let any of this turn real.
Three months.
That’s what we agreed on. And after those three months are up, Amelia will be gone, and my life will return to the way it’s supposed to be. It has to.
9
AMELIA
The rest of the car ride is eerily quiet. At least it is between Oliver and me. Layla, if she feels the tension, isn’t bothered by it. She’s chatting away about this, that, and the other thing. All the while, my mind is in a tailspin. It’s stuck on some weird acid trip, stranded between parallel universes.
One real.
The other fake.
I want Oliver’s parents to like me. I want his family to like me. I want them all to like Layla.
But it would be SO much easier if they hated me.
I feel like all of this would be easier if I hadn’t slept with him. If I had never had a crazy, useless crush on him growing up. If I had just met him last night, none of this would be a problem. But even though I didn’t exactly know Oliver growing up, I watched him. I daydreamed about him. I fantasized. I admired. I desired.
Then last night happened and now…
I keep having to tell myself that it’s pretend, and there is a very real and important end game for me. Problem is, I shouldn’t have to already tell myself this on day freaking one. My plan is to mentally and emotionally detach. I will treat this clinically. Play it off as some sort of whacked sociology experiment and nothing more.
I don’t have time or space in my life for the likes of Oliver Fritz. If I let him, he’d plow through me like a tornado, over in the blink of an eye and destructive as fuck. I can’t allow him to annihilate what little Layla and I are already clinging to. I’ve lost enough already.
I knew that last night and now it’s become my mantra.
Especially as we pull into his pa
rents’ compound. And compound is absolutely the correct term for this place. The grounds are massive and meticulously maintained. There are gardens—both flower and vegetable. Stables as previously mentioned. A guest house and staff house, tennis courts, and an Olympic-size swimming pool complete with a grotto and whirlpool.
And that’s not even including the main house, which is the size of a hotel.
Layla’s jaw is completely unhinged, her eyes have officially fallen out of her head.
“Believe it or not, I’ve been here before. Once.”
Oliver nods at me as he drives along the gravel path up to the circular drive that leads to the front of the house. “My graduation party. I remember.”
My head whips in his direction. “You do?”
“Yep. You wore a black bikini that made your alabaster skin glow, but your shoulders were getting a little burned. I brought you—”
“Sunscreen. You brought me sunscreen.”
His eyes meet mine briefly, and the small frown that had been sitting on his face for more than half the drive here is suddenly replaced with a wicked grin. He puts the car in park. “I believe I even offered to apply it for you.”
I grin back at him, relieved that whatever tension had settled between us after the engagement conversation now seems to be dissipating. “You did. I believe I tripped over my tongue and then you did it anyway when I couldn’t say yes or no.”
“That would be correct. Too bad Nora didn’t see me do it. Or know what I was thinking. Would have saved me a lot of years of bullshit.” He gives me another wink and then hops out of the car. Now my jaw is unhinged, but I quickly rein it, and my racing heart, back in.
“Oh, he totally likes you.”
“Zip it, Layla.”
She laughs at me, hopping out of the car without waiting on Oliver who comes around, opening my door for me and helping me down. He threads our fingers together, offering me a charming smile. “You ready?”
“No.”
He laughs. “Me either. But we’ll get through it together. With Layla as a buffer, of course. Good thing we decided to bring the Sprite along with us.”
