Charade (A Fake Fiancée Romance) (Pretense and Promises Book 1) Page 9

  By the time Erica joined her mom in the kitchen, the turkey was already in the roaster and mom was cutting vegetables for a huge lettuce salad. “What can I do, mom?”

  “Help yourself to a little coffee first, honey.”

  Nodding, she noticed a big list written in Sharpie hanging on the refrigerator. Ah. So that was how mom did it. She had an agenda, a big to do list. After she poured coffee and doctored it with cream and sugar, she read through the laminated plan on the fridge. It was cute. There were big red Xs over the pie section, as well as the lines for turkey, Jello and cranberry salads, deviled eggs, and the relish tray. Next to the turkey, there was a line and mom had written 8:00 next to it. Erica knew that meant that either the turkey would be done by then (unlikely, because she could hardly even smell it yet) or—more likely—would need to be checked and basted.

  “So do you just work off your list here?”

  Erica could hear the smile in her mother’s voice. “Yes. I finally got smart a couple of years ago. I used to write out a list the week before and then check everything off and, at the end of the day, I’d toss it, but now I have a permanent one. I have a shopping list on the computer that I print out every year, so now I don’t forget anything. There’s no going back for anything. I’m completely prepared. The list really helps.”

  “So just go down it and find something?” She glanced at the next item. “You want me to prep the ham?”

  “No, I can do that, honey. What’s after that?”

  “It says yams.”

  “Okay, then you can start peeling—and you can peel the white potatoes, too, while you’re at it.”

  So Erica started working her little tail off, and she and her mother began chatting nonstop. When Brock got up an hour later, her mother offered him coffee.

  “I’d love some, but I want to take a jog first. Do you mind if I have a glass of water?”

  Erica tried not to smile because, in the short time she’d known Brock, he usually had a bottle of water—no ordinary plebian H2O from the faucet would ever be good enough for this man. “What? Drinking from the tap?”

  “I think I remember the water here tasting good and cold straight from the tap—and a lot safer to drink than in the city.”

  As he walked to the sink, Erica noticed he was wearing a black Adidas velour jacket and athletic pants with white stripes. Sure, she’d known Brock was in amazing shape but didn’t know he was into running—one of the most boring forms of exercise Erica could imagine.

  “Darren’s taking his walk before he settles in to watch football all day long. You might be able to catch him.”

  “I was thinking about running around campus—seeing if everything’s the same since I left it.”

  “I’m sure it’s beautiful right now, and the limbs of the trees probably still have snow on them from a few days ago.”

  “I know the sidewalks there will be clean enough for running. Plus I have an old route I used to run that starts at the library parking lot. I know where to run to get in one mile, two miles, or five, depending on my daily goals.”

  “This a serious thing with you?”

  “I try to run every day. I feel better when I do.”

  “Well, you haven’t lived at this elevation for a while, so be careful.”

  Brock smiled. “Thanks for the concern, Mrs. Larson, but I’ll be okay.”

  “Please call me Loretta.”

  “Loretta.” Brock set his now empty glass down next to the sink. “I’ll see you after a while, honey,” he said, kissing Erica on the temple. She was grateful he hadn’t tried to get all handsy with her like he’d been doing around his own family, because her reaction would likely have given her away to the woman who knew her better than most.

  “If you want some breakfast, I’m sure Darren will be in here when he gets back and he can make extra for you.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be good till the big meal, though.”

  After he left, following her mom’s directions, she checked on the ham and turkey, planning to baste both. Mom said, “He’s a handsome fellow, honey.”

  In her mind, she was telling herself, Think dreamy.

  Think sexy.

  Ooh. The sexy part wasn’t too hard, and she let her neurons grab onto that when she replied. “Yeah, he is, isn’t he?”

  “He seems to think the same about you.”

  Did he think she was sexy? That made her brain go places it really shouldn’t.

  She made sure her back was turned while she basted the turkey and gave her mom a not-quite-true answer. “Guess that’s why we’re getting married. We’re compatible.”

  “So tell me how you met, honey, and what led you to deciding to marry so quickly.”

  Shit. This would involve a lot of lying (and she didn’t like the idea of lying to her parents—the pretense was bad enough), and she’d also have to update Brock so their stories meshed.

  Then again…adding some truth to it would help. “His brothers were the ones who interviewed me at the firm and subsequently hired me. I didn’t really meet Brock until he was working late one night and so was I—and he invited me to have coffee with him.” Mostly true. Choosing her words carefully, she could continue down that path. “We discovered we both had common goals—and it just kind of blossomed from there.” Now for some distraction. “He spoils me, mom. Look at this ring.”

  Her mother paused from chopping celery to gaze at the diamonds on Erica’s left finger. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before.”

  “And he moved me from a cubicle on the first floor to an office on the top with a view. I’m not stuck doing research anymore. I’m shadowing Brock right now, but the idea is I will soon be working with my own real clients with real cases.”

  “Good. I know you haven’t been too happy with what they’ve had you doing.”

  “I’m excited now for the first time in a long time.” And then she moved on to talking about some of the actual cases Brock was working on, careful not to breach any kind of confidentiality by not giving up details.

  But the distractions only worked so long. Mom kept asking questions about her and Brock, and she’d have to give another little white lie before turning the conversation back to mom, asking questions about family members, her job, dad’s job, what was going on in town, what their vacation plans were for next summer, etc., etc., etc. She thought she’d done an artful job keeping her mother off track.

  Mom must have sensed something, though, because the questions kept coming.

  What’s your official wedding date, honey? Sometime in the spring. We haven’t decided for sure yet.

  When do you want to have kids? Oh, geez, mom. I have no idea.

  He does want kids, doesn’t he?

  Gulp.

  Well, sure, why wouldn’t he?

  So how many kids do you want? Gosh, mom, can’t you just let us enjoy each other for a while before I start popping out kids? Besides, I need to relish my job first, don’t you think?

  Oh, of course, honey. I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just that Jeff’s finally started having children, and I think I love being a grandma. I know, mom. Sorry. I didn’t mean to fly off the handle like that.

  No, honey. It’s okay. I’m sure you’re getting questions like this from his family, too.

  Only in her mind did Erica think that no, the questions just didn’t have answers—meaning she and Brock probably had a lot more talking to do on the drive to Vail…because she didn’t want to be this un-fucking-prepared again.

  She hoped that, by Christmas, this whole charade would be over. Then she and her mother could have a calm, relaxing conversation again—and hopefully she could pull off a what-the-hell-had-I-been-thinking act.

  Maybe she should have gone jogging with her fake fiancé to take some pressure off. Damn it all to hell. Hindsight really was 20/20.

  * * *

  In spite of feeling a little overwhelmed by the enormity of Erica’s extended family and the gigantic feast her
mother had put together (not to mention all the food the relatives brought along to supplement what was already there), Brock felt surrounded by a cocoon of love, happiness, and camaraderie. It was so different from his own family’s gatherings. By the end of the meal, several of them, himself included, loaded dishes into the dishwasher together. Erica stationed herself at the sink to wash the pots and pans, and Loretta guided her helpers. Some were wrapping and covering up food while leaving it out for afternoon grazing, and a lot of the men were heading to the living room for an afternoon of football.

  Aunt June, Loretta’s sister, a heavyset woman with her shoulder-length hair dyed blonde, patted Brock on the shoulder. “Don’t tell anyone, but Erica is my favorite niece, and I’m happy to see that she snagged such a handsome fella for her husband.”

  Brock turned on the charm. “I’m the lucky one, June. I assure you.”

  Her lovely brown eyes twinkled. “I think you both are.”

  “You brought the dinner rolls, right?”

  “Yes—my mother’s original recipe.”

  “They were the highlight of the meal.”

  June giggled like a school girl. “Don’t tell Loretta that. The stuffing is supposed to be what everyone oohs and ahs over.”

  He winked. “It’s our little secret.”

  “So, Brock, I don’t know if anyone told you, but now you have two choices. A lot of the men—and my daughter Sidney—watch football the rest of the day like they hadn’t seen it a game for years. The rest of us play board and card games in the dining room. It makes for a good time.”

  June’s son Daniel, who appeared to be either a senior in high school or maybe even a college freshman, said, “Three choices, mom. Some of us head to the family room and either play videogames or nap. You know turkey makes me sleepy.”

  “You play football?”

  “Yeah. Running back. I’m hoping to be a starter next year.”

  Which meant college. Damn. That was how Brock could tell he was getting older—it was harder to gauge a younger person’s age. He nodded, hoping his face expressed to the young man that he was impressed. June kissed her son on the cheek and said, “So get to it, boy. I’m going to need you as my pinochle partner later.”

  “All right, ma.”

  After Daniel left, June said, “For now, handsome man, you’ll be my partner in whatever we play.”

  “I take it we’re in heavy competition?”

  “Oh, yes. And you just joined the winning team.”

  How this woman had discerned his competitive streak was beyond him, but it was on.

  And, throughout the laughter, the grazing, the joking and teasing, the winning and losing throughout the afternoon, Brock might not have fallen in love with Erica, but he had with her family…and, as he sipped a glass of egg nog later that evening, staring into the fire as a football game raged in the distance while people left one by one, his heart ached a little, remembering the real family, dysfunctions and all, he was going to be trying—and failing—to enjoy the next day.

  It almost made him want to tell Erica they could spend the entire weekend in Gunnison…if he didn’t think it would ruin his chances at inheriting his rightful place in his father’s firm.

  Maybe it was time to add some schnapps to the nog so he could sleep in peace later that evening.

  After a few minutes, Erica sat next to him. “Thanks for being so good to my family.”

  Pulling his eyes from the flames in the fireplace, he said, “Are you kidding? It was easy. Your entire family is friendly and funny and welcoming.” He took the last sip of his egg nog. “I wish I could say my family will be half as accommodating.”

  She was silent for a few moments before she said, “We come from different worlds; that’s all.”

  He could hear Erica’s mother and Aunt June, his game partner for a good chunk of the day, nearing them. He kept his voice low when he said, “Don’t panic, but I’m going to put my arm around your shoulders.”

  Smiling, she said, “Fair enough.”

  Hmm. Why was this getting easier?

  “There they are!” Aunt June’s voice filled the living room, in spite of the football game’s raucous sounds across the way. “We’re leaving now if Danny’ll get off that damn PlayStation.”

  Both Brock and Erica stood. June put her arms around Erica first, hugging her close. “It was so good seein’ you, girl. You hang on to this handsome devil of yours,” she said, winking at Brock. “I think he’s a keeper.”

  “Thank you,” Brock said as June moved to hug him and her daughter followed, wrapping her arms around Erica.

  June said, “Our Erica is a special girl. I’m so glad she’s found you.”

  How he was going to hate breaking all these people’s hearts—way more than his own family’s. Way more.

  * * *

  Brock’s driving didn’t seem nearly as scary the next day, even with all the mountainous roads they were sailing on. After a couple of hours, they were finally on the last stretch, heading up I-70 toward Vail, and the skies were clear. And although she’d had to cut her time with her family short, she could at least say it had been a great time.

  “Hey,” she said, and Brock tilted his head toward her. They’d been in another comfortable silence, and Erica still marveled at how it didn’t bother them. “I wanted to thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Well, one, for warning me last night that you were going to put your arm around me. It was much easier to pretend then. And thanks too for being so good with my family.”

  “Like I told you, Erica, your family’s easy to like. But now? Now we’re going into a little bit of a different situation.”

  “Yeah…but life’s what you make it, you know?”

  She knew his family and, even though she was irritated that they’d squandered her skills for so long, she felt like her chances of being appreciated were a thousand times better now.

  As they continued the ascent, barely noticeable even though they were speeding along the four-lane highway, just the way Brock seemed to like it, he said, “We’re almost there.”

  “This is a beautiful drive. I’ve never been to Vail.”

  “What? Are you kidding?”

  “No. I’ve been all over Colorado—my parents took me camping every summer, usually to someplace new every year—but we never came up here.”

  “I wonder why. This entire area is one of the most beautiful places in Colorado.”

  Erica started laughing. “If you have money.”

  Brock started to say something and then stopped himself. Probably a wise move. “Well, I think you’re going to like it. I want to show you the creek and the clock tower—hell, the charm of the whole town. There’s a bus that’ll take us anywhere we want to go. I promise you’ll love the natural beauty of it.”

  She had to get in a jab. “With or without the ski trails that have all the trees carved out?”

  “I forgot you’re not a skier. But it’s beautiful anyway.”

  On that subject, they would have to agree to disagree. But, because she’d never been here before, she really would have to reserve judgment until she saw it. And, so far, what she was seeing on the trip was absolutely beautiful. Of course, she’d always felt that, as long as she was in Colorado’s mountains, she couldn’t go wrong. Evergreen trees and aspens adorning a mountainside were her definition of awe-inspiring splendor, and man’s creations couldn’t touch what nature came up with.

  One thing she could say if he asked was that she loved how the mountains hugged them on both sides, creating a narrow valley of green and white. And finally, through the trees, she could see, below and to the left, signs of the town beneath all the snow.

  She had to admit, even if only to herself, that it really was gorgeous.

  “You like?”

  Damn him for reading her like a street sign. “Yes. It’s pretty up here.”

  “I knew you would. I can’t wait to show you everything I love about this p
lace. And I think my whole family feels the same way—so if we get on each other’s nerves, there are so many things about the village we can enjoy away from each other.” He took a right onto an exit ramp and said, “And I promise—no turkey here unless that’s what you want.”

  “I don’t mind. It’s only once a year.”

  “We’ll have some dining experiences. Even though we’re in a condo, my mom doesn’t cook. She did some when I was little, but I barely remember it. We had a chef by the time I was in school.”

  Brock’s mother seemed nice enough, but it made Erica wonder what the heck the woman did during the day if she didn’t do things like cooking. And she was just assuming that, if his mom didn’t cook, she didn’t clean either.

  As if he could read her thoughts, Brock said, “Mom ran several charities—still does, I think. She feels that donating your money and time is important for the betterment of mankind.”

  Okay, Erica could get behind that. “That’s cool. What are some of her charities?”

  “Hell, I couldn’t tell you. She changes them all the time anyway. You can ask her later.” Brock turned to the right and then said, “Don’t expect to be impressed. There usually isn’t anything in the bunch I’m familiar with but it’s better than her cooking.”

  What a grim assessment of his mother. She could tell there was some sort of fracture in the family makeup—well, obviously, considering the sons were vying for a piece of the pie and their dad had some unorthodox expectations for what would make his sons good lawyers.

  “I wish I could tell you what to expect, but it’s different every time. I do need to warn you that it’s a four-bedroom condo. I can sleep in the chair or on the floor, but I’d appreciate it if you could pretend like we’re sleeping together, just so it seems believable.”

  Ah…he was asking. She was grateful for that—and she hoped her gracious reply would communicate as much. “Of course. Your family is the reason why we’re doing this, so I understand it’s important that they believe we’re actually engaged.”