Her Faux Fiancé (6 page)

A hawk soared overhead, searching for an unwary rodent for lunch. The lens she’d used for the butterfly photo wasn’t long enough to capture the details on the bird. Reaching into her bag, she switched lenses without taking her eyes off the hawk. Animals weren’t her usual subject, but it made a relaxing change from the despair and violence she normally captured.

After snapping a few more shots, she felt around in her bag for the lens cap. When she pulled it out, it slid out of her hand and into the long grass. Putting the camera on top of her bag, she went in search of the protective cover. As she kneeled down she heard a snap. Typical. Well, she had several spares in her other bag. She picked up the broken plastic shards and was surprised to find a piece of paper sticking out from one of the bits. Examining the fragment closely, she realized a false backing had been put on the original lens cover and a piece of paper inserted in the gap.

Analise wiggled the paper out, careful not to tear the delicate note. It was almost transparent, the thinnest tracing paper she’d ever seen. A few faint squiggles in pencil were barely visible. She grabbed her macro lens, installed it, and took a shot of the paper against the backdrop of her dark bag. Then she viewed the image on her camera screen. The note still resembled a bunch of squiggles but in an organized pattern. Staring at the photo for several minutes brought no enlightenment.

A light breeze flipped the paper over on her bag. She snapped another photo and examined the image again. The markings looked more recognizable. Enlarging the image more, it suddenly made sense. Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart rate sped up. It was Jean-Claude’s version of Arabic script. With his perverse sense of humor, her late fiancé had always written his notes from left to right rather than the proper way. Without the diacritics, it took Analise twenty minutes to decipher the message. While she could speak Arabic with some fluency, reading it had always proved more challenging, especially written backwards.

Then a Yemeni phone number.

As if she didn’t already have enough governmental problems. Ringing an unknown contact in Yemen left to her by her dodgy spy lover would probably bring every antiterrorist organization in the western hemisphere down on her head. Still, Jean-Claude had put the note there on purpose. He’d undoubtedly foreseen what a mess he’d leave her in. She didn’t dare call from her grandfather’s landline. Seemed a trip to Winnipeg was on the week’s agenda.

She tucked the paper into a hole in the lining of her bag and repacked her lenses and camera. Everything back in place, she got to her feet. A bead of sweat tricked down her cheek, and she wiped her forehead on the short sleeve of her t-shirt. Wishing she’d brought her hat and a bottle of water, she swung the camera bag onto her shoulder. She was so used to its weight, she often found herself going to adjust the strap even when she wasn’t carrying the bag, like some people tried to push their glasses up their nose when the eyewear sat on the table next to them.

A shadow loomed in front of her, and Analise put her hand up to shade her eyes. Erik stood no more than five feet from her.

“You’ve got to stop sneaking up on me,” she snapped. Her heart pounded, but she didn’t know if it was from Erik’s sudden appearance or just the fact that he was there.

“Sorry. I was going to call your name but thought that would frighten you as well. Are you normally this jumpy?” Erik reached out and grabbed the strap of her bag; instinctively, she clutched it closer. He raised an eyebrow and waited. Releasing her death grip, she let him carry it for her.

“Not usually. I guess I’m still jet-lagged.”

“When I came by the house this morning and you weren’t there, I thought you’d left. Again.”

This was going to come up and bite her in the ass during every conversation if they didn’t clear the air now. “Erik, I am truly sorry I left without saying good-bye.”

“Why did you leave? We were on the verge of something great. If you’d have stayed, we could have faced Karen’s death together. It would have made us stronger.”

“I left because I felt guilty for Karen’s death. I was pretty sure that in time you would see I was to blame. And I couldn’t bear to watch what we were to each other wither and die when you realized it was my fault.”

“Christ, Analise, how could you feel guilty? You weren’t to blame. You were her best friend.” He raked a hand through his hair.

“And as her best friend I should have done more. I should have stayed with her after school that day. I knew how upset she was. If I’d been a better friend … If I’d come over earlier … ”
Instead of wasting time curling my hair because I wanted to look good for you
.

“Stop right there. No one blamed you.”

She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the memory, but it was too strong. “Do you remember her funeral?”

“Yes.”

“I stood there in the pouring rain across from you trying to comfort your mother, and it hit me that I was the common denominator. First my mother. Then Karen. Two people I loved, both gone. I had to leave before anyone else I loved died.”

“Analise … ”

“I was eighteen, Erik. Finding your sister … it was too much for me. I had to get away. So I went back to France. I got counseling. And by the time I could face both those deaths rationally, you’d already gone to Toronto to start your law career. You had a new life, and all I had was emotional baggage. I thought I’d make something of myself so when we did meet again, I’d have something to offer. But then my career took off, and I figured you’d long forgotten about me.”

“I never forgot about you.”

“But you were better off without me. Look at you now—a top lawyer, the world at your feet. You’ve become an amazing man, Erik.”

And she was still dealing with dead loved ones.

“Analise, can you pass me the flour?”

She put down the knife she’d been using to slice cabbage and passed the requested item to Tracy, Erik’s cousin’s wife. They were putting the final touches on a meal for the immediate family. Just a small gathering of fifty.

Overwhelmed by all the people, Analise had sought sanctuary in the kitchen. Tracy, originally from a small family herself, had taken pity on her and kept her occupied. Erik’s mother had popped in from time to time but left the bulk of the work for the two women to do.

“Do you think there’s enough?” Analise surveyed the plethora of dishes on every surface. There was enough food here to feed an entire African village for a week. Everyone had brought something with them, so only a few last-minute items remained to be prepared.

“You haven’t been to a Sigurdson family event before, have you? There won’t be a lot left over once this bunch get their plates loaded.” Tracy tasted the gravy she was stirring. It passed the flavor test, and she poured it into the waiting gravy boats.

Analise took a deep breath through her nose. Garlic, onion, and vinegar fought for dominance over the more subtle scents of cinnamon and paprika. She poured the mayonnaise mix on the chopped cabbage and stirred the coleslaw. As she was checking to make sure the cabbage was evenly coated with the sauce, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist. Her body tensed, and she grabbed the knife. Only when she recognized Erik’s aftershave did she release the blade and relax
.

One dead fiancé is bad enough. Two, and people will start to talk.

“Something smells fabulous,” Erik said.

“It’s the food,” she answered. Her heartbeat slowly returned to normal only to speed up again when his lips pressed a soft kiss on her temple. How could Erik, with one small gesture done entirely to keep up the charade of a loving fiancé for his family, make her want him despite her better judgment? Had to be another inexplicable reaction to the recent upheaval in her life.

“It’s not food I’m craving at the moment,” he replied. His lips found the sensitive spot below her ear. Analise let her head fall back on Erik’s broad chest. Why was she fighting this attraction? After all of Jean-Claude’s lies, she owed him no loyalty. Perhaps she should melt in Erik’s heat and mold herself into a new woman.

“Are the tables set up out there?” Tracy’s voice broke through the fog of contentment that had invaded Analise’s brain. When was the last time she’d actually been happy?

“Mmm-hmm … ” Erik replied, his lips tracing their way back to her temple.

“Shoulda known better than to ask a man on the make,” Tracy said with a laugh. She wiped her hands on a towel and headed out the back screen door.

“Alone at last,” he whispered.

“Yes, so you can drop the play-acting,” she replied. Although her body protested, she wiggled out of his arms.

“You never know who’s watching. It’s better if we stay in character.” Erik reached for her again, but Analise managed to avoid his grasp.

“Make yourself useful and take some of this food outside,” she directed. If she was going to escape this pretense without further damage to her heart, she had better keep in mind that it was all a game.

“Not even married yet, and already you’re bossing me around.” Erik heaved a dramatic sigh; however, he picked up two laden platters and headed for the door. As he passed, he planted a kiss on her cheek. The feel of his lips against her skin lingered long after he’d disappeared outside.

All by herself for the first time in hours, Analise slumped onto a stool. Her original plan had been to slide into town, convince her grandfather to go on a brief holiday, then crawl into her Paris apartment and hide from the world for the next six months. Instead, she was neck-deep in family, pretending to love someone she hadn’t seen in ten years.

And for once she didn’t want to be anyplace else.

The back screen door slammed, and a steady stream of Erik’s relatives entered, each picking up a plate, bowl, or container, and exited. Within five minutes, the kitchen was empty of food, and she could hear a chorus of voices calling various children’s names to come and eat. She knew she should go out and join the crowd. Yet her feet wouldn’t move.

Putting her crossed arms on the counter, she rested her head.

Next thing she knew, Tracy tapped her on her shoulder. “If you want to be more comfortable, you can lie down on the bed in the spare room.”

“How long have I been asleep?” Analise stretched. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen asleep on a stool with her head on the breakfast bar. She’d never been so exhausted in her life.

“About twenty minutes. Erik had to, uh, help his mother with something. He asked me to check on you.”

In the hour before Analise had sought asylum in the kitchen, Susan Sigurdson had downed at least three glasses of wine. No doubt Erik was helping his mother sober up before his father’s arrival.

“Sorry. I know you must be busy looking after your children. The last thing you need is to babysit me.”

Tracy pulled out the stool next to Analise and sat down. “My kids are playing with their cousins. Besides, there are half a dozen moms to keep an eye on them.”

“When Erik said this was going to be a small family dinner, I thought maybe ten, fifteen relatives.”

“It’s a bit overwhelming, isn’t it? You’ll get used to them. And if you need a break from all the noise, just pop into one of the bedrooms and hide under the coats. Don’t go into the bathroom, though—with this lot and two toilets you’d be lucky to get five minutes.”

Analise smiled. “You’re not from around here, then?”

“Lord, no. I’m from Kenora. I know, not a big town either. But compared to Gimli or Akureyri, it’s a metropolis. I can’t imagine how you must have felt coming from Paris to here.” A faint blush swept up her face. She must have been told of Analise’s exile. Before Analise could reassure her that sensitive topic was ancient history, Tracy continued, “What’s Paris really like? I’ve always dreamed of going there. We were supposed to go for our fifth wedding anniversary, but then I got pregnant.”

“It’s hard to be objective about Paris when you live there. As a tourist, it’s beautiful and romantic. As a citizen, it’s constant strikes and noise and, sorry to say, visitors clogging up the Metro and crowding in front of the masterpieces in the Louvre.”

Tracy seemed a bit disappointed.

“But on a warm spring evening, you can pick up a baguette from the
boulangerie
, grab some cheese and a bottle of red wine from the grocery, and head over to the Esplanade du Trocadéro. From there, you can watch the sun set and the lights of the Eiffel Tower twinkle in the dusk. If that doesn’t appease the soul of the most romantic, then I don’t know what will.”

“That’s why I chose it as the spot to propose.” Erik’s deep voice behind her made Analise jump.

She glared up at him. “I’m going to put bells on you so you stop sneaking up on me.”

“Better yet, stick by my side, and I won’t have to sneak up on you.” His arm wrapped around her shoulder, pulling her against his body.

“Erik! Erik!” His mother’s wail caused the smile on his face to falter.

“I guess Dad has arrived. Come with me?”

“I’ll be out in a moment,” Analise said.

What would Erik’s father say about his son’s alleged choice? Would he be as forgiving of her sudden disappearance as the rest of the family?

• • •

Having hauled a few more bales of straw from the barn for guests to sit on, Erik searched the crowd for Analise’s dark hair amongst the predominantly blond crowd. This was just the preliminary family reunion, immediate relatives only, and already his grandparents’ farm was overrun with people.

When he’d introduced Analise to his father and stepmother, his dad’s face had paled for a moment, but then his father had given her a hug and welcomed her to the family.

Erik’s eyes finally lit on his pretend fiancée.

A shot of heat seared his intestines before taking up residence further down. God, she was beautiful. Why hadn’t he followed her when she left ten years ago?
Because you thought she’d be back, that she just needed a little time.
He’d been so caught up in his own grief at losing his sister, he hadn’t realized the trauma Analise was going through. To be the one to find his sister’s body after what had happened to her mother—no wonder she’d needed to go away and get counseling.