Save the Date (10 page)

“Can you save my girls’ home?” That was all she needed to know.

“Done.”

She moved to the chair farthest away from him. “Just like that? Impossible.”

His eyes seared into hers. “One of the first thing's my opponents would learn about me on the field—never underestimate me.”

“Your money,” she said. “You mean never underestimate
your money
.”

Something flicked in those eyes before he shrugged. “Whichever. I would think you’d be grateful for it. Money saved your house today.”

“Saving Grace gets to stay?”

“The city found a new location for its parking garage just a half a block down the road. And your home has a new owner.”

“What did you do, wave some cash and offer season tickets?”

“And a signed football for Mayor Billings’s son.” His fingers tapped the back of the couch. “Plus I had to make a sizable donation that would enable them to purchase the much more expensive property.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and extracted an envelope. “Per our discussion at lunch, I’ve drawn up our agreement.” Alex lifted a dark brow and took a quick perusal of Lucy. “Are you seriously so afraid of me that you can’t even sit on the same couch?”

Lucy brushed a wild curl out of her face. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Then prove it.” He patted the seat cushion beside him. “We have a contract to review before we go on our first outing as the town’s new power couple.” His eyes traveled down the length of her. “Nice outfit, by the way. I like my women fashionable.”

“My cheerleader uniform is at the cleaners.”

“I guess I’ll have to use my imagination.”

The soles of Lucy’s flats scuffed across the carpet as she joined him on the couch. She grabbed a throw pillow and held it to her stomach. “Please continue.”

“Are you going to be this uppity the entire time we’re dating?” He leaned in a few inches. “You’re going to have to learn to smile. Maybe even laugh from time to time.” He moved closer until their noses were nearly touching. “It’s important to my ego that you act like I’m irresistible. We wouldn’t want my self-esteem to suffer.”

His face was so close, Lucy could almost reach out and trace the tiny scar on his stubbly cheek. “I’ll just pretend you’re someone attractive— like Tom Brady.”

With a smile just this side of legal, he thrust the contract into her hands. “Just to review, we pretend to date for approximately one month. This time in June I will propose to you somewhere public and slightly humiliating to us both.” His voice was as expressionless as if discussing his preference in athletic socks. “In five months—a month before our wedding date—you and I will have a very amicable, very quiet separation. We will realize we both want different things and go our separate ways. This will be the story we’ll feed the press. No variations.”

“And who’s going to buy that we got engaged after a month of dating?”

“Already handled. I have a good friend who is a genius at photo editing. This week some pictures will be leaked of the two of us. We’ve been secretly seeing each other for the past four months.”

And what would Matt think when that hit the press?

“You can tell no one anything different,” he said as if reading her thoughts.

“I have to tell my best friend.”

“No.”

“Think about it. She and I talk every day, so she’ll see right through this.”

He rubbed the back of his neck as he considered this. “Do you know how much this story would be worth to a tabloid?”

“You can trust Morgan.”

He didn’t look like he believed her. “I have a whole team of attorneys. So I’m going to leave it up to you to decide whether you want to tell your friend or not. But know that if word gets out, I will make you and Morgan both regret you’ve ever heard my name.”

Lucy weakly bobbed her head in agreement. “I’ll need to tell one more person.” She would go to Matt. Explain it all. If she could wait two years, he could hold out for five months. Couldn’t he?

“I said one person.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Panic was an expanding pressure in her chest. “I can’t get into all this right now, but my ex-boyfriend—”

“I’ve done my homework. You’re not dating anyone.”

Lucy pulled herself up straighter on the couch. “Of all the nosy—”

“The guy from the gala?” He shook his head. “No.”

“My future depends on this.”

“Yes.” Alex had probably taken down entire teams with that mutinous glare. “It certainly does. You have a decision to make here. We either do this my way, or I walk. With the check and the deed.”

She turned her head and brushed a tear away with her finger. She thought of Trina, the twenty-year-old who had just gotten her associate’s degree and was on her way to the university in the fall. And Padma, who after a year at being at Saving Grace, was finally opening up about her brutal past. Then there was Marinell.

She would just pray that God would somehow speak truth to Matt’s heart.
Lord, I love that man. And the future I could have with him. Let it somehow be there when this is all over
.

“Fine.” Lucy slowly turned back to him. “Morgan will be the only one.”

Alex stood up and paced. “There’s no room for error here, Lucy.” He turned from his inspection of a signed photo of Leonard Nimoy. “I’ve got too much on the line.”

“I’m not going to screw this up.” But even as she said the words, doubts whispered in her ear
. A home. Family. Children. All gone
.

“For five months you act like I’m the planet your Starship Enterprise revolves around. That starts tonight. I have dinner reservations for us, then tickets for the theater.” That good-time grin was back. “I maintain your current salary and the funding you need. Then you’ll have the deed to your building when we’re done.”

“Plus the check?”

“It’s all yours.”

“Just like that?” It was so ridiculously complicated . . . yet so simple.

He handed her a pen. “Sign.”

His silver Montblanc bobbled in her fingers. She found his imposing signature. Studied its curves and angles. It was strong as he was, and just as hard to read.

Her heart crumbling into a thousand pieces, Lucy gripped the pen, then signed her name in an ink more permanent than their engagement.

When she looked up, she found him staring at the contract. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

He blinked and shook his dark head. “Of course not.” He offered her his arm. “Let’s get this courtship started.”

She slipped her arm through his and let him lead her to the door. “You should know I don’t put out for fake engagements.”

“You wait until the fake wedding?”

She sighed to herself. “A girl has to have her standards.”

Chapter Ten

L
ucy almost killed a man during dinner.

It was her nerves. They were shot. Completely gone. And when Lucy got nervous, she got fidgety. It was a curse she had been born with. In first grade during the final round of the spelling bee, Lucy was given the word
violin
. Anxiety dueled with her limited understanding of vowels and consonants, and so she panicked, knocking over the microphone and giving little Johnny Rodriguez a black eye. Then there had been the science fair in the eighth grade when she’d passed out in front of everyone and broken her nose. But had it been her fault that Rachel Akin had done an experiment involving fake blood
knowing
the very sight of it made Lucy light in the head? Lucy had earned a C on her project and a trip to the ER.

Throughout dinner at the Peninsula Grill, she had felt the same unease gnawing on her insides like rabid butterflies desperate for freedom. As Alex had casually made small talk and taken nice even bites of his filet mignon, the enormity of what she had agreed to played out in her head like a late-night movie. And the butterflies only flapped harder. In her defense, it wasn’t Lucy’s fault that the waiter reached for the breadbasket just as her knife slipped. Or that she knocked the water pitcher out of his hand in an attempt to help him. Or that he slipped on the ice and carried the whole tablecloth down with him.

Not her fault. Not her fault at all.

Lucy sat in the passenger seat of Alex’s black Mercedes and tried not to give into the threatening tears. She had survived much worse than this. Such as . . . well, she couldn’t recall anything more horrible right now, but surely there was something. She tried to focus on something else. Like the words she would give to Matt, cutting out his heart and forevermore ruining her future.

“The waiter will be fine.” Alex’s deep voice interrupted her self-pitying thoughts. “Didn’t you hear the maître’d say the bleeding had stopped?”

“No. I didn’t catch that.”

“Must’ve been when you had your head between your knees.”

“I don’t deal well with blood.”

“I wasn’t sure who to take care of first—you or the bleeder.”

She heard his laugh and turned to study his face in the dim lights of the car. “I’m sorry.”

“I believe you’ve said that already.”

“I just wanted to say it again.”

“Fifty times was more than plenty, Lucy.”

“I just . . . I have a lot to think about right now.” She pressed her forehead to the slick surface of the window.
God, when I open my eyes, can it be tomorrow
?

Alex adjusted his stereo until he found a classic rock station. “This isn’t easy for me either.”

“It was nice of you to pray for us at dinner.”

He made a quick glance in her direction. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

“I am,” she admitted. “I thought the only person Alex Sinclair worshiped was himself.”

There was no anger in the look he gave her. Only mild amusement. “I know who’s in charge.”

“I’m sure he’s
real
proud of us right now.” Alex had no response to that, so Lucy decided to change the topic. “Where are we going next?”

“Performing Arts Center. Some Russian ballet dancers are doing Swan Lake.” He maneuvered a turn and kept his eyes on the road. “There are some important people in attendance tonight.”

“The ballet?” She reached for his hand on the armrest. “Are you kidding me?”

“I wish I were. The Stingrays have a game, and I’d much rather be there. Do me a favor—only wake me up if I’m drooling. A light slumber is totally fine. But the whole mouth open, snoring thing is probably a bit much for tonight’s audience.”

“I’m not dressed for this sort of thing.” Her fitted sweater and 1950s cigarette pants were fine for running about town, but not for an evening of ballet.

“You look fine.”

Men. What did they know? “The Russian Ballet is a big deal.”

“It’s people in tutus. Men in tights twirling around.”

“Oh yeah, because football is so much better.”

“Don’t make me pull this car over.”

“A game where you’ve been the cold cut in many a man sandwich.”

She heard his deep, slow intake of breath. He was probably counting the reasons he had chosen the wrong fake girlfriend.

“You have to pretend you like the sport,” he finally said. “It’s in our contract.”

“Is that so?”

“Page seven. Item number four.”

She was pulling that blasted document out when she got home.

“Do you even know anything about football?”

She wiggled her captive toes in her flats. “You toss a ball around and throw people to the ground. What else is there to know?”

She could almost hear those perfectly white teeth grinding. “Okay, then, what’s a birdcage?”

Considering this, she tapped a finger to her lips. “The name of the bar where you met your last girlfriend?”

“A cut?”

“A fantasy I have involving your throat.”

His tan hands tightened on the steering wheel. “A hot receiver?”

“Um . . . a mistake you made in college?”

He unclenched his jaw and slid her a look. “You are one bitter woman, Lucy Wiltshire. I hope your hostility doesn’t rub off on our future fake children.” He signaled and made a left turn. “Are you also aware you have to call me Mr. Amazing Hotness for all dates involving artsy crap?”

“I most certainly do not.”

“Yep.” He pulled into the arts center parking lot. “A minimum of five times. Out loud. With lots of sighing.”

Though she tried not to, Lucy found herself smiling. She supposed laughing at his jokes didn’t mean that she liked him any more or imply any sort of surrender on the old grudge.

Alex parked the car, and Lucy opened her door.

“Shut that,” he commanded.

“Excuse me?”

He rolled those eyes that had no doubt caused many a female fan to swoon. “It’s my job to open the car door for you. Haven’t you ever dated a real man before?”

“Haven’t even seen one in days.”

He pulled his lithe form out of the car and reappeared at her door. “Take my hand like I’m the light of your life or our next date is at a sports bar with stale pretzels and ESPN.”

She slid her fingers through his. The warm night air whipped around them as they walked toward the arts center, and she inhaled the scent of him as it floated on the breeze. He smelled as enticing as he looked. It was a good thing Alex was the farthest thing from her type. She could see how easily a girl could fall for his charms. But she knew the real Alex. He was just a spoiled overgrown kid. One who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. And she would do well to remember that.

Lucy gasped as they entered the grand foyer. Little black dresses here, sequined formals there. She was surrounded by elegance. “You told me to dress nice,” she hissed. “You didn’t say this was a fancy event.” It was like God had delivered her back to high school again.

He waved to a man across the room, but his voice was just for her. “You look fine. It’s just a ballet.”

Lucy read a nearby sign. “The United Way benefit? You brought me to a rich person’s event?”

He smiled and spoke through gritted teeth. “Wipe the frown off your face,
sweetheart
. We’ve got people watching.” He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. “Governor,” his voice boomed. “Good to see you.” Lucy stood in mute silence as introductions were made. As she eyed the first lady’s sapphire-blue cocktail dress, she realized the scene at the restaurant hadn’t been all that bad. Things could always be worse. Like now. When she got Alex alone, she was going to strangle him.