I grin, my ego happier than it’s been in a long time. “Yes, there is. But I felt like using this one, Bossy. Need I remind you that this is my room? And as such I’ll walk around in a towel—or nothing at all—if I choose to do so. If you don’t like it, I understand you have another rooming choice available to you.”
She sinks onto the couch with a moan, driving her fingers into her silky hair. “Yeah, that’s the thing. I don’t have another choice. I was going to call the whole thing off, but I forgot to take off the ring. Gram saw it and she’s so excited I can’t back out now. Seriously, it’s like she won a million bucks, a giant chocolate bar, and an all-expenses-paid trip to Outer Mongolia.”
I arch a brow. “Outer Mongolia?”
“She’s always wanted to go there. When she and Gramps were in New Orleans for their honeymoon, a tarot card reader told her she was the reincarnation of Genghis Khan. She’s been weird about Outer Mongolia ever since.”
“Huh. That’s…unique.”
“It’s crazy. But that’s Gram. She’s crazy, but in the best way. She always says exactly what’s on her mind and tells the truth and she’ll be so disappointed if she realizes I’m full of shit.” She clutches at her stomach, rocking back and forth as she adds in a softer voice, “God, I think I’m going to be sick. Why did I think this was a good idea?”
Crossing to sit in the armchair next to the couch, I rest a hand on her back. “Hey, it’s okay. She won’t find out. We only have to pull this off for a week. You can do anything for a week.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I can’t. I really can’t. I tried to do that seven-day maple syrup and lemon juice cleanse once. I only lasted ten hours before I was so hungry, I ate an entire bag of pickle-flavored kettle chips and washed them down with a liter of orange soda.”
“Gross,” I say mildly, before adding with a smile, “But cleanses are torture. This will be fun. We’ll ski in the mornings, hang out with your family in the afternoons, then head back here at night to rest and recoup for another day of faking it. We’ll make your gram’s happy-ever-after dreams for you come true, then head home next Saturday with a good deed under our belts. No sweat.”
She lifts tortured eyes to mine. “But what if we fail? What if she sees through us and realizes I’m lying to her? I’ve never lied to Gram. Not even when I was a kid and went through that phase where I lied to everyone about everything and blamed all the bad shit I did on my imaginary friend Bad Beatrice.”
Fighting a smile, I say, “That may be the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. So, what would Bad Beatrice do? I’m curious. Steal cookies from the cookie jar? Make a mess in your room?”
“Please, Derrick. Stay focused. I’ll die if Gram finds out. Seriously, the shame will melt my bones and I’ll never be able to hold my head up at a family function ever again.”
“She won’t find out,” I assure her. But Harlow’s continued frown makes it clear she won’t be talked down from the ledge that easily. “Okay. Worst-case scenario. She sees through us, and you come clean. You explain that you did it because you love her and wanted to put her mind at ease.” I sit up straighter. “Or just tell her it was my idea. That I begged you to pretend to be engaged for a week.”
Harlow’s scowl deepens. “Why would you want to do that at my family reunion?”
“My job interview,” I say. “I heard they’re looking for a family man for the job, and I thought I’d have a better chance at landing the position if I had a fiancée to bring to the game on Friday.”
She blinks. “Are you going to a game on Friday?”
“Yeah, I plan on it. If I can get tickets. I’ve seen tape of the Hissing Muskrats’ games and practices, but I’d love to see them live on the ice.”
Her lips twitch. “The Hissing Muskrats. That isn’t really the team’s name, is it?”
“It is.” I shrug. “But after working for the Ice Possums for six years, I don’t think I have any room to talk about weird mascot names.”
“I like the Ice Possums. It’s weird, but cute. And at least there are possums in New York. I hate it when cities name a team after an animal from another continent or something.”
“It offends your accountant sense of order?”
“If we don’t fight to keep order, chaos will swallow us whole, Derrick,” she says, but her sarcasm lacks its usual sparkle and shine.
She’s clearly still stressed, but I’m pretty sure I can ease her mind.