If she’ll let me…
I slide one hand under her legs and the other behind her back, lifting her onto my lap with a soft grunt.
Her breath rushes out as she demands, “What are you doing?” but her arms go around my neck and she doesn’t bolt from the embrace when I park my hand on her hip to hold her steady.
“I’m proving to you that everything’s going to be fine,” I say, gazing up at her with worship in my eyes. “Tonight, I’m going to show you why I medaled in every monologue competition I entered in middle school.”
Her brows lift. “Excuse me? Monologue competitions? Don’t tell me—”
“I was on the forensics team with the theater nerds. Right up until eighth grade, when I got too busy with hockey for other extracurricular activities.”
“How did I not know this about you?” she asks, meeting my adoring gaze with a curious grin.
“I didn’t talk about it much growing up. Dad thought acting was a ‘pansy-ass waste of time,’ like all things that didn’t involve sweating, slapping pucks around, or making money.”
Her smile fades. “I’m sorry. Your dad is a lot sometimes.”
“He is. But it’s okay. I was more into hockey, anyway. But I still have the acting chops to convince your family I’m the man for you, Bossy. I’ll charm the socks off your gram and anyone else watching. And you know how I’ll do it?”
“No,” she murmurs, with a mesmerized shake of her head.
“By charming the socks off you.” I gather her closer, brushing my nose lightly against hers as I murmur, “I’ll hang on your every word, anticipate your every need, and have my eyes on you every chance I get. By the time we get to the dessert course, there will be no doubt in anyone’s mind that I’m fucking crazy about you.”
“But…” Her breath rushes out, warm and sweet against my lips and I have to fight to keep the situation beneath my towel under control.
“But what?” I prompt, giving her hip a squeeze.
“But what if… What if they…” She pulls back with a shake of her head. “I can’t think straight when you’re doing that.”
“Doing what?”
She motions impatiently toward my face. “Fake romancing me. You’re good at it, okay? Too good.”
I grin. “Is that why your cheeks are all red.”
“No,” she snaps, poking a finger into my bare chest. “I’m cold. I was outside before, getting some fresh air and trying not to hyperventilate about the disaster I’ve created for myself.”
“It won’t be a disaster. It will be fine. Trust me.”
Her nose wrinkles. “I do trust you.”
“Really?”
She nods. “Really. I mean, in a lot of ways, you’re the worst, but I’ve never known you to break a promise. If you promise you’ll help me, I believe you, I just…” She pulls in a bracing breath before her worried eyes lock with mine. “This could still be a horrible idea. I don’t want Gram to die anytime soon. I want her to get better and have another ten years with us or more. But if she does, there’s no way we can keep this fake engagement going for that long. Sooner or later, when you fail to show up at the family Christmas party or Fourth of July at her place, she’ll smell a rat and be devastated.”
“Do you always do this?” I ask, fascinated by her squirrely brain.
“Do what?”
“Think years ahead of yourself and imagine every possible worst-case scenario?”
She sniffs. “Yeah. Don’t you?”
I laugh. “Um, no. I have goals and dreams for the future, but…” I shrug. “Most of the time, I take things day by day. That’s all we can really control, right? The choices we make today, in the moment.”
“But those choices create ripple effects,” she says with a disapproving cluck of her tongue. “You can’t just live in the moment and hope you won’t fuck yourself down the line. You have to think ahead, imagine the ripples, and do your best to set your future self up for success. Believe me, my present self is pretty pissed at Past Me. Past Me could have thought this through a hell of a lot better before she let you put a ring on her finger.”
I grin. “But it was fun, right? I especially liked the making out after.”
Her expression grows wary. “Yeah, about that… We shouldn’t swap spit in front of my family. That would be weird. And we definitely shouldn’t be cuddling in private or…whatever this is.”
“This is practice. To help us look natural and comfortable together. Your future self will thank me for it. Remember, you said you trusted me.”
Her eyes narrow. “And I’m regretting it already.” She stiffens in my arms. “You should go get dressed, and I should jump in the shower. We only have forty-five minutes before we’re supposed to meet everyone in the dining hall. My dad is a psycho about people being late, and you don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with him. He’s a sweet guy, but he’s never met a boyfriend he doesn’t hate. He gave Chuck the cold shoulder for three years after he knocked Lauren up in high school. By the time they were on speaking terms again, Chuck and Lauren were married with their second kid on the way.”