Page 83 of Mister Fake Fiance

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“Yes?” I say.

“I’m so sorry,” Bev says. “But there’s a man here who won’t take no for an answer.”

“I have a visitor’s pass,” comes a voice that makes me bare my teeth.

Fucking Fordham. What’s he doing here?

At least Erin’s not around. “Let him in,” I say, even though I can feel my eyes narrowing.

Bev steps back and Fordham walks in, his chin tilted up and his strides long and slow, like a king deigning to bestow his royal presence upon a peasant. Does he walk like that in front of his voters, too?

Or maybe he doesn’t give a damn what I think about him, since I can’t vote in Virginia now.

He’s clean-shaven, dressed in a good-quality button-down shirt and slacks. No wonder security let him through. Besides, he’s a congressman. I despair for our country that a plurality of voters—well, any voters, actually—thought he’d be a good choice. Or maybe his opponent was even worse, and the voters chose the less offensive option.

Bev shuts the door behind Fordham.

“What do you want?” I demand without offering him a seat.

He still parks his ass in one of the chairs. I wish I’d set a thumbtack on it. Juvenile, but it would’ve been amusing.

“Are you always this gracious?” he says.

“Most people have the courtesy to make an appointment. What do you want?”

“Stop screwing around with Erin. She isn’t for you.”

I pretend I’m bored, while fantasizing about throwing him out the window. Mine doesn’t open—we’re too high up and it’s for safety reasons—but I’m sure his head is hard enough to break the glass. “Says who?”

“I’ve known her all my life.”

“And therefore she’s known you. Doesn’t seem to want you, though.”

“You don’t know her like I do.”

“People change, Fordham. She’s changed a lot in the last two years.”

“Has she?” he sneers. “She quit baking crap nobody should ever be forced to eat? Quit angsting about her mother?”

I keep my expression smooth, even as his barb hits the mark. Since I’ve been the victim of her baking attempts, I keep my mouth shut. As for her mom… She’s hardly mentioned her family to me, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t think about them.

So what? I decide stubbornly. That doesn’t mean she isn’t for me. Fordham can go shove a pen up his ass.

He laughs humorlessly. “I told her to quit baking before she kills somebody, but she never listens.”

What an asshole. No wonder she doesn’t like him anymore. I could sense baking is important to her, which is why I haven’t told her the truth about how terrible her attempts are.

He continues, “She thinks it’s going to keep her sane because her mom told her so.” He ends his statement with a snort.

“Keep her sane? What the hell does that even mean?” She said something about her mom when we were making the peach cobbler, but I didn’t pay too much attention. Now I feel bad because it could’ve turned into a chance for us to get closer. Open up more to each other. My instinct says it’s something critically important for fucking Fordham to act so smug here, and my gut’s never wrong.

“Erin never told you, did she?” He smirks, then leans back in his seat with the superior attitude of someone who has an ace in the hole. “Her mom was”—he makes a couple of circles beside his temple with his index finger—“loopy. Always out of control, making scenes, crying and having outbursts in public for no apparent reason. A real looney tunes. It was embarrassing for everyone. Finally, she hung herself when Erin was in high school. Sophomore or junior, I think. I can’t remember exactly.”

I inhale sharply, sympathy lancing my heart. What an awful, tragic story. Poor Erin. I can’t begin to imagine her suffering.

But…why is this bastard looking so smug, rather than somber?

“Anyway, I thought you should know the situation,” Fordham continues. “Fact is, Erin’s probably going to go insane just like her mom. It runs on that side of the family. She knows it, too, but thinks that if she’s careful, nobody’s going to notice.” He shakes his head as though in pity. “She took after her mother in so many ways, and they shared the same luck, too, including the car accident they were in. It messed up Erin’s ability to smell and taste. That’s why she’s so bad at baking.”


Tags: Nadia Lee Romance