A Pretend Proposal: The Fiancée Fiasco / Faking It to Making It / The Wedding Must Go On

“Mel is smart and funny and generous, not that most men ever figure that out or even bother to try.”

Her vehement defense of her best friend might have been touching if it hadn’t also highlighted Elizabeth’s own insecurities.

“So are you … every bit as pretty on the inside as you are on the outside, from what I can tell.” Indeed, the more he saw, the more he liked. And the more attractive he found her to be.

That disturbed him a little. What was it his dad had said just prior to going on one of his drunken binges? That he’d fallen in love with Thomas’s mother not in spite of her quirks and imperfections, but because of them.

Elizabeth was quick to disagree with his assessment. “I’m not pretty. I’m not ugly or anything, but …” She fiddled with the headband again. “I’m rather plain.”

“Plain?” Did she really think so? With that lush mouth and those rich, dark eyes? Not a chance. He might be out of line, but he reached over and tugged the headband free, tossing it on the coffee table like a gauntlet. A cascade of satiny tresses fell forward, all but obscuring her face before he pushed them back. “From where I’m sitting you’re very pretty,” he challenged.

A blush stained her cheeks as she fiddled with the stem of her wineglass.

It had been a long time since Thomas had been around a woman who became flustered from a simple compliment. “By the way, Elizabeth …?”

“Yes?”

“I’m not most men.”

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_06d6e5ba-eb54-55ea-92ee-5d509aaedcfa)

AS IF she needed reminding on that score. Quite frankly, Thomas was unlike anyone she’d ever met—personally or professionally. And that was saying a lot given all of the doors upon which she’d knocked during the past several months to raise funds for the endowment.

She still wasn’t quite sure how to act around him in part because their relationship was professional and personal at the same time. It didn’t help that she found him so appealing. But that was superficial. It was based on sexual chemistry, she reminded herself. Beyond his good looks and his love for his grandmother, what did she truly know about him? If she was to pull off her part as his fiancée—and that was her only motive here—she needed to know more about him.

Much more than that she found him too handsome and charming for her peace of mind.

Besides, she’d rather he be the one in the hot seat.

“You know, I just realized that while I’ve been telling you a lot about myself, I don’t know nearly enough about you except that you matriculated from Michigan and have the good sense to be a fan of Alfred Hitchcock.”

“What else do you want to know?”

Where to start? Favorite color? Favorite dessert? Where he went on his last vacation? How old he was when he stopped believing in Santa Claus? Benign topics, all, and definitely the sorts of things a fiancée should or would be expected to know.

But the question she heard herself ask was “When did your last relationship end?” Followed quickly by “You’re not involved with someone right now, are you?”

Last night, Thomas hadn’t kissed like a man who was stepping out on his girlfriend, but then their situation was hardly normal. The kiss had been for effect. It was intended to put them both at ease, not that the objective had been achieved as far as Elizabeth was concerned.

“I’m not seeing anyone.”

She let out a breath that she hadn’t been aware she was holding. “Good. I mean, it would be awkward otherwise. For her. And, well, for me. I’d hate to be the ‘other woman,’ even if only in theory.” She ordered herself to stop babbling and cleared her throat. “And as for my other question, what’s the answer to that?”

Thomas’s expression turned oddly introspective as he studied his wine. After taking a sip, he said, “I don’t know that I’d necessarily call it a relationship, though it was exclusive for as long as it lasted.” He looked up, his gaze locked with hers. “When I’m seeing someone, Elizabeth, I’m faithful.”

“We’re not really ‘seeing each other,’” she said before she could wonder if he even meant to apply monogamy to their situation. Hoping to lighten the moment, she added, “I mean, could it even be considered cheating if said cheating involved a fictitious fiancée?”

At his lifted brow, she figured she’d made things clear as mud with her attempt at humor.

“Fictitious or not, I won’t be dating during our … engagement.”

That should have been reassuring, except that it called to mind another question Elizabeth realized she hadn’t yet gotten around to asking. “How long will that be? You never actually said.”

He frowned. “I don’t know the exact length of time, but I’ll only need your, um, services—” He must have found that word as unsavory as she did. “That is, your cooperation for this weekend. Nana Jo just wants to meet my fiancée. And, given the distance between here and Charlevoix, it’s not like she’s going to be expecting us to drive up for Sunday dinner each week.”

“Oh. Good.” And that was good, she reminded herself, when she experienced a foolish twinge of disappointment.

“I won’t withhold my personal donation to Literacy Liaisons until our ‘breakup,’ if that’s what you’re worried about. The check will be on your desk the first business day after the holiday weekend.”

Waverly Enterprises’s check had been received not long after he’d left her office earlier in the day. Already, it had been deposited into the agency’s special bank account.

“I wasn’t worried.” She’d forgotten all about the check during the past couple of hours, but she would do well to remember that Thomas’s generous donation was the reason she was doing this. Even so, she nibbled her bottom lip and asked, “So, how long did it last?”

“What?”

“Your last relationship.”

“Oh.” He appeared to do some quick mental calculations. “I guess it was nearly two months.”

“Wow. A whole two months. And you managed to stay faithful the entire time.”

“Sarcasm. Hmm.” His expression turned bemused and he wagged a finger in her direction. “I wouldn’t have thought you capable of it.”

Elizabeth rarely resorted to sarcasm or to sarcastic humor. In fact, she found it a bit of a turnoff, one of the main reasons she didn’t watch many television sitcoms, which relied on it so heavily for their laughs.

“I apologize for the sarcasm.”

“No need.”

“There is,” she insisted. “My comment was rude”

Thomas’s smile was rueful. “But not completely unwarranted or off base. As I told you last night, I’m not interested in commitment. So, I tend to end relationships quickly with the women I date. I prefer for things not to get too …”

“Intimate?”

“Messy.”

“I see. And when was it that you ended things this last time?” she asked.

“Three weeks ago.”

“Three weeks ago.” Elizabeth resisted the urge to whistle through her teeth. She didn’t like the sound of that, though why it should matter she didn’t know. Still, there was no denying that it did. It made her feel only marginally better that he’d been the one to end it. No pining going on, apparently. But three weeks? The scent of the woman’s perfume was probably still lingering in his home. And on his linens.

“Is that a problem?” he asked.

“No. Why would it be?” Why, indeed?

“No hearts were broken, I can assure you,” he said.