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

“No. But that’s what I’m calling about. I realized after I left your place last night that we never decided when we would meet today.”

Probably because they’d both had other things on their minds. Business, business, business, Elizabeth reminded herself now when her barely settled pulse got all wonky again. Forcing her focus to her schedule, she said in her most professional tone, “I’ve got a meeting at ten o’clock that I can’t reschedule. After that, though, I can shuffle a couple meetings around if you want to have lunch together.”

Lunch was safe as long as it was in a populated place where public displays of affection would be inappropriate, assuming he had any such displays in mind.

“Unfortunately, I’m busy from eleven-thirty until nearly four going over the results of a marketing survey.” He waited only a beat before saying, “How about dinner again?”

“Dinner?”

“Or we could meet up later in the evening if you’ve got something going on.”

“No. Dinner’s better. There’s an Indian restaurant not far from the campus that I’ve been wanting to try. How does that sound?”

“Good. And spicy. Just like you like it.” Had she imagined that strangled tone?

“I’ll meet you there at—”

“No. I’ll come by and pick you up.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary.” Indeed, until she got her feelings under control, it bordered on cruel and usual punishment.

“If this is about last night—”

“It’s not,” she lied.

“Still, I feel I should apologize again for … what happened.”

What did it say about her, Elizabeth wondered, that she would much rather he apologized for what hadn’t?

“Don’t! I mean, there’s really no need. As you said last night, we both just got a little carried away.” Not nearly far enough that she’d woken up feeling boneless and satisfied, but enough that his obvious regrets now were starting to make her feel like a first-class idiot.

“Yes. We did.” He was quiet a moment. His tone was oddly resolute when he said, “I’ll pick you up. Just tell me what time.”

“Does five-thirty sound okay?” Arguing would only make her seem more foolish, she decided. It would make it seem as if she didn’t trust herself to be alone with him. In a car. For a short drive. To a restaurant. For spicy food.

“Sure. Five-thirty.”

“At my office,” she added hastily. “I’ll be out front at five-fifteen.”

She trusted herself, but still …

“What’s with the Abbey-wear?” Mel wanted to know even before Elizabeth had a chance to boot up her computer. “I thought we agreed that you would burn that overly conservative getup and donate the shoes to an old folks home.”

“It’s comfortable.” Elizabeth sniffed.

“Comfort can be attractive, hon.”

Her friend should know. Mel looked perfectly at ease strutting around in a pair of stilettos. Today, the stilettos were a bright raspberry color and she’d paired them with a navy suit that might have been considered conservative if not for the high slit in the skirt and Mel’s well-defined curves.

She looked gorgeous, of course. And stylish. Standing near her, Elizabeth felt especially frumpy. She was one hundred and eighty degrees the opposite of Delphine and her cacophony of colors all right. Unfortunately, that still didn’t make Elizabeth’s wardrobe choices any more fashionable.

Her irritation came out in the form of defiance.

“I’m not going to change my appearance and contort myself to fit into someone else’s ideal of beauty, especially when he probably wouldn’t care anyway.”

“Okaaaay.” Mel pursed her lips. “I was going to ask how last night went, but I think I have my answer. I take it Thomas wants you to dress differently and you’re rebelling by wearing your, um, least flattering attire.”

Frowning, Elizabeth replied, “This suit isn’t that bad. It’s a high quality label, I’ll have you know. It didn’t come cheaply.”

“Then in addition to committing a fashion crime, you were robbed,” Mel remarked blandly.

Elizabeth let it drop since the price tag really was a moot point. Instead, she plucked at the jacket’s prim mandarin collar, determined not to recall the way Thomas had fumbled with the buttons on her blouse the previous night, and said, “Actually, this is how his Beth would dress.”

“His Beth?”

“You know what I mean, Mel. That’s his fiancée’s name as far as his grandmother is aware. I’m just the stand-in for the girl of his …”

“Dreams?”

“More like imagination.”

“So, in order for you to be plausible as his Beth, he’s encouraging you to play down your best assets.”

“No. Thomas has never said anything one way or another about the way I dress.” Elizabeth frowned again. “Although, last night after dinner, he did remove the headband I was wearing.”

He’d seemed agitated at the time. Frustrated?

“Is that all he removed?” Mel bobbed her eyebrows twice.

Another time, Elizabeth would have laughed. Mel was good at that. Her knack for levity had served them both well over the years, and it never failed to put their clients at ease. But her words had Elizabeth recalling the shirt she’d been helping Thomas remove.

“Nothing happened.”

“Nothing?” Mel crossed her arms.

Sighing, Elizabeth slumped down onto the seat of her chair. “Nothing much. He … kissed me again.”

“And you liked it. Again,” Mel surmised. “Face it. You like him.”

Some of Elizabeth’s annoyance with herself and Thomas leaked away. Frustration and a fresh dollop of confusion took its place.

“What’s not to like?” She sighed in defeat.

Her friend levered a hip onto Elizabeth’s desk. “Are we talking about the kiss in this case or the man responsible for it?”

“Either. Both.”

“Uh-oh.”