Bargaining with the Bride (8 page)

A
t first
, he didn't realize what happened. All he knew was that his mouth had been on Rachael at last, taking in her sweet, pale skin...

And then the entire world exploded into sound and chaos.

Rachael leapt from the counter, forcing him to clamp down on his own tongue as she sprinted for the opposite side of the room. He turned to call to her and ask what the hell had come over her, when he finally registered the sounds of Tesla's panicked yells. The tiny pug was crooning and racing for the front door like his long lost herd had rediscovered him at last.

"What the—" He started, but cut himself off when one finally sound carried through the spacious kitchen, vacant and definitely audible.

The chime of the front door opening.

He grabbed his shirt from where it pooled at his feet and stared around for Rachael again. Apparently, she'd heard the bell too, because she'd shoved herself in her tiny pantry and was in the process of closing the door from the inside when he finally spotted her.

"Did you invite someone?" He whispered.

"No—"

"You'd think after so many episodes of dateline you wouldn't hide your key under the mat. Seriously, that's serial killer 101." A voice, not unlike Rachael's sultry tones, called from the foyer, growing louder as the sentence went on.

"Shit. My sister. Distract her so I can get upstairs," Rachael hisse, and then creaked the door closed just as the voice rounded the corner into the room.

"Isn't anyone ho—well, hello there." The woman offered Garret a wide smile and jutted her hip out so as to lean against the wall.

If he didn't know for a fact that this was Rachael's sister, he might never have believed it. Sure, they had the same sort of heart-shaped face, but that was where the comparison stopped. Where Rachael was thin and angular, her sister was all curves. Where Rachael's hair was richly dark and curly, her sister partially obscured her stick-straight dark locks with caramel highlight. They were opposites in every way, including the easy smile that rested lazily on the woman's face.

"Nice to meet you," Garret said as he crossed the room with an outstretched arm. "You must be Rachael's sister."

"Eliza, the one and only." She took his hand in a surprisingly firm grip, and then used the hold to pull him into a hug. "You're the man in my big sister's life?"

"That I am." He cleared his throat, trying to figure out the best way to clear a path for Rachael. He couldn't hear her, but he felt as though her frustration weighed down the air around him. If they stayed in the kitchen another second longer, he was sure Eliza's spidey senses would tingle or something and she's find her half-naked sister in the closet.

"Were these changes yours?" She gestured around to the kitchen. "Last time I was here the place was a—" she paused, then crouched down to the floor and came up with the tatters of her sister's shirt, a half-smile still perched on her face.

"That's Tesla's work." Garret nodded toward the pug, who had apparently had enough excitement for one day and was already working on his evening nap beneath the table.

"Tesla, huh? That's got to be your doing, too. Rachael's not exactly the dog type. Or the cat type. Or the fish type." She laughed. "Speaking of which, where is she?"

He wracked his brain for an answer, but before he could find one, he heard a faint sneeze from the pantry.

Shit.

He glanced toward Eliza to see if she’d noticed, but she was too busy petting a very disinterested Tesla.

“Rachael is upstairs, uh…” He stared around the kitchen, hoping that some golden opportunity would stare him in the face. All he found, though, were some left over cartons of Chinese food and a whole bunch of nothing else. “Changing. She spilled food on herself. You know Rachael, world-class klutz.”

“I don’t know
that
Rachael, but I’d be interested to see it,” Eliza smiled.

Strike two. One more slip up like that, and they’d both be caught.

Then, as if his heart rate wasn’t already reaching world-record heights, Eliza added, “I’ll be even more interested to see what my parents have to say.”

“Luckily, we have a little while to find out for all of that.” Garret smiled, but it was short-lived.

Eliza shook her head, her small, tight mouth a stark contrast to her ever-widening eyes, “About that—“

Rachael thundered down the stairs so quickly he was shocked she hadn’t left a trail of dust behind her. “What do you mean?” she demanded.

Eliza plopped onto the couch again with so much effort that she managed to startle Tesla, "It's a long story."

"By which you mean..." Rachael prompted.

"You will be infuriated."

"Naturally."

"Mom is worried about the wedding."

"Why? She barely knows anything about it."

"Exactly," Eliza rolled her eyes. "She says she hasn't been involved. That you go out of your way to exclude her, that you don't answer her calls or emails."

"You mean her list of demands?"

Eliza held up her hands, palms up. "I'm just the messenger."

"Right. Sorry, go on."

"Well, she's all worried that you're not doing things—"

"Her way."

"The
correct
way, so she thought the best way to get your attention and to salvage the event before it was a total catastrophe would be to show up on your doorstep."

"Or for
you
to show up on my doorstep?" Rachael crossed her arms, but smiled at her sister.

"As I said, I'm the messenger."

"Well, if that's your mission, harbinger might be a more apt description," Rachael huffed, and the expression on her face was so heartbreaking that Garret could hardly contain himself. She looked like a puppy that'd just been slapped in the face: innocent, confused, and hurt. He had to do something.

"You know, I think this is great." He said.

"You do?" Eliza piped up, though the ghost of a smile was already playing over her lips.

"Yes, I've been so excited to meet your parents. Wasn't I just saying that, darling?" He crossed the room tow and held a hand out to Rachael. She stared at it for a moment, brows furrowed, but then nodded as she took it.

"Yes, you were."

"I'm excited that we'll get to meet even sooner than expected."

"Right..." Eliza eyed him suspiciously, and then looked at her sister and said, "Have you told him anything about them? Or is he crazy?"

Rachael let out a nervous-sounding laugh, but Garret's bark drowned it out, "It'll be fine. Now let's get a move on. From what I can tell, they don't like to be kept waiting."

And neither did he.

The sooner this was over with, the sooner Rachael could relax. And the sooner that happened, the sooner he could have her all to himself again...

"Okay, if you're sure," Rachael reached for his other hand and he pulled her the standing.

"I'm positive."

And with that, the three of them headed into the night.

H
e was insane
. Her sister had mentioned it as a joke, of course, but the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like the only explanation.

And the way her parents had planned this trip?

Even crazier.

Their hotel was only fifteen minutes from her house. Like they'd known he was a fake fiancé and she'd only have fifteen minutes to prepare him for their wrath. Okay, maybe that was a bit of a stretch, but it wasn't completely outside of the realm of possibility.

"It's going to be fine," he said for the millionth time as he rounded the corner of Ashdale Boulevard.

One street closer to the pit of hell...

"You have no idea what we're dealing with," she said.

"We're dealing with people who drop in unannounced because they don't trust you to handle your life as an adult. In terms of actions speaking louder than words, that's one hell of a doozy."

"If that was all it was..." She trailed off. How could she explain Frank and Linda Ford to a person who'd never experienced that keen combination of cool disinterest and stinging disapproval? Like the emotional equivalent of getting a paper cut on sunburned skin. Neither are really your fault, but you still hate yourself for having to deal with it. Like if you'd just zigged instead of zagged, it all could have been avoided.

"I know how to explain it. Have you ever seen a documentary on Pol Pot?" She started, but Garret burst into laughter.

He definitely did
not
understand.

"It's going to be fine," he parked the car outside of the hotel's bar attached restaurant, and when the engine shut off, he turned to face her. "You're a grown woman. You're a successful professional. What can they do to you? Ground you?"

I wish that was the worst of it...

"Maybe you're right," she said, knowing he wasn't, but going along anyway. In the end, maybe she was freaking out over nothing. Once she was married, none of it would matter. They'd have something to tell their friends about. And then, once she'd finally made it, her fake divorce would be completely overshadowed. This was just part of the plan. This suffering was temporary. All of it was temporary.

“Now, we just have to have a great evening. You ready?” he nodded toward the building, but she shook her head. She wasn’t even a quarter of the way prepared. Before facing them, she had to have her war paint—those shades of make-up her mother had specifically picked out so she didn’t look like “a two-bit hussy.”

Then, of course, she’d also need a few stiff drinks. And maybe a sedative. Or seven.

She scrambled for her makeup bag, but Garret caught her hand and an electric spark traveled over her skin.

"It’s going to be fine," Garret said again. “You look incredible.” Without another word, he climbed from the car and made his way to open the door for her. Once he’d held her out, he brushed a strand of hair from her face and gave her a stern nod. “You’re ready. And so am I,” he said.

The place's windows were wide, a perfect accent to the low lighting and dark stained wood of the old-fashioned parlor within. Through the panes, Rachael could already spot the back of her father's distinguished greying head and her mother's professionally coiffed curls.

"That's them," she pointed to her mother's pressed cream suite. Something she'd probably gotten on her last trip to Sak's Fifth Avenue.

"Nice outfit," he nodded. 

"Yep." She looped her arm in his, biting back the warning that their clothes were the only thing nice about her parents.

Eliza's car parked with a squeal beside theirs just before they'd opened the door. Her music still blared as she beat one hand against the steering wheel and straightened out with the other.

Thank god for little sisters.

When she finally cut the engine and clambered from the car, she jutted out and hip, a frown settling over her face. 

"Did you forget about showing a united front? You were just going to leave me to walk in by myself?" Eliza asked in mock outrage.

"Sorry, I was a little distracted." 

Eliza walked past them and flung open the door, "I totally get it. No worries. Now, deep breath, shoulders back, and glide."

Just like that, her childhood was back. Her younger sister skated across the floor like a ballerina and she followed, channeling her cotillion days. When they reached the varnished oak bar top, she had half an urge to curtsy when her mother's narrowed gaze finally landed on her.

"So nice to see you." Without getting up and leaning any closer toward her, her mother moved her head from side to side and kissed the air. Almost as if that could be counted for affection.

"Hello, mother." She nodded, then turning toward her father added, "Hello, father."

Eliza hummed the tune to "Camp Grenada" under her breath and Rachael was torn between the desire to hit her or to bust out laughing. 

"Shall we find a table?" Her father nodded to a waiter who had clearly already found them a table and they followed along silently.

When they'd reached a wide, circular table in the corner of the room, they all sat and Rachael's mother let out a long sigh.

"I'm Linda Ford," she nodded toward Garret, and the knot in Rachael's stomach grew that much heavier. "We clearly won't be formally introduced, so I suppose I'll have to do it myself."

"I'm sorry, mother, I—" Rachael started, but Garret cut her off.

"I'm never much for formal introductions. In the boardroom, I'm much more impressed by someone who makes the initiative to tell me about themselves. Don't you find that to be true, sir?" Garret nodded toward her father.

"I," her father started, then glanced at his wife. The expression of detachment was still firmly settled on his face, but if Rachael didn't know better, she might have thought Garret had caught him off guard.

"Of course,
I'm
the one here to make an impression," Garret continued as if her father hadn't spoken. "I'm Garret Adams. It's an absolute pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," Frank nodded and Linda followed his lead.

Silence stretched over the table again and Rachael chanced a glance at her sister.

When their gaze met, Eliza cleared her throat. “Geez, what’s a lady gotta do to get some booze around here?” She smiled from her mother to her father, and both frowned at her.

When it came to Eliza that was their patented reaction. Blanket disappointment.

Another pang of sympathy stabbed at Rachael as she thought about Eliza’s life, staring at those expressions day in and day out.

A waiter walked by and Linda waved him over. "Excuse me, we'll have two bottles of champagne please. And a cheese plate." She nodded, and then turned before the man had bothered to say a word.

Classic Ford family treatment. Normally, Rachael wouldn' bat an eye seeing her parents behave this way. Watching them boss everyone around like they were mud on their thousand dollar boots. Still, there was something about having Garret here, watching all of it, that made her want to shrivel up and die.

With every passing moment, more heat flooded to her cheeks, and if she didn't get some kind of reprieve soon, she was sure she might keel over right on the spot.