“I know what you’re going to say,” he began.
“Oh yeah? Now you’re a mind reader on top of everything else?”
“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t stand there and let your father degrade you. I had to shut him up.”
“And declaring us engaged was the best solution that came to mind?” She still couldn’t believe what he had done. Telling her mother they were dating was one thing, but pretending to be engaged? Preposterous.
Yet the news had made her father so happy. Miserably, she pushed her hand through her hair.
“I thought it was better than decking him flat-out. But you’re right, I shouldn’t have told your parents we were engaged.”
“No kidding. What was your first clue? My father preparing the menu for our engagement party, or my mother wanting to let pooping doves loose at the ceremony?”
He grinned at that. “So you’re not mad?”
“I’m both furious and confused and...”
“And what?”
“Grateful.”
“Grateful?”
“My father has never been proud of me. Not once in my entire life. And now, because of you, he is.”
Gage eased down beside her. The chain supporting the porch swing creaked beneath their combined weight. Sympathy for her surged through him. He wanted to take her in his arms, hold her close, and make it all better.
Uh-oh, a bad sign. The last thing he needed was to feel sorry for her.
Have you flipped your ever-loving gourd, Gregory? Warning! Danger! Get out while you can.
The thought of being engaged to Janet for real stirred him. He’d gone down a similar road in the past with disastrous results. Although pretending to be Janet’s fiancé was a far cry from marrying Pauline for all the wrong reasons, it raised in him the same feelings—tenderness, pride, gallantry.
Those emotions gave him pause. Was he truly attracted to Janet, or was he just attracted to the fact that for once she’d needed him?
10
“What are we going to do now?” she whispered.
Gage reached out and took one of her hands in his. Her palm was cold despite the warmth of the late spring afternoon. Gently, he rubbed her knuckles with a thumb.
“I mean we can’t go around pretending to be engaged.” She paused a moment then asked, “Can we?”
Before Gage could answer, the back door popped open and her father strode out. “I have reserved the country club for three weeks from next Saturday for your engagement party,” he said, joining them beneath the tree. “Does that sound agreeable? And I’ve hired Henri Dubois, the head chef at Café Continental to cater the event.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did!” he exclaimed, as if he’d just single-handedly organized a third-world coup.
Janet sighed inwardly. Her father had let no grass grow under his feet. She had to put a stop to this deception. Now. She opened her mouth to tell him to call the whole thing off.
“I’m so proud of you, darling. Marrying a man like Gage.”
“Uh.”
You’ve gotta tell him, rational voice intruded. No matter how proud he is of you.
But he’s never been proud of her before, impish voice interjected. Can’t you just chill and let her have her moment in the sun?
She’s just going to get third degree sunburns and you’re hiding the sunscreen, rational voice argued. Better to come clean now and get it over with, than stretch out the torture.
Party pooper, impish voice pouted.
Janet looked over at Gage.
He cocked his head expectantly, waiting to see what she would do.
“I can’t believe I’m finally going to have a son,” her father enthused and pounded Gage on the back.
Her hopes dived like a submarine. There it was again. He wanted Gage, not her. All her jangled emotions—hurt, betrayal, sadness, loss—wadded into a tight ball and lodged uncomfortably in her chest.
Gee, Father, thanks for all your loving support.
“Monday evening I’m ordering the invitations and having them engraved. Would you like to go with me to select them, Janet?”
The lump grew, glazed over by a silly, inexplicable happiness. Her father didn’t ask her out on excursions. Ever. And now, because of this faux engagement, he wanted to be with her.
“Sure,” she said despite her fears. “I’d love that.”
“I’ll pick you up around five-thirty. We’ll have dinner first. My treat. Let me know if you get busy and can’t make it.”
“That sounds great. It’s a date.”
A date with her father. Her heart thumped heavily. If he didn’t leave soon, she was going to burst into tears.
“I interrupted something here, didn’t I?” Her father glanced from her to Gage.
“Yes, sir,” Gage said.
“I’ll go back to the house. You two come in whenever you’re ready.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
It was only after her father had gone back inside that Janet realized for the first time in her life that she had called her father “Dad.”
“What’s it going to be, sweetheart? Do we confess now or later?” Gage asked. “Either way it’s all right with me. If you need a fiancé for a while to improve your relationship with your father, then I’m your man. Just say the word.”
Her eyes met his. It was a dangerous game he was proposing. But if it helped mend years of tension with her father, wasn’t it worth the risk?
“Yes,” she said, her voice shaky. “I want to be your fiancée.”
“Why is there a man on your roof with a camera?” CeeCee asked. She and Lacy had trooped inside Janet’s condo carrying a bag of bagels and three tall coffees. “And why are a gaggle of reporters hanging around your front door?”
“What?” Janet, who still wore her pajamas, stared at her friends. It was just after nine o’clock on Sunday morning, not even twenty-four hours since she had become “engaged” to Gage Gregory. “What are you talking about?”
“Look out the window.” CeeCee pushed aside the kitchen curtains, and Janet peered below. Sure enough, a bevy of people with notebooks and microphones and cameras milled around the courtyard.
“Why would reporters camp out in front of my apartment?”
“Personally,” Lacy said, tapping into her phone. “I think it might have something to do
