HE LOOKED SO HURT AT her words that she wanted to take them back, but Chelsea was essentially an honest person and tough didn’t even begin to describe what it was going to be like to spend an entire weekend with David when everyone thought they were an engaged couple. It was bad enough sharing a town house that he was rarely in. What would it be like if they had to share a room?
The kiss was still tingling on her lips and in truth she’d barely tasted the food she’d worked so hard preparing. All she could taste was David. If she could turn the experience of kissing him into a flavor she’d be the most successful caterer in history. Who could resist the taste of passion?
Why hadn’t she said no when this ridiculous charade was first suggested to her? Why hadn’t she run far and fast to avoid an impossible situation?
It was hopeless for her to pretend to be in love with David when the truth was that she’d been in love with him since she was fourteen years old.
Sure, she’d enjoyed the company of other men, gone to bed with a few of them, but no one, however nice, good-looking, funny, or charming, had ever come close to winning her heart. Now she knew why. She didn’t have a heart to give. She’d given it to David all those years ago. He had no more clue of her feelings now than he’d had then. He looked at her like she was a monster to tell him it was horrible to be expected to spend a weekend with him. But it was as close to the truth as she could come without making a fool of herself.
“I see,” he said at last. “Well, I’ll tell them you’re sick, or working or something. I’m sure they’ll understand,” he said, with no conviction whatever.
But she discovered that what the poets said about love was true. It was self-sacrificing. For she could no more imagine him at a couples retreat all alone, when it was so important for him to make the right impression, than she could imagine walking past him if he was sick or injured.
The truth was, he needed her. And because she loved him, she said, “No, it’s okay. I’ll come with you. Of course I’ll come.” She forced a smile. “We made a deal, and I’ll stick to it.”
“We never negotiated for weekends because frankly I didn’t think there’d be any.”
She tilted her head to one side, thinking he was going to have a few surprises, too. “I never imagined that I’d have actual catering gigs while I was living here, either. I’m guessing your kitchen may be busier than you’d expected.”
“If you can live with corporate retreats and God knows what else, I guess I can live with a commercial kitchen in my house for a couple of months.”
He raised his glass. “Deal?”
She clinked her glass against his. “Deal.”
“You know, we might just squeak through this thing after all.”
He’d barely finished the sentence when the phone rang. He checked the call display, seemed to hesitate, then he picked it up. “Hello? Mom, hi. How’s your vacation? How’s Poland?”
He looked a little concerned. “You sound kind of funny.”
One of the things she’d always liked about David and Sarah’s family was how close they were. He sounded genuinely pleased to hear from his mother and if he could tell she sounded funny when she was half a world away, he had to be a good son. She got up and started clearing the table, aiming to give him a bit of privacy.
But, even as she tried very hard not to eavesdrop, she couldn’t help but hear David’s side of the conversation and, since he didn’t bother to leave the room, she supposed he didn’t care if she heard him. Then she heard a snatch of dialogue that had her turning to stare.
“Got an e-mail from Norma in your book club? Is that the nosy woman who lives in my block?”
At that moment they locked gazes.
“What did she say?” She caught a note of panic.
“That’s ridiculous. Of course I don’t have a woman living with me. Naturally, you’d be the first to know if I had a girlfriend.”
She glanced at him and found him looking pale, like he was in the middle of a really powerful horror movie.
His face twisted. “I’m not saying she made it up, it’s—” He glanced up at her in appeal. “I—”
She could hear the upset, almost hysterical babble coming from the receiver. Oh, this was so not good. She knew David’s parents. They didn’t deserve this.
She walked over and whispered, “Tell her the truth.”
David ignored her. Nothing new there, he’d been ignoring her for years.
“Mom, no. Look, it’s not what you think.” He grabbed his wine and gulped down half a glass. “Mom, it’s Chelsea Hammond, you know, the nice girl who lived with the Dennises? She needed a place to stay and Sarah asked if she could stay here for a while. It’s great. She’s a fantastic cook and it’s only temporary.”
His mother spoke again and she saw David turn his head in the direction of the windows and glare. “That woman was hanging out her windows watching me and Chelsea come home all dressed up? Does she never sleep? Maybe she should read one of the damn book-club books instead of spying on the neighbors.”
She shook her head at him. He was hopeless. Hopeless.
“We were not kissing. I don’t care what she thought she saw.” He let out a huff of frustration. “I might have had my arm around Chelsea, I can’t remember, but—” His mouth dropped open. “How can you say that about your own son? I do not use women.”
“Hah,” she said, and not nearly as quietly as she should have.
He looked panicky and kind of sweaty and finally cracked like a guy who’d spent the night in police interrogation. “Okay, okay, so we’re seeing each other. Just casually, Mom. It’s not serious.”
The hysterical babbling was calming down now, sounding more like a happy fountain from Chelsea’s perspective.
“Yes.” He laughed, a short, sharp snort. “Oh, she certainly is the nicest girl I’ve ever gone out with.”
So he knew that, did he? And found it ripsnortingly funny.
She wanted to smack him.
To control the impulse she turned back to the kitchen. One thing she really, really missed was having an underpaid grunt to clean up after her, sweep the floor every few minutes and, best of all, wash her dishes. It seemed, when you were a one-woman catering firm, that you washed your own dishes.
She was going to have to get successful enough fast to hire a grunt. She started stacking dishes that needed hand-washing. At least it gave her something to do with the energy burning within her. Behind her, David and his mother continued chatting and she made enough noise that no one could think she was eavesdropping.
“Just a second. Ah, Chelsea?” He looked up, appearing more guilty than when he’d forced her to agree to a weekend corporate retreat. “My mom wants to talk to you.”
For a moment she considered refusing. But then she remembered how nice to her Mrs. Wolfe had always been. It was sad that she’d given birth to the spawn of Satan, but that wasn’t her fault.
She stalked forward and grabbed the phone he was holding out.
“Hello?”
“Oh, Chelsea, I heard you were back in town, but I only just found out you and David are seeing each other. Of course, I haven’t seen you in years, but unless you’ve changed a great deal, you were like a second daughter to us when you lived next door.”
Chelsea felt emotion swell in her chest. “Oh, Mrs. Wolfe, I feel the same way. I mean, you were always so nice to me, exactly like a second mother.”
“When Lawrence and I get home, we’re going to have a family dinner and get all caught up.”
“A family dinner sounds wonderful. Enjoy the rest of your vacation.”
“Don’t run away now, will you? Not before we get back. I’m so happy to think of him with a good woman for a change.”
“Thank you.”
When she got off the phone she realized that she loved David’s parents almost as much as she loved him, and for a lot better reasons.
They exchanged glances. “I cannot believe that woman’s been spying on us and reporting to my mother. Internationally. It’s like living across the street from Interpol.” He sipped the last of the wine in his glass. “You don’t know what my mother’s been like since they both retired. It’s like she’s obsessed with weddings and babies. Her finding out about you living here is not good news.”
“She’s happy to think of you with a good woman for a change.”
He looked outraged. “She said that? My own mother?”
“Her very words.”
“I—”
“‘Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive,’” she quoted. “What?”
“Sir Walter Scott. On the dangers of lying. I’m pretty sure you helped me with my homework back in sophomore English. Remember?”