Ford couldn’t believe he’d done it. But he had.
Why the hell not? he’d told himself as he walked up the steps. What did he have to lose? The entire crowd shifted and actually began shouting when he got on one knee. And when he took his ring off his hand, there were several loud, feminine shrieks from the audience.
He didn’t have time to look anywhere but at Greer. Her mouth hung open. She was gorgeous even when gobsmacked. Maybe more beautiful than she’d ever appeared before because there was nothing guarded about her expression. She had no time to react.
Kiki, Pierre’s diva, must have recognized the moment’s incredible viral marketing potential and came running over with the mike in her hand. She crouched and stuck it under his chin. Her feathery shrug made him want to sneeze, but he managed to stave it off.
And then it was done. The words, “Greer, will you marry me?” hung in the air.
The entire ballroom went silent.
Would she play along? Having a groom would certainly help her chances to win that dress. He wasn’t sure what she’d do. It was what he liked best about her.
She swallowed. “I want to say yes,” she said, “but I have to be honest with everyone. We only just met. Yesterday.”
Bloody hell. The audience went crazy—of course. That was a move Ford never expected. He thought she’d say yes or no, but either way, he’d anticipated walking away with the audience believing his proposal had been real.
Dear God. She was too honest for her own good.
“I really like you, Ford, and I want a chance to win Royal Bliss, but—” Her brow puckered as she obviously searched for the right words.
What was she, one of those American Girl Scouts? They called them Girl Guides in England; Anne had been one. Honesty required at all times.
“But you have no chance to win the challenges without a partner,” he said, easily adjusting to the new parameters. “Why don’t we get to know each other this week while the whole town watches? I’m in this, Greer. I’m open to going wherever this adventure takes us. Please let me be your partner in your quest to win Royal Bliss.” He put his right palm over his heart.
Oh, God. What had come over him? He hated dating reality shows and all that fake crap. But he couldn’t let her walk off the stage without giving everything he had to help her win that gown. Greer’s eyes widened.
Yes, I’m putting on! Play along, will you? he tried to tell her without speaking.
The crowd went ballistic.
Romance fever, love sickness, whatever you wanted to call it. Charleston had it.
Greer was so damned calm as she thought it over. He could almost see the cogs in her brain turning as she stared into his eyes. He looked right back, and for a brief moment in which he had utter clarity, it wasn’t fun and games anymore. This had nothing to do with rescuing her from a cruel emcee named Pierre and an amused audience, and everything to do with rescuing himself.
Say yes, he thought desperately. Say yes. Dear God, please.
And not because he would be embarrassed if she said no. Not because he was worried she’d lose the contest if she said no. He wanted her to say yes because she fit like a glove in his arms and she made him laugh, and he didn’t even know her but he felt like he’d known her forever somehow. It had come at the auction, that feeling, when he watched her, mesmerized, as she stood with her finger trembling in the air and bid on that dress.
And then he pushed the crazed, insane feeling of wanting to be with her forever aside. He was a panicked, soon-to-be father who was afraid to handle his issues alone. That was all. And this outrageous scenario was an excellent distraction from that, not to mention a way to keep her happy enough to continue posing for him.
Yes, those self-serving, perfectly understandable reasons were why he’d strode up the stairs and knelt before her on the stage.
“Okay, you can be my partner,” she said, loud and clear, with no hesitation.
The roar was deafening. At this point, it was a fairly drunken roar. He pushed his signet ring on her left ring finger—it was much too large. And then he stood, took her in his arms, and kissed her.
People stomped their feet. They hooted and hollered. Whistles bounced off the rafters. He had no idea how, but from some corner a boat horn sounded.
“Oh, my God!” he heard someone yell from near the stage and recognized the voice of Jill, Greer’s friend.
The kiss went on and on. Her waist felt so good. So did the curve of her shoulders beneath the cold, hard-edged sequins. And her mouth …
He couldn’t get enough. He forgot all about the yelling. Where he was, silence reigned, a soft, cushiony silence where everything was calm and good and right.
And then it was over. The noise spilled in, like bad music when you open the door to a dive bar.
Greer smiled up at him. He smiled down at her and thought, What have I done?
“What have we done?” Greer whispered without moving her mouth. She’d make a great ventriloquist.
“Go with it,” he murmured.
“Good God Almighty!” Pierre hissed from the podium into the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, this was not a staged event. I’m in as much shock as you are.” He shook his head. “It looks like we got ourselves a solid five-way contest,” he concluded in a ragged whisper.
The whooping reached a new crescendo. Ford didn’t like having all this time to think about what he’d done. But he held tight to Greer’s hand, which was sweating.
“Sorry,” she said. “This feels kind of surreal, and my palms sweat when I’m nervous.”
“There are a lot of things I don’t know about you,” he said quietly.
“Likewise,” she murmured.
Thankfully, Henny stepped forward, put two fingers to her mouth, and blew a piercing whistle. So much for sophistication! She was able to regain control of the audience, so that was all that mattered. “This has been quite an evening,” she said. “And we’re not done yet.”
It was time for The Newlywed Game!
* * *
The seats were being quickly rearranged on the stage. When Greer went to sit down, she had to walk by Pierre.
“You think you’re the cat’s meow with your temporary engagement,” he said. “Let me tell you something. You don’t mess with Pierre Simons.”
“We just gave your contest some extra pizzazz, and you loved it!” she said.
“I can do some serious damage to your business,” he replied.
“You need to see a counselor. Did you have a mean mother or father?”
“My mother wasn’t a nice person. My father ignored me.”
“Boo hoo. Move on. Meanwhile, I’m calling your bluff. If you wanted to bring down Two Love Lane, you’d have tried before now.”
“I had no time. Now I do. I’ve got Kiki. She does all my dirty work. I’m heading to Scotland for a month to go salmon fishing—”
“Do you really think I care you’re going salmon fishing? What else are you doing? Touring a whiskey distillery? Buying a kilt?”
“Kiki will be here watching your every move,” he went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. “So you’d better find ways to be steamrolled by the other contestants on your own, or she’ll make sure it happens for you.”
“You’re awful,” Greer said. “I’m recording this conversation, and if Kiki and I were ever in a mud wrestling fight, I would take her in the first thirty seconds.”
“Baloney,” he said as she pushed past him and sat down.
He was right. She was full of baloney. She wasn’t recording the conversation, and she didn’t like mud. She’d mince around and try to avoid tangling with Kiki. But she could threaten. She could also be the bigger person, ignore Pierre, stay in the contest, and hope to win fair and square. Another option would be to walk away from the contest entirely, but for two reasons she wouldn’t: one, Royal Bliss was still as beautiful as ever, and she wanted it, especially now that she was “really–not really” engaged until she and Ford decided otherwise. And two, she wasn’t sure if Pierre was lying. Maybe he really was going to mess with Two Love Lane if she won.
A frisson of fear ran through her. A brat like Pierre might not be worthy of her attention, but she would be required to expend energy on him anyway because she had no idea how unpredictable and destructive he might turn out to be. She reassured herself that if she needed to battle him, the man had no idea what a force she was when she teamed up with Macy, Ella, and Miss Thing.
So with all that on her mind, she was pretty much in a daze when Henny asked her three questions about Ford during La Di Da Bridal’s version of The Newlywed Game: (1) Name his favorite TV show, (2) where did you two first make love, and (3) what is his most irritating habit?
Greer guessed: (1) Game of Thrones, (2) we haven’t made love yet, and (3) he, um, snores.
Everyone went Oooooo at the second answer.
“What do you expect?” Greer said to the audience. “We only met yesterday, remember?”
At that, a lot of random pieces of advice were yelled out by the audience as to where they should first do the nasty. The most popular one was on the beach.
The correct answers Ford provided were: (1) Breaking Bad, (2) we haven’t yet, but I’d love to do it on the beach, and (3) I’m a sore loser when I play chess.
Everyone shouted all kinds of support about the beach answer, the most prevalent being, “Wear suntan lotion on your butt!” and a couple of women even yelled, “I’ll do you on the beach, Ford!”
“What good was getting engaged?” Greer whispered in his ear. “We’re still losing.”
“We got one right—we haven’t had sex yet,” he said while the catcalls continued.
“Okay,” she said, “but couldn’t you like Game of Thrones like everyone else? And so many guys snore. Plus, you’re telling everyone about a beach fantasy? There’s sand.”
“I don’t snore, we’d be on a blanket on the beach, and I’ve never seen Game of Thrones,” he said. “Count me among the few nerds who haven’t. I’m an Office fan, the American version. I still can’t believe Steve Carell never won an Emmy. The guy’s brilliant.”
“I wish you’d told me all this before now,” she said. “Not that we’ve had time.” She felt bad whining when he’d been so nice to agree to play the games with her.
“Well, if we ever play again, you’ll know,” he said.
“We’ll never play again.” It made her sad somehow. “This is our one chance. My favorite color is red, and my favorite food is sausage pizza,” is all she could whisper in his ear because it was time for the bride next to her to guess things about her partner, and Kiki came up waving her microphone.
Serena only got two out of three questions right for Wesley. She felt his most irritating habit was whistling. Wesley thought it was his tendency to catalog his cereals in Tupperware. Greer felt guilty and slightly pervy wanting to know where they’d first made love: it was in Wesley’s office. She couldn’t believe he’d been that daring! Or Serena! Serena giggled hard and turned bright red when she answered that one. And Wesley’s favorite TV show was, surprise, surprise, Game of Thrones.
In the end, it turned out that Greer and Ford tied for last place. Lisa came in first with her partner answering on FaceTime. Serena and Wesley came in second.
“No points for us,” said Greer as she and Ford walked down the steps of the stage into the crowd again. “Do you think we can still win?”
“Sure,” he said. “We’ll get in a groove soon enough.”
Her heart swelled. “Thanks for trying to help.”
“I told you I’d have your back,” he said. “You’re posing for me, and I’m helping out here.”
A small part of her was disappointed he didn’t say he wanted to propose marriage to her because she made him feel so happy, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. But the bigger, logical part of her was thinking that she knew nothing about him. For all she knew, he could be a serial killer on the loose. She doubted that. But she’d better stay on guard.
They ran into their posse. What would they think about the engagement? It was obviously not real. But for some reason, Greer still felt giddy. It was understood by the world that she and Ford were together. She’d accepted his proposal, and she was wearing his ring, after all. They’d also kissed in front of a huge crowd and discussed the fact that they hadn’t had sex—yet—the presumption being that they would soon, and probably on the beach.
Except for the beach part, the idea of sleeping with him made her swoon … she was ready. She was so beyond ready!
She drifted a few feet away—he was caught up talking to Wesley and Serena—into the cocoon of her friends.
“You look perfect together,” Miss Thing whispered in her ear.
“Thanks,” Greer whispered back, “but he’s just helping me stay in the contest, of course.”
Miss Thing pulled back and gave her a stern look. “Honey, no man marches up on the stage like that and proposes—out of the blue—without feeling something in his heart. My only question is what do you feel in your heart?”
“It’s too soon to tell,” said Greer. “And he’s only here in the United States a short while.”
“I knew with my guy the very first time I laid eyes on him,” said Miss Thing. “Keep doing crazy things, sweetie. You’re getting so good at it!”
Greer was swept up by all her other friends, too.
“Oh, my God,” Jill said again. “Go consummate this fake engagement right now, sistah. I just wish I had your new bedroom ready.” She gave Greer a giant wink.
Greer tried to look excited. “I can’t wait for the new bedroom,” she lied.
“You’re so in charge,” Ella said, looking her up and down. “Getting engaged without looking at algorithms and statistics? Or even knowing your man? Where’s that Greer?”
Greer gave her a nervous smile. “Still here. As practical as ever. I think.”
Ella laughed. “And a lot less predictable. I like that.”
She passed her off to Macy, who was with Deacon now. They were holding hands. Deacon hugged her first. “Don’t worry. I’m keeping an eye on this Ford guy for you. I’m going to sidle my way over there to meet him now. He may be a short-term relationship, but he’d better take it seriously.”
She laughed. “Thank you, Deacon.”
Then Macy was on her. She held both her hands. “Something is happening,” she told Greer. “I don’t care that this is a fake relationship. It felt so real to everyone in the audience, including me. Do you feel like a rock rolling down a steep hill? You just keep going faster and faster? And the landscape keeps changing, and you can’t slow down?”
Greer nodded. “Exactly like that.”
Macy looked thoughtful for a moment. “Do you want to stop? Or keep rolling?”
“Keep rolling,” said Greer.
Macy sucked in a breath. “I’m getting goose bumps.” She looked down at her arm.
Greer looked at her arm, too. “So am I.”
“I’ll be right here if you ever need to talk.” Macy’s tone was solemn. “Day or night.”
Greer almost got tears in her eyes. “I’ll remember that.”
And then Ford arrived back at her side, and they said good-bye to her friends and entered the rest of the crowd, where random people congratulated them over and over. One inebriated woman told Greer she was a phony and selfish and should be disqualified for trying to be a partnerless bride and then having a fake groom, but Ford quietly blocked her with his body and they moved on, his hand on her back.
“Trolls suck,” he said.
“They do.” She felt so protected.
“Think you can come over tonight to pose?” he asked. “It’s only ten.”
“I can stay until midnight,” she said. “I have a new client coming in tomorrow at nine.”
“I can get you back before you turn into a pumpkin.”
“Okay.” She paused. “I have no idea if Scotland Yard might be conducting a manhunt for you right now. I know nothing about you, really.”
They were still pushing through the crowd. “Tell you what,” he said. “You want to talk to my mother?”
“Sure,” she said.
“Fine.” He pulled out his phone.
She saw the word Mum.
Awww.
She put her ear next to his. She liked how that felt. The part of his head behind his temple was so warm and his hair really soft. He smelled good, too, like that bay rum cologne and virile man.
“Hello, Mum?” His voice was bright.
Greer heard a loud English voice. “Darling, how are you?
“Great, Mum. I’ve got an American friend here named Greer—I’m going to paint her portrait for the Manchester art show. Would love for you to chat with her.”
“Of course, darling. Put her on.”
He handed the phone to Greer. “H-Hello?” Greer felt so nervous talking to a stranger across the ocean. She turned a little bit away from Ford.
“Hello, Greer. This is Ford’s mother speaking. I’d like to reassure you he’s a dear boy who’s all about his art. I’m sure if he’s painting you, you’re a lovely woman.”
“Um, thank you.”
“When he was eight years old, he cut all the pink roses off our neighbor’s prize rose bush, put them in a vase, painted them as a gorgeous still life, brought me the painting as a gift, and threw the roses in the rubbish bin. That’s how sweet he is—and dedicated to his art.”
Greer couldn’t help laughing.
“What?” Ford asked. “What’s she saying?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Smith,” Greer said. “I feel as if I know him better now.”
“You’re welcome, Greer, and do be gentle with him. Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s much more sensitive than he lets on.”
“Okay,” Greer said.
“Now tell him I can’t talk. I just took the corgis out, and I’m gasping for tea.” And she hung up.
“So?” Ford asked.
“She just took the corgis out, and she’s gasping for tea, so she can’t talk. She sounds like the Queen. Her Majesty likes corgis, too, and probably gasps for tea.”
He grinned. “All English people do. Even on sweltering afternoons.”
“What’s sweltering?”
“High seventies Fahrenheit.”
“Hah.”
“My mum is much more approachable than the Queen,” he said.
“She was.” Greer grinned, thinking of him throwing out the roses and keeping the painting. “I liked her. Is your father as nice?”
“He’s an absolute bear but a somewhat tamed one, thanks to Mum,” he said. They were finally outside. “She knows enough to let him roar occasionally, knock over tables, and dive into rubbish bins. Metaphorically, of course. He’s never raised his voice, and his manners are excellent.”
“Your family sounds interesting. Who else is there?”
“My sister Anne. She’s a writer, mother, and wife.”
“What kind of writer?”
“Historical romances.”
“Really?”
“She does very well for herself. She hits the New York Times list regularly. Her pen name is Anne Roth.”
“I’ve heard of her!” Greer laughed. “How fun.”
“You’d like her. She’s very opinionated.”
“I’m sure I would.”
“She’s also my manager.”
“Wow, she wears a lot of hats.”
“She’s extremely competent, and we’re very close.” They were at the curb. “I’ve also got a brother. Rupert. He’s five years older.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s in between jobs right now. He’s brilliant, and he’s funny. But he hasn’t found his niche yet.” He paused. “The truth is, he’s an alcoholic who won’t get help. He might have other substance abuse issues going on as well. We’re not sure. He makes it very difficult for us to help him. He turns us away.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, me, too. It’s sad.”
She held his hand. “I like how you love. It’s not easy, but you do it anyway.”
“It’s not all hearts and flowers, is it?”
She shook her head.
“Are you feeling good about going for a quick sketch session?” He seemed to want to change the subject.
“Sure.” She shivered just a little. It wasn’t cold in the least. Nerves had struck again.
The cab came a few minutes later, and they were on their way to the studio.
Ford held her hand and looked steadily at her. “Nothing to fear,” he said.
“All right,” she said back, and broke her gaze away. She focused on the buildings sweeping past, but she couldn’t help wondering who he was trying to convince.
There was something to fear. She saw it in his eyes. The question was, what was he afraid of?