7. Carmen
7
Carmen
Donny’s heat radiates against my back, his presence overwhelming my senses. I slam my hand on the marble counter, whirling to face him. “Do you mind? I don’t need you hovering. I can cook just fine on my own.”
He takes a small step back, but remains close enough that I can still catch the subtle scent of his cologne. The warmth radiating from his body seems to bridge the gap between us. “Just checking how things are going,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate despite the spacious kitchen around us.
I swallow hard, willing my racing heart to slow. “Well, don’t.”
“Maybe you should be thinking about how you’re going to act in rehearsal tomorrow, rather than making sure I’m not burning your precious kitchen down,” I mutter.
I’ve been cooking this dinner for a while now because every time I start one thing, I think of another that his parents might enjoy. At this point, I’m pretty sure we are going to have what could be considered a Thanksgiving feast.
Donny grunts, then silently walks out of the kitchen.As he leaves, I catch a glimpse of his face. There's a tension in his jaw, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes that I've never seen before. My breath catches in my throat. This isn't the rockstar I'm used to seeing on stage, commanding thousands with a single drumbeat. This is just... Donny. A man nervous about his parents' visit, anxious about maintaining our charade.
A strange warmth blooms in my chest, accompanied by an unexpected urge to reach out and squeeze his hand reassuringly.
Am I starting to care about his feelings?
I turn back to the stove, stirring the sauce with more vigor than necessary, trying to drown out the sudden rush of empathy. But it's too late. That brief moment has shifted something between us, blurring the lines I've so carefully drawn.
It’s only when I’m absolutely positive he’s gone that I spin around, my back pressing against the counter, and wipe a towel along my brow to catch the sweat. My hands are shaking, which is bound to happen when I’m meeting the parents of someone who’s supposed to be my fiancé. I’m not sure how the rest of the evening is going to play out, but I can’t imagine it will go smoothly.
I may have been working around Donny for a little while now, but that doesn’t mean I know everything that a fiancée should know. Putting myself in the kitchen, where I could steer away from having the awkward conversations about me and Donny, was the best option for me so I could get my mind in the right place.
There are a few things I know about Donny—he’s allergic to peanuts, fresh oatmeal cookies before every show, and he always does these four small beats on the drums as soon as he sits behind them. A fiancée could know those things about him, sure, but what about everything else?
Does he fall asleep to the city’s symphony of traffic, or does he need silence? Which side of the bed does he prefer? Is he really as neat as his pristine living room suggests, or is his bedroom a chaotic counterpoint?
These thoughts swirl in my mind, each one a reminder of how little I truly know about the man I’m supposed to be engaged to. What if his mother asks about his quirks, his habits? The intimacies a real fiancée would know?
My stomach knots. I’m way over my head.
Donny and I didn’t exactly have enough time to go over the simpler things about the two of us. The only thing I managed to get out of him during dinner last night was that he’s very specific about his wine—to the point that he has to ask detailed questions about each one just to make sure it’s something he will drink.
If I’m being honest, I hadn’t expected him to be a wine person—more of a whiskey on the rocks kind of guy. That’s the most interesting thing I’ve learned about him, though, and I’m not sure I’ll be cut out for enjoying a meal with his parents in light of that.
“Well, well, well,” his mother says eagerly as she steps into the kitchen, “smells like something amazing is cooking.”
I give her the best smile I can manage and nod. “Doing my best. I apologize for not having things done sooner. We weren’t expecting you for another day, and Donny seems to enjoy pushing my buttons at work.”
“Sounds like my son.”
Her heels click against the hard floor as she inches closer to me, and I push away from the counter, straightening my spine when she peeks at everything I’ve got cooking. She blinks in surprise, then glances at me. “Seems it was smart for us to come with an appetite.”
My cheeks heat, and I sigh. “Cooking helps when I’m nervous.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.
“My kind of woman,” she says with a smile. “Need help with anything?”
I turn to the food and look at the sauce simmering in a skillet. “Actually, you could try this for me and tell me what you think?”
Her eyes dance with excitement, and she eagerly comes over, taking a spoon from the drawer next to the stove. I watch nervously as she blows on it, then takes a small bite. For a moment, it’s nothing but silence and my heart pounds loudly in my chest.
Then she hums in agreement and dips the spoon in again. “This is incredible. Where did you learn to cook?”
“My grandmother.”
“You’ll have to teach me some of her recipes. I’m always looking for new things to make for my husband.”
I suck in a breath and give her a smile. “That would be nice.”
For a moment, I feel bad that this is all a charade because his mother seems sweet. Quickly, the emotion goes away, and I’m left standing awkwardly silent in front of her. She glances around at everything one more time before walking away and joining the two men back in the living room.
How the hell am I supposed to do this?
***
While Donny takes plate settings to the dining table, I hurry into the wine cellar that Donny directed me to and find a good bottle of wine. At least our date last night came in handy for one thing, I know exactly which one to pick. I take a deep breath inside the kitchen, then strut into the dining room with my head held high—like I belong there.
I pour Donny's father a glass and then start to pour one for his mother. Suddenly, Donny clears his throat, his eyebrows shooting up in alarm. Our eyes meet across the table, and I see a flash of panic in his gaze.
"Sunshine," he says, his voice strained with forced casualness, "remember? Mom only drinks white wine."
The realization hits me like a punch to the gut.
Shit.
“Oh goodness,” I mutter, then quickly snatch her wine glass away and hurry into the kitchen to replace it with a new one.
While I’m in there, Donny strides into the kitchen, and I narrow my eyes at him. “You couldn’t have provided me with that tidbit of information before I embarrassed myself?”
“I know, I know,” he says, then blows out a rough breath and reaches a hand out to touch my arm. “I’m sorry.”
“Just go grab a bottle of white wine. I was so focused on what I thought you would like that I didn’t think of what she might enjoy.”
As soon as Donny disappears toward the wine cellar, I feel the pricking of tears behind my eyes so that I hurry to blink away. I refuse to cry right now. By the time Donny comes back out, I’ve masked my emotions, and I follow him into the dining room with a fresh glass for his mother.
I take the wine from Donny and flash his mother a small smile. “I apologize for that, Mrs. Steger.”
She waves me off and chuckles. “It’s no problem at all, dear.”
The meal starts off in silence, everyone enjoying everything with hums of agreement and a few smiles aimed my way for how well I cooked everything. I drink one glass of wine, pour myself another, and before long I’ve emptied that glass as well.
Donny leans in, his lips brushing my ear. A shiver runs down my spine as his warm breath floats across my skin. “Easy on the wine, Sunshine. We need you coherent.”
His closeness, the pet name—it’s all too much. I turn, our faces inches apart. “If you wanted the perfect wife,” I whisper fiercely, “you should’ve asked someone else to play pretend.”
Our eyes lock, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. Then I remember his parents watching us, and I plaster on a smile.
“Donald,” his mother says after taking a sip of her wine. “Why don’t you tell me how your relationship started?”
That catches my attention and I straighten in my seat, suddenly afraid of what he could say to this. Out of everything we could’ve gotten situated, this is the kind of story that should’ve been agreed on first.
Donny clears his throat and gives me a smile that I feel clear to the tips of my toes. “Well, you know that she works as our manager. She caught my eye the moment I laid eyes on her, and I tried everything to get her to go on a date with me.”
“He was relentless,” I add, deciding I could have fun as he tells the story. “Like a cute little puppy.”
He snaps his attention to me, a frown on his face, but his mother’s laugh from across the table forces him to look back at her. “It was embarrassing, but eventually, she agreed to a date, and, as they say, the rest is history.”
“And how did you propose?”
His mother’s eyes shine as she asks, but I can also see a hint of hurt in them, and I can only assume it’s because Donny didn’t allow her to be part of the moment. My heart aches at the realization, but I turn my attention away before my emotions become more evident and I ruin our charade.
One day. That’s all. We can do this.
“Well, I got all the guys in on the moment and created a little scavenger hunt that took her to each of our favorite places.”
My eyebrows jump at his quick thinking, and I let him continue.
He chuckles and shakes his head. “I was a nervous wreck while I waited for her at that final stop, but the moment I saw her emerge from between the trees, I knew it was right. She looked beautiful standing under the twinkling lights, which took forever to put up, and it didn’t take much for me to fall onto one knee.”
His mother gasps and smiles, tears shining in her eyes. “That sounds so beautiful.”
I hate how much I wish that would’ve happened. I’ve always wanted a family of my own, a husband to love and cherish, and I always imagined what the proposal would look like. Donny seems to have taken all of my thoughts and voiced them into reality.
“I was just happy she said yes,” Donny says, lightening the mood just enough.
Without thinking, I place my hand on Donny’s thigh under the table. He tenses beneath my touch, and I nearly pull away. But then his hand covers mine, warm and strong, keeping it in place.
I look up at him, momentarily lost in the intensity of his gaze. “Of course, I said yes,” I manage, my voice softer than intended. “Who wouldn’t?”
“I’m so happy for you both,” his mother gushes. “And I better be involved in the wedding planning.” She narrows her eyes at Donny, whose cheeks flush pink. He nods, squeezing my hand under the table.
The gesture feels too real, too intimate. I should move my hand. I don’t.
“You seem to really enjoy each other’s company. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for my son. It also helps that you’re good in the kitchen.” This time, she winks in my direction and I chuckle in response. “Donald has never been the greatest at cooking, so I’m glad he’s got a woman like you to fill him up.”
If only that were true.
Donny’s father and I haven’t spoken much during their visit, so it surprises me when he smiles and says, “You seem like a lovely woman, and I’m glad we got to meet you.”
“Maybe next time we can make the visit last longer and get to know each other better,” I say softly, hoping that will make them feel better.
“I like the way you think,” he responds, then pushes away from the table with a frown. “As much as I hate to do this, we really should be heading to the hotel. We’ve got an early flight set for tomorrow.”
We wave goodbye, Donny's arm around my waist, holding me close. As soon as the door clicks shut, I step away, immediately missing his warmth. The loss is unsettling.
I can't shake the proposal story from my mind – the twinkling lights, the romance of it all. It felt so real. Too real.
We linger in his condo for a moment, the silence between us heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, I break the spell.
"I should go," I mumble, not meeting his eyes. I'm afraid of what I might see there. Or what he might see in mine.
Donny nods silently, leading the way to the elevator. As we step inside, the air feels thick with unspoken words. We stand side by side, not touching, as the floors tick by. The soft hum of the descending elevator is the only sound breaking the loaded silence between us.
We exit Donny's building, the cool night air a stark contrast to the warmth inside. The valet nods, heading off to retrieve my car.
"You were great tonight," Donny says, his voice rough.
Is he as affected as I am?
We stand there on the sidewalk, the air thick with unspoken words. The valet pulls up with my car, but neither of us moves.
Finally, I turn to leave, but Donny catches my wrist. "Carmen, I—"
I wait, heart pounding. But he just shakes his head, releasing me. "Never mind. Drive safe."
As I slide into the driver's seat, I glance back. Donny's still standing there, watching me. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, I feel like I'm seeing him for the first time.
Why does leaving feel like I'm moving in the wrong direction? Why does the thought of going home to an empty apartment make my chest ache?
At the first red light, my fingers brush the fake engagement ring. A warm, unfamiliar feeling washes over me. For the first time, I wonder, how much of tonight was truly pretend?