Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
E MERALD
It’s the night of the party. After we shower together, we come out into the bedroom, and Saint heads straight to my closet.
Throwing open the door, I watch as he flicks through my plethora of sparkly dresses, and I feel satisfaction swell as the realization dawns upon him that every single one of the dresses in the closet is stolen.
He spins on his heel toward me and gives a low growl in the back of his throat.
“Is there a problem, Valentino?” I ask with faked innocence.
He strides over to his closet and quickly starts to dress. “You’re not getting your own way so easily,” he huffs. “I’ll be damned if you’re attending our engagement party wearing a stolen dress. Stay here while I go out and buy you a dress.”
My smirk slips off my face. “We’ll be late for our own party,” I huff. Because if we don’t leave soon, I won’t be back in time for The Real Housewives of Sunset Beach , and I’m dying to watch tonight’s episode.
“Think of it as us making a grand, fashionably late entrance,” he throws back over his shoulder as he grabs his car keys.
And I narrow my eyes at him as I flop back onto the bed, already fuming that I’m going to miss my favorite show tonight.
Saint is back an hour later.
“You took ages,” I complain.
“Traffic,” he says with a languid shrug.
I’ve already done my hair and makeup, so snatching the expensive boutique bag from him, I quickly take out the dress box, flip open the lid, throw back the layers of tissue paper, and stare at the creation in front of me.
I’m lost for words.
Speechless.
“I tried to find something in a color you’d like.”
But I still can’t say anything.
Because the thing in front of me looks like someone’s thrown up a custard pie— or ten . It’s bright yellow and frilly and frothy in the worst possible way. For God’s sake .
But I’m not going to stand here and argue. I just want to get this party over and done with. Throwing on the outfit, I decide I’ll find a way to get back at Saint later for making me wear this stupid dress. Then I grab my purse and rush out to the car.
* * *
“We’re here,” Saint tells me.
I huff, unable to help the tiniest bit of resentment from creeping through me. I’m already feeling extremely panicky about the whole show I’m going to have to put on and the lies I’ll have to tell. You can do this, Em . I might be really bad at lying, but I remind myself that I ran guns, shoplifted from stores, and managed to keep a roof over my siblings’ heads—so if I focus hard enough, I’m sure I can convince everyone that this engagement is genuine.
But it’s more than that.
Much more.
Because although I’ve been trying to avoid thinking about it, the fact that he could only ever see me as his fake fiancée stings. Stings like antiseptic being poured onto an open wound...
I don’t know why I even feel like this. I mean, he was clear from the outset that fake was all this would ever be. Who would want to be with someone with all my issues? I can’t stop stealing, I’m responsible for bringing up three kids, and I’ve got a dangerous man after me. But is it so wrong to wonder what if? What if he really did want me as much as I maybe want him ?
“Okay, time to get out of the car, babe ,” he announces as he opens the passenger door, waiting for me to get out so that he can get this stupid celebration started. There’s extra emphasis on the last word in his sentence, as if he thinks using a term of endearment is going to fool people into believing that we’re actually a loved-up couple.
I purse my lips as my gaze turns to Saint. “Don’t call me babe . There’s no one out here to hear you. And when there’s no one around to witness our interactions, then I’d prefer you treat this as a purely business relationship—because that’s what this arrangement clearly is.”
He shrugs with a heavy sigh. “Okay, Emerald Griselda Graziella Gloriana Maria Antonietta Fiorelli, get your ass out the car. Is that better? ”
Shooting him a scowl on steroids, I feel the muscles in my jaw tighten.
“You know,” he continues, “with a name like that, it sounds like your mom had grand expectations of what you’d achieve in life.”
“What, you mean like something more than being a shoplifting gold digger ?”
He says nothing, merely giving an annoying raise of his dark eyebrow.
Okay, so maybe my mom did go a little over the top when naming me, but every parent has ambitions for their kid, right? But how the hell does he even know all my middle names? “Let’s just get one thing straight, Valentino. I don’t like the idea of you rifling through the personal details of my life. It feels too much like a robber pawing through my panty drawer.”
“I haven’t had the pleasure of your panty drawer yet,” he responds in his infuriating drawl, “but I’ll add it onto my to do list ASAP.”
I ignore his outstretched hand as I clamber out of his black convertible, and after straightening my outfit and trying to forget that I’m dressed like a goddamn freaking banana, we walk toward the country club’s entrance side by side, Saint slowing his stride down so that I can keep up on my very high heels.
I feel his gaze run from my face, down my body, and all the way down my long legs which are on full show given the indecent length of the dress.
“You look gorgeous,” he tells me, despite the fact that I feel like a custard meringue.
And the low tone of his voice does something funny to my insides, not that I’d ever admit that to him or anyone else.
“Although maybe I shouldn’t say that,” he adds, “because as you say, this is a purely business relationship. I mean, I wouldn’t want you to interpret my actions as workplace harassment or anything like that.”
“Don’t worry. You just carry on saying whatever you like.” I flick my hair over my shoulder. “Because if I don’t like it, I’ll just throat-punch you.”
I know I shouldn’t be so snappy, but my insides are churning, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. Because I just keep getting the really bad feeling that this whole engagement party is going to be a complete disaster…
* * *
I’m standing in the Venetiville Country Club waiting for Saint to bring me another drink when Ronnie comes up to me. “Well, I didn’t ever see you getting together with Saint,” Ronnie muses after congratulating me with a warm hug.
“Yeah, I never saw it coming either,” I manage in response. “So, how are things with you?”
“Fine. Ria and me are trying for a baby. It’ll be nice to have kids, although Ria’s already complaining that I’ll need to earn more to afford the army of nannies she expects.”
I smile at him. For all his failings, I can see him being a good dad.
“I’m glad you and me can still be friends, Em,” he says in a genuine voice.
“Yeah, me too, Ronnie. Whatever happened, it was fate’s way of telling me that we weren’t meant to be. That we were always better off as just friends.” Because although he was truly the worst boyfriend in the whole freaking world, we were best friends before we dated, and it’s good to be friends with him again. He’s always got me, in the same way Jacquetta and Nicki do, and it’s not often a person finds true friendship like that. Ronnie and Ria got married almost immediately after the engagement announcement because of some business deal between their families, and then Ronnie reached out to me afterward and actually apologized. He admitted he was in the wrong and really sorry for how he treated me. I can see now that we weren’t right for each other, and although it really hurt when it happened, his apology helped me get closure over our whole relationship.
“Yeah, friends,” he says. “We should grab a coffee sometime. I’ll call you next week?”
“That’d be nice.”
And then Ronnie gives me another quick grin before taking his leave as he sees Saint approaching.
Saint lasers a glare after Ronnie’s retreating form. “What did Ronnie want?”
“Just offering me his congratulations and saying we should grab a coffee next week.” I look around the room. “Party’s going well.”
“You think?” Saint looks surprised that I’m even interested. But given the amount of champagne I’ve already consumed, I’m feeling a little more mellow than earlier.
We start mingling and find ourselves in the middle of a large group of guests who are all eager to see my fabulous ring.
After the appropriate amount of time has been spent on oohing and ahhing over my rock, Marjorie Martinelli decides to start grilling me. “So, just how exactly did you two end up falling for each other?” Marjorie grills me.
I open my mouth, then close it. I’m not quite sure how to answer, especially since Saint didn’t prep me for that particular question. “Saint, you tell them,” I say quickly, while knowing there’s no way he’s going to be able to spin lying about being a cop as the moment when I madly fell in love with him.
A look of slight panic flashes across Saint’s face. “No, babe, you tell them,” he responds when he’s unable to think up an answer. He clearly didn’t think through this fake engagement party plan very well…
My jaw drops. How the heck am I going to make this convincing? I clear my throat. “Um, okay, fluffy bunnykins , let me think…”
And I smile secretly at Saint’s expression when he hears me call him the pet name I’ve just made up for him.
“Sooo, it really started at that funeral. Remember, um, when Saint jumped into the pool and killed that guy?”
“Of course, we all remember,” Marjorie nods.
“Well, how could I not fall for him after watching him defend my honor in what can only be described as a Dynasty -style Alexis Colby versus Krystle Carrington total bitch fight?”
Majorie’s crony, Vera Vecchiarelli, gives me a dubious look. “Really…?”
“Well, when he climbed out of the pool, he looked just like a, um, drowned bunny. And that was the moment I completely and utterly fell for him.”
“Because he looked like a drowned bunny?” Marjorie asks in a confused tone.
I nod manically. “Because he looked like a very cute drowned bunny.”
“I think you mean he looked like a drowned rat,” Vera interrupts.
I give her a hard look. “No,” I say slowly, “I mean he looked like a drowned bunny.” Perhaps I might have had a little too much to drink by this stage, but how else am I supposed to get through this fake party for my fake engagement?
Marjorie and Vera clearly aren’t convinced at my pathetic attempt at lying. Marjorie clears her throat. “Dear, are you sure that this engagement is rea?—”
Oh God, we’re going to be found out ! “Like this!” I announce, cutting off her sentence as I shove Saint so hard that he loses his balance and plunges headfirst into the pool.
There’s a huge splash as he crashes into the water.
And his spluttering and cursing are the only things I hear in the momentary silence.
Then people gasp and exclaim out aloud all around me.
And although I can practically feel Saint’s scowl slicing into me, I can’t help but smile to myself about my quick thinking.
He clambers to the side and eventually hauls himself out, his expensive suit ruined, and his hair plastered to his face.
“See?” I say with mock enthusiasm, clapping my hands together. “Isn’t he just adorable when he resembles a drowned bunny?”
Marjorie gives me an uncertain nod, while Vera gives an awkward laugh.
And deciding I need to get away from their inquisition before they figure out I’m lying, I hurry away to grab another drink.
“What the hell was that, Emerald?” Saint squelches up behind me at the bar, dripping water all over the patio stones.
I blink slowly. “I had to make it believable, and I’ve got, er, standards, so I wouldn’t just fall for a guy unless there was something super special about him.”
“I’m your fake fiancé,” he emphasizes.
“Um, so?”
“So, lower your goddamn standards,” he growls.
Christian approaches. “Did I hear Emerald call you fluffy bunnykins?” He laughs out loud. “Why does she call you that?”
Oh God, this thinking on your feet gig is much more difficult than I anticipated. I start to reply with another made-up story. “Oh, it’s because he likes to dress up as a fluffy bunny rabbit for me when we’re having sexy time in the bedr?—”
“Excuse us,” Saint grabs my arm and hauls me away. “You’re taking this too far,” he grits out at me.
I put a hand on my hip. “Look, I’m doing my best. You know that I’m a bad liar. And my brain keeps freezing with everyone staring at me and waiting for answers.”
But he just continues to glare at me.
“It’s you who insisted on having this party in the first place, Saint,” I bluster. “I told you it was a bad idea…”
“Just cut it out from now on, Emerald,” he growls. “Because otherwise, I might just have to kill you.”
“No, you won’t, fluffy bunnykins.” I beam him a syrupy smile. “ Because then nobody will ever believe that our fake engagement is real. ”