Chapter 12
Begonia
Giovanna Rutherford is good.
When Hayes and I get back to the house, me feeling like an open book with one cover flap caught in a shredder, him quiet and grumpy and probably about to throw me out of the house, his mother is in the kitchen, wearing an apron that makes her look like Donna Reed, chopping vegetables with a gorgeous hand-thrown pottery mug sitting beside the thick wood cutting board.
Whether it’s my coffee or something stronger inside that mug is anyone’s guess.
“Good morning, dear.” She sets the knife aside to go up on her tiptoes and peck Hayes on the cheek, then greets me with a cheek peck too, like we’re not swimming in this aura of oh my god, I asked him to have sex with me and call me another woman’s name horror.
Which she doesn’t know, of course, but she probably has ten billion reasons of her own to not like me, which makes her warm greeting suspicious in a way I wish it didn’t have to be.
“Begonia,” she says pleasantly, just like Donna Reed all over again. “You’re looking fresh and lovely this morning.”
I dig deep, deep, deep into my joy well and find a smile that almost feels genuine. “Thank you, Mrs. Rutherford. You look like you belong in a movie.”
And then I cringe to myself. Is that like calling my pretend boyfriend’s mother a total faker?
“She’s had a lot of practice,” Hayes says, earning himself an eye roll.
It’s a patient, amused eye roll, and once again, I don’t know if it’s real, or if I should look around for cameras. I hope Hayes and I were pictured together out in town, because I want to talk to Hyacinth, and I don’t know if I should or shouldn’t until it’s public knowledge that we’re dating.
The point is for this to be public knowledge though, right?
Unless we’re done dating, because I’m that level of awkward and embarrassing and disappointing as a fake girlfriend.
But if we were photographed together and we make the news, then the only thing I can’t tell Hyacinth is that it’s fake.
If her twinstinct is working at all, she’s probably trying to call or email me right now.
And since downloading my email again yesterday to show Hayes my contract for the house meant seeing three new emails from my mother with You should get back together with Chad as the effective subject line of each, I’m avoiding email.
Again.
Even though one simple message— Mom, I’m dating a billionaire now —would solve almost all of my issues with my mom.
Probably.
There’s still a large part of me that knows she’ll start telling me how to keep him, even though telling my mom that I’ve moved up in the world of dating was no small part of the appeal of agreeing to this plan.
I really need to talk to Hyacinth.
At the same time, I hope she’s too busy with the kids and hasn’t picked up on my disastrous morning.
I like that twinstinct means I know when she needs me, but I hate that twinstinct also means she knows when I need her.
I need her to not know that I need her. For her sake.
Marshmallow shoves into the middle of the circle of the three of us, licks Giovanna’s hand, then continues on into the kitchen, where he noses open the silverware drawer and a random cabinet.
“Close it,” Hayes orders him.
If Marshmallow were a child instead of a dog, that soft whine would mean but I don’t want to .
“I’ll get it.” I move toward the kitchen, but Hayes grabs my hand and repeats his order to my dog.
Marshmallow goes all the way down to the floor, settles his chin between his paws, and gives Hayes the but I’m such a cute puppy and I did my best trick for you puppy dog eyes.
“What a sweet dog.” Giovanna pats Hayes on the arm. “Go take your Benadryl and stop tormenting the poor thing.”
This is not the same woman who gasped and recoiled in horror at the sight of me rubbing her son’s temples last night. And I’m pretty sure I didn’t have any nipple showing, and I was wearing underwear, which she also couldn’t see, because Hayes’s head was in the way.
Maybe she really thought we were faking and that was proof positive that we aren’t.
Or maybe all of us are better on a good night’s sleep.
Except me and my glorious awkwardness.
But then, I wouldn’t call what I did last night getting a good night’s sleep .
If I had, I never would’ve made that outrageous suggestion.
Have sex with me, fake billionaire boyfriend. I’m sure no one has ever suggested using you for sex before, so surely you’ll be fine with me doing it .
Idiot, idiot, idiot.
He’s trying to get away from women who only want him for what he can give them.
And I’m trying to get away from men who see me as nothing more than a live-in maid with benefits.
“I’ll finish chopping the vegetables,” I offer to Giovanna.
Maybe I’ll have an onion malfunction and need to disappear to douse my head in the ocean a few times to rinse the onion juice out too.
That’ll put my brains back in straight. Especially since the water’s not more than fifty-five degrees.
“You can go put your feet up and enjoy your coffee.”
“Nonsense. We’ll chop vegetables together.”
“Where’s Charlotte?” Hayes asks.
“Sleeping in. She’s earned a day or two off after all the wedding excitement. Shoo. Go on. We know you can’t wait to get back to work. Begonia will come find you when brunch is ready. But let me get you a cup of coffee. It’s delicious.”
He’s giving her the same look he gave me in the closet yesterday when I was trying to explain that I had every right to be in this house, and the same look he gave me ten minutes ago when I proposed he be the first to lubricate my lady-bits post-divorce.
“You’re going home today,” he says.
And that means shopping for a dress with his mother’s assistant is out—thank god—so this farce is hopefully about over.
I overheard someone in the market mention that one of the local B&Bs had a sudden opening.
If I act quickly, Marshmallow and I might be able to talk our way in, just long enough for me to figure out what else my budget can afford for vacation for the rest of my two weeks.
I could try something on the Gulf of Mexico. Or further south along the Atlantic. No need to stay in Maine.
“No, I think we’ll stay another few days,” Giovanna replies.
“Amelia hasn’t been out here since you were teenagers, and I promised her we’d explore town together.
There’s a lovely new art gallery I haven’t seen yet.
And then I get to know Begonia better, and we all make sure you’re not working too hard. Goodness knows that takes a village.”
The undercurrents in the kitchen are strong enough to drown even the bravest social swimmers, so I duck it all and slip over to the coffee pot, grab a fresh mug—have I mentioned I adore the homemade pottery here?
It’s gorgeous, and I have so much respect for the talent it takes to make it—and I pour a cup, then realize I have no idea if Hayes takes his coffee black, or if he prefers it doctored.
“You’re going home today,” Hayes repeats while I decide when in doubt, fix it like I’d fix mine. That’s what I did with Chad when we were dating, and it was enough to prompt him to propose.
I suspect Hayes takes his black, like his soul, and doctored fancy might be enough to make him throw me out too.
That would be a little bit of a relief right now.
Giovanna clucks her tongue. “Hayes, the house is plenty big enough for all of us?—”
“Which doesn’t change the fact that you weren’t invited.”
“I don’t care if you’re ten or sixty, I’m your mother, and I know when you’re in a mood and need to be checked on. This lone wolf routine?—”
“Yes, I’m clearly alone and suffering for being here for a private getaway with my girlfriend.”
Silence settles behind me.
All except Marshmallow making a whimper that suggests he’s caught in the crossfire of a glaring contest.
Don’t turn around, Begonia. Do not turn around and do not drop the sugar and do not move if you want to live .
Hayes breaks the silence while I stand frozen, a tablespoon of sugar hovering over his coffee. “Begonia and I will join you in New York early next week.”
Paris and New York? I’m so startled, I drop the full heaping tablespoon into his coffee. The metal clatters against the ceramic, making me cringe.
No way to hide when you’re clanging spoons in coffee mugs.
“ Next week ?” Giovanna says.
“I’m fully equipped to telework from here while I learn my new role this week,” he says over my muffled squeak of surprise. “And then I get to spend the weekend with Begonia without you.”
“Hayes—”
“I want time alone with my girlfriend. Go away.”
I’m tipping the creamer into his coffee when he slips behind me, puts an arm around my waist, and kisses my neck.
My nipples leap fully erect and my vagina asks if it’s playtime and I spill cream on the counter.
I could pretend this is popping my post-divorce cherry if I hadn’t actually asked him that out loud .
Hayes covers my hand with his, guiding the creamer container back to safety. “Thank you, bluebell. Just the way I like it.”
“Wait,” I gasp, way more panty and needy than I would prefer to sound in front of his mother. “Cinnamon first.”
I knock over the paprika and the oregano in the small spice rack on the counter in my lunge for the cinnamon, but I pull myself together, unscrew the lid, and sprinkle the right amount of cinnamon into the top of his coffee.
“Hayes doesn’t take cinnamon in his coffee, dear,” Giovanna says.
“He’s trying my favorite since I couldn’t shut up about it,” I say at the exact same time Hayes replies, “Begonia insisted it’s delicious, and she’s right.”
Oh my god.
We’re on a fake-relationship-wavelength.
And he’s still pressing his body to my back, one arm still looped around my waist, making me want to suck my stomach in.
I asked him to have sex with me and now he’s touching me .
I have to talk to Hyacinth.
Like, now .