Chapter 10
ten
. . .
Stella
“You're really going to help me?” I bounce slightly on my couch cushions, barely able to contain my excitement. “Thank you, thank you! I actually started a list.”
Brandon's still looking at me with that slightly dazed expression he's been wearing since I demonstrated what I thought flirting looked like. His cheeks are flushed, and he keeps running his hand through his hair like he's trying to reset his brain.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice rougher than usual. “I mean, you don't really need help, but if you want pointers on how to be more…confident, I can work with that.”
I grab my food and settle cross-legged, facing him. “So, what's lesson one? Eye contact? Body language? Should I take notes?”
“Stella, you don't need to—”
A sharp knock at my door cuts him off mid-sentence. We both freeze, staring at each other like we've been caught doing something illegal.
“Are you expecting someone?” Brandon asks quietly.
I shake my head. It's eight-thirty on a Thursday night. Blair's home with the baby, Jess and Lucas are at some industry event, and Natalie teaches evening yoga classes. Nobody just drops by unannounced.
The knock comes again, followed by a familiar voice that makes my blood turn to ice water.
“Stella Suzanne? Sugar, are you home? I can hear the television.”
“Oh, my God,” I whisper, scrambling off the couch so fast I nearly knock over my wine glass. “That's my mother.”
Brandon's eyebrows shoot up. “Your mother? From Georgia? What is she doing here?”
“I have absolutely no idea.” I'm smoothing down my hair and glancing around my apartment like it's been hit by a tornado instead of just containing evidence of our usual Thursday night routine. “Just…stay here and be cool. She's harmless, I promise.”
I open the door to find my mother standing in the hallway, wearing a cream-colored pantsuit and her blonde hair in a perfect bob despite what must have been hours of travel.
She's holding a designer handbag and a small rolling suitcase, and the moment she sees me, her face lights up like it's Christmas morning.
“Surprise, baby girl!” She pulls me into a hug that smells like Chanel No. 5 and home, squeezing me tight before pulling back to examine my face.
“Mama, what are you doing here?”
“I couldn't wait another minute to meet this mystery boyfriend you've been keeping from us.”
“What?” The blood rushes from my face, and I must look like a ghost. In fact, I think I'm going to pass out.
“Well, when you told me you were seeing someone, I just got so excited.” She's already looking past me into my apartment, her sharp eyes taking inventory.
“Your father's at some tedious golf tournament in Hilton Head, so I thought, why not fly out now and have some mother-daughter time?
And maybe meet the man who's captured my baby's heart.”
Her gaze lands on Brandon, who's standing frozen by my coffee table like a deer caught in headlights. He's still holding his plate of food, his hair is mussed from running his hands through it, and he looks like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world.
“Oh, my stars!” she gasps, pressing a hand to her chest, and then whispers, “Is this him? Stella Suzanne, you didn't tell me he was so handsome!”
My brain short-circuits completely. This is it.
This is the moment where I either confess that I'm a pathological liar who invented a boyfriend to avoid blind dates or I figure out some way to salvage this disaster.
My mother is staring at Brandon with the kind of delighted expression she usually reserves for babies and wedding announcements, and he looks like he's about to bolt for the door.
I need to say something. Anything. But what comes out of my mouth is somehow both the worst possible option and my only way out of this mess.
“Mama, this is Brandon,” I say, my voice getting higher with each word. “Brandon Grimaldi. My boyfriend. He lives across the hall. So convenient to have a boyfriend so nearby.”
Oh, God. Oh, no. What am I doing? I just called Brandon my boyfriend. To my mother. Out loud. There's no taking this back now.
I can't seem to stop talking; the words tumble out of my mouth like I've lost all control over my vocal cords.
I'm too terrified to look at Brandon directly, so I shift my eyes sideways without turning my head.
I can see him staring at me, and I'm pretty sure those are the whites of his eyes taking up most of his face.
Please play along, I pray silently.
“Hello, Brandon!” my mother exclaims, rushing toward him with her arms outstretched. “It's so nice to meet you!”
She pulls him into one of her signature Southern mama hugs, and over her shoulder, Brandon shoots me a look that could absolutely be classified as murderous.
I bring my hands up in a desperate pleading gesture, and his eyes narrow in a way that tells me I'm going to be buying our Thursday night dinners for the next year.
When she finally releases him, something magical happens. Brandon's entire demeanor shifts, and suddenly, he's all charm and grace. Even I'm convinced we're dating.
“Mrs. Rhodes, it's such a pleasure to meet you,” he says, his voice warm and smooth. “I can see where Stella gets her beauty.”
My mother practically melts on the spot.
“And I have to tell you,” he continues, reaching over to take my hand and pull me against his side, “I absolutely adore your daughter. She's the most incredible woman I've ever met.”
Holy shit. He's actually doing it. He's holding my hand and telling my mother he adores me with the kind of sincerity that could win him an Oscar. I can literally see her falling for it in real time.
The casual way he touches me, like it's the most natural thing in the world, sends an unexpected flutter through my stomach. Even knowing this is all an act, my skin tingles where his fingers brush against mine.
“Please, call me Caroline. And what do you do, Brandon? Besides sweep my daughter off her feet, apparently.”
“I'm a stuntman,” he says simply. “I work in film and television.”
My mother's eyebrows shoot up, but instead of the disapproval I'm expecting, she looks impressed. “A stuntman! How exciting. That must require incredible strength and athleticism.”
“It has its moments,” Brandon says, shooting me a glance that clearly asks, “Is this really happening?”
“So, how long have you two been seeing each other?” she asks, her eyes bright with curiosity.
“Not long,” I say quickly. “Like I told you, it's still really new.”
“But promising,” my mother says with a knowing smile. “I can tell. You have that glow, sugar.”
Brandon clears his throat. “So, uh, how long are you planning to visit?”
“Oh, just a few days.” She gestures to the rolling bag in the hallway. “I thought I could stay in your guest room and we could have some lovely mother-daughter time. And of course, I want to get to know Brandon better.”
My guest room. Which doesn't exist. Because I live in a one-bedroom apartment with a living room, kitchen, and bathroom. There is no guest room.
“Actually, Mama, I don't have a guest room. This is just a one-bedroom.”
She gets a perplexed look on her face, one that makes her look like she already knew that detail, and immediately, I'm suspicious. “Oh. Well, that's fine. I can take the couch. I'm not picky.”
Crap on a cracker. I can't let my mother sleep on the couch. “Mama, you can't sleep on that. You'll hurt your back.”
“Then where do you suggest I stay? A hotel?”
Yes. Yes, I do. She loves fancy hotels. I'm not sure where she's going with this. Her acting skills escalate to look offended, like staying in a hotel is the equivalent of sleeping in a cardboard box.
And that's when my mother's gaze shifts between Brandon and me, and I can practically see the gears turning in her head. Her eyes narrow slightly as she takes in the dinner setup, the way we're standing close together, the general domestic comfort of the scene.
“Unless…” she says slowly as a knowing smile creeps across her face. “Unless you two are already staying together most of the time anyway?”
My face goes completely red. “Mama!”
“Oh, don't be embarrassed, sugar. I'm a modern woman. I know how these things work.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Young couples spend time at each other's places. It's perfectly natural.”
Brandon looks like he's having an out-of-body experience. “We're not… I mean, we don't…”
“That's right,” I jump in, my voice pitched about an octave higher than normal. “What I mean is, I usually stay at his place. Because it's bigger. And has a better…shower.”
The lies are just pouring out of me now, each one digging the hole deeper. Brandon's staring at me like I've lost my mind, which I probably have.
“Perfect!” my mother exclaims, clapping her hands together. “Then I'll just stay here in Stella's apartment for a few days, and you two can continue your normal routine at Brandon's place. Problem solved!”
The room goes completely silent. I can hear the air conditioning humming, the distant sound of traffic outside, the rapid beating of my own heart as the full magnitude of what just happened hits me.
“That's…” I have absolutely no idea how to finish that sentence.
“Wonderful,” Brandon says faintly, though he looks anything but convinced. “Just…wonderful.”
“Well, it was lovely to meet you, Brandon, but I'm absolutely exhausted. All that traveling has worn me out,” my mother says, settling onto my couch like she owns the place. “Don't let me keep you from your evening plans. I'm sure you two want to get back to Brandon's place and get settled.”
She's looking at us expectantly, clearly waiting for us to pack up and leave so she can take over my apartment.
“Right,” I say weakly. “We should…go do that. Get settled.”
Brandon nods slowly, his charm starting to slip. “Settled. At my place. Where we…usually stay. Together.”
“How sweet,” my mother coos. “Young love is just so precious.”
And that's how Brandon Grimaldi, who, ten minutes ago, was my neighbor offering to give me dating advice, becomes my live-in fake boyfriend for the next week.
I really need to work on my impulse control.