Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
REID
“ W e’re beginning our descent.” The pilot’s voice crackles through the overhead speakers. “We expect to land in approximately twenty minutes.”
Syanne stops mid-sentence, panic overtaking her expression. “Reid, we’re almost there! Why didn’t you tell me to stop blabbering about nothing?”
“It wasn’t nothing. I loved hearing stories about you and your sisters growing up on your ranch in Texas.”
The airline rep had no trouble convincing the passenger booked in Syanne’s row to trade for my business class seat. And Grant’s empty spot left us with an entire row for the private conversation we’d intended for ironing out details of our fake relationship.
“But we should have been working on our stories, instead. We wasted two and a half hours.”
“It wasn’t wasted time—I needed this. I’m more relaxed than I’ve been in ages.” I rub my jaws below my ears. “Although I’m sore from laughing so much. I’m afraid these muscles are out of practice.”
“Well, you’ve got two days to whip them into shape before the rest of my family gets here, or you’re going to need jaw traction.”
“Speaking of your family, maybe I should know a little about them.”
“Why?” She narrows her eyes.
“Just to make our relationship seem more legit.”
The truth is I need to know if I’ve crossed paths with any of them because they might blow my cover. Syanne thinks I work at St. Nick’s, which is technically true. Just like when I said I wouldn’t call myself a millionaire —it wasn’t exactly a lie since the company is worth billions . Knowing Syanne hates rich guys, I had no choice but to fudge a little.
“GeeBee and Gramma are the only ones that matter. They’re the Underground Granny Matchmakers. And Dad won’t get there until the day after Christmas.”
“But you have three sisters, and their husbands are famous?” I urge her on, earning a small scowl.
“Okay—brace yourself. My oldest sister is Harmony Rivers.”
“Wow!” I don’t expect to be shocked, but I am. “Didn’t she win a Grammy or something?”
Syanne nods. “And Harmony is married to West Garrison. He’s not quite as famous as—”
I cut her off. “He’s a great singer. I followed him on YouTube way back when hardly anyone knew about him. I had no idea he was married to Harmony Rivers.”
Syanne smiles. “My second sister, April, is married to Race Madden. ”
“Race Madden of Madden and the Hatters?” I almost choke but try to appear calm. Race is the ultimate rock star.
“That’s the one. He’s a real cut-up if you get to know him.”
“That’s a star-studded family.” So far so good, I’ve never met any of her family, so my identity is safe. “And you obviously love them all even though they must be loaded. Guess you don’t hate all rich guys after all, right?”
Something about being automatically rejected because of my wealth doesn’t sit well. Maybe it’s my pride.
“I guess I don’t hate the guys who made their fortunes through talent and hard work.” She squints at me. “Are you sure you’re not rich?”
“I’m just a guy who works hard for a living.” I try to swallow, my throat dry.
“You don’t look rich, but you seem kind of defensive about it.” She eyes my shoes, which fortunately, came from a department store. My dad taught me to buy quality clothing but avoid extravagant purchases.
“It’s just fun to make you defend your positions.”
“Then let’s say I only hate men like Grant—a corporate rich guy whose dad handed him the company on a silver platter, and now he thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”
“Gotcha.” My stomach turns queasy. The first half of her description could be me. I tamp down that thought. “You didn’t tell me about your third brother-in-law.”
“Joy is married to… Brace yourself... Matthew Lawrence .”
“Oh.” My response is barely audible.
Matt is one of the top actors in Hollywood. Unfortunately, he knows me. In fact, we’re friends. We serve together on the board of WGO, a charity organization that provides grief counseling for families who’ve lost loved ones. Hopefully, if I send him a text, he’ll understand why I want to play the role of a regular guy as long as I can.
She’s eyeing me suspiciously, probably wondering if I’m using her like her ex did.
“Syanne,” I turn her face toward mine, trying not to notice her satiny-smooth skin. “I can skip meeting your family, so you don’t have to worry about my motivation.”
“You don’t want to meet my family?”
“I don’t need to.” And it will be easier if Matt and I don’t have to pretend we’ve never met. “But I’ll be eternally grateful if you play the girlfriend role for my Nanna. When your family comes, we’ll tell Nanna it’s too early in the relationship for you to introduce me to them.”
She tilts her head to the side. “Except you have to meet Harmony. I told her the whole sordid story of the kiss, and she’s dying to meet you.”
“Sordid? You thought our kiss was sordid?” I huff with exaggerated irritation. “I would’ve called it hot .”
“The kiss was kind of hot,” she says, as pink roses bloom in her cheeks, “but us being complete strangers when it happened is a little creepy.”
“I disagree. I think it was risky, not creepy. If either of us had been degenerates, it would’ve been creepy. But we’re both nice people. And look at all the things that lined up to get us where we are now. Like you just happened to sit down next to me at the airport. And you talked so loudly to your sister that I couldn’t ignore you, so I already detested Grant before he showed up. And how big of a coincidence is it that both our families are booked at St. Nick’s for the holidays?”
“There were a lot of coincidences.” She twists a strand of red hair around her finger.
“It proves this was meant to be. I was there to be your Edward Cullen at the airport. Now you’re here to be my Christmas girlfriend for Nanna. And I’ll steer clear of your family, except for meeting Harmony.”
“Actually…” Syanne’s shoulders bunch around her ears. “I was kind of hoping you would also play the boyfriend role for me when Gramma and GeeBee get here. Otherwise, they’re going to try and set me up.”
“Oh… right.” Sweat trickles down my neck. My chances of keeping my identity a secret just dropped from slim to almost none. I need to tell Syanne the truth.
But not today.
“We’re still only fake-dating, right?” Syanne looks up through her thick auburn lashes. “Because I meant it when I swore off men. This hasn’t changed anything.”
“Same here.” I jab a thumb toward my chest. “Even if I wanted to start dating, which I don’t, I wouldn’t be good for you.”
“Why not?”
Odd that she furrows her brows when she ought to look relieved.
“Back when I lost my family, I threw myself into my job. There’s no room in my life for anything or anybody else.”
Mercifully, Syanne hasn’t asked for details, so I didn’t have to relive the horrific moment when Nanna and I got news of the plane crash, and deaths. And Syanne doesn’t realize it happened on Christmas Eve.
“What about your grandmother? Didn’t you say you two are all that’s left of your family? You make time for her, don’t you?”
Guilt smothers me, as it always does when I think about Nanna. “I could be more attentive. She keeps busy, though. She knits. ”
“She knits?” Those blue eyes shred me like shards of ice. “You think knitting is a substitute for family?”
“No.” My shoulders droop. “But this year, I’m trying to be better. That’s one reason I’m excited to introduce you to her. And Nanna will be easy to fool. She’ll believe we’re together, because she really wants it to be true.”
“You’re going to get her hopes up and then dash them to the ground? I don’t want to be part of something that ends up hurting her.”
“I hadn’t thought it through that far.” I feel like a jerk. “What if we’re honest and say we met at the airport? Instead of saying we’re dating we can say we’re considering the possibilities. That way, she won’t be so disappointed when we go our separate ways.”
“Okay.” She chews her lip in the way I’ve come to realize means that she’s concentrating. “But you should make this Christmas special for her.”
“I bought her some really nice gifts.” I’m feeling smug about Nanna’s Christmas presents, which include a diamond necklace and an expensive angora sweater. I even paid to have them professionally wrapped.
“What about Christmas traditions? Do you have any?”
“Not since Mom died.” My chest aches like I swallowed a watermelon. Even after all these years, the memory of their deaths is sometimes too painful to bear. Why can’t I move on?
Syanne gasps. “No Christmas traditions for the last seven years?”
“It’s too hard.”
She speaks in a quiet voice.
“My mom died of cancer when I was a baby, so it’s not the same for me. But Gramma insisted we make Mom’s special Christmas cookies every year to remember and honor her.” Syanne lays her soft hand over mine, where I’m gripping the arm rest. “Is it possible you might bring back an old family tradition, in honor of your family? Or would that make you feel worse?”
Somehow her touch soothes my aching soul. “It might be a good thing.”
“I hope so.” She smiles, the pad of her finger tracing idle circles on my thumb—hypnotic and calming. As our fingers entwine, I’m blanketed in serenity.
It’s as if she knows exactly what I need to forget the hurt. How would it feel to be with someone who understood me like that? To have a partner who cared?
Don’t get attached the voice in my head warns me. You’ll feel worse when you lose her.
“We probably shouldn’t hold hands.” I gulp hard.
“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t realize.” She jerks her hand back, color creeping up her neck.
My hand already misses her touch. But this is better. Safer. A little loneliness now beats having your heart ripped to shreds later.
Suddenly the plane drops what feels like two miles, and a collective squeal erupts from the passengers.
The captain’s voice comes through the speakers. “We’re going to have a little turbulence as we descend, so we’ve turned on the seatbelt sign.”
I peel Syanne’s blanched fingers off the armrest and link our hands. White-faced, she turns grateful eyes my way.
“Thanks, Reid. I hate turbulence.” Her fingers cinch around mine as the plane dips again. “Let’s say holding hands means nothing in case of extreme emergency.”
“Agreed,” I say. “Just like that kiss in the airport. ”
“Exactly.”
Except I enjoy holding her hand more than I should. And sadly, that kiss was the best I’ve ever had. This could make things harder when the holidays are over, and we say goodbye.
With another stomach-jolting drop, Syanne buries her face against my shoulder, still gripping my fingers. I reach across with my other hand and stroke her hair, unable to battle the urge to comfort her. To protect her.
The voice of reason in my head warns You’re going to regret this.
Yeah. I’ll live with it.