Fake Fiancée for Dad’s Best Friend by Gena Snow

Chapter 18

Vivian

 

 

 

 

I say goodbye to my dad, Lisa, and the baby and watch them get into the car and head for the fund-raising event at Long Island. I would love to go with them, not much to see the charity fashion show but the famous manor. But knowing it would be awkward running into Alex, I restrain my enthusiasm.  Alex did not meet with my dad last night as he had planned because of the new development in our fake relationship. It would be pointless to come clean about it only to deceive my dad again.

I’ve told my dad I’ll spend a weekend at a college friend’s house in Hudson. I pack some clothes and toiletries after I return to my bedroom. My eyes fall on the fabrics I bought the other day at the trade show. Damn. I was planning to turn them into a dress this weekend. Now I have to wait…do I? Maybe I can take my sewing kit and my portable machine to Alex’s house. I’ll be alone there for the afternoon anyway, and I have plenty of time to kill. Otherwise, I’ll probably be watching TV. But the machine still has some twenty pounds. Since Alex told me to call his assistant Mark if I needed a lift, I don’t hesitate to dial his number.

An hour later, I’m inside Alex’s luxury penthouse in midtown Manhattan.

“If you need a ride, let me know,” Mark says to me before leaving me alone.

“Thanks, I will!”

After I close the door, I turn to take in the interior of the condo. It’s spacious and the windows show a fantastic view of Central Park. I was here many years ago when I was little, and I remember vaguely it’s big, but without any vivid details. I’m so stunned when my eyes roam over the classical decor. The oil paintings, vintage rugs, and velvet couches are reminiscent of Karen and Mike’s Montecito house, but the colors are more neutral, with brown and beige dominating.

The view draws me to the balcony right away. My God! I thought Cody’s condo had a nice view, but this one is breathtaking. I can gaze at it all day without food or sleep. Now I see why people would pay millions for a condo. It’s worth it.

I stand there like an idiot, completely forgetting who I am and what I’m doing until my cellphone dings.

I check it. It’s Alex texting to see whether I find everything all right. I text him back right away. “Yes. I’m in your house. It’s soooo beautiful!”

He texts me back a thumbs-up emoji. “Feel free to help yourself with the food in the fridge. But don’t overeat. I’ll be home at around five, and I’ll take you to dinner.”

 

Does it mean he wouldn’t be dining with Trisha? I smile as my heart raps in my ribcage. What would we do after that? My body tingles just to imagine what might happen between us tonight, despite my effort to push back any naughty thoughts.

I hang my clothes in his closet and put my toiletries in the master bathroom where they’re visible. I don’t have to use my own shampoo and body wash, but I brought them just in case his parents walk in here.

When I step back into the bedroom, my eyes turn to the king-sized bed right away. I wonder whether Alex sleeps here alone, and how often does he have bedmates? I can’t help the pang of jealousy that invades my gut suddenly. There are two pillows, and I don’t know whether he always has two or one of them is put out for this weekend only.

And then, I can’t help my curiosity. I look through his clothes hanging on the racks, imagining how good he looks in those suits and shirts. I touch his Calvin Klein briefs and sniff them. Damn. I’m so naughty. I hope there aren’t cameras around.

I go to his bookcase to see what books he reads. All of them are nonfiction, and most of them are related to the fashion industry or business management. One of them is standing apart from others. I glance at the title curiously and grimace: The Rules of Management. Sounds boring. I put it down and continue to browse. The Birth of Modern Fashion, How Fabric Changed History, The House of Gucci. Interesting. I recall a professor once recommended these books to us in class. I make a mental note to borrow them from Alex later.

It’s not yet two o’clock, and I have plenty of time to work on my project before Alex returns home. I survey the house and decide the dining table makes a perfect workspace. I set up the sewing machine and lay out the tools on the table. I have a pretty good idea about what I want the dress to be, but I have a habit of procrastinating. So, instead of getting to work right away, I google this summer’s fashion on my iPad.

After getting more ideas, I open the Photoshop app and start sketching. It’s my usual way to start a project for my classes back in college. I try different necklines, sleeves, waistlines, and lengths and decide on an A-line midi dress with a halter string neck, puff sleeves, and cinched waistline.  I’m going to make a ruffle hem as well because I like the style.

I draw and cut the patterns on dotted paper and then cut the fabric before I start sewing. I love my Singer 2277. I bought it with the money I saved up from a part-time job at a fashion store back in high school. It’s the only sewing machine I own in my life, although I’ve used many of my dad’s old machines.

I’m in the middle of sewing when my phone beeps. I check the message. It’s Alex saying he’ll be late. I reply by telling him not to worry, although I wonder what’s keeping him. Trisha? I brush aside the disappointment and return to work.

Although I enjoy sewing as much as designing, I confess I often become frustrated during this critical stage of making clothes because I’m too eager to see the end product. I might’ve inherited my dad’s designer genes, but I have not gotten his patience. My sewing skill is solid, though, because I’ve practiced it since I was a teenager. My friends were addicted to their Smart Phones, but I was inseparable from my sewing machine, at least during evenings and weekends. It’s an inexpensive hobby despite the frequent visit to the fabric shops, but the satisfaction I get from making unique clothes is immense, not to mention the look on my friends’ faces when I present them the handmade dresses and purses.

Despite the puff sleeves and the ruffle hem that are time-consuming to make, I have a dress in front of me an hour of sewing later. All I need is to run a string over the neckline. I look through my accessory box but can’t find a satisfying match. I decide to sew a string using the same fabric for now.

The seemingly easy task takes forever. While I’m still absorbed in it, I hear Alex’s voice behind me. “You turned my condo into a sweatshop?”

When I turn to look at him, my heart skips a beat.

He’s wearing a navy blue dress shirt tucked into a pair of white jeans, his intense blue eyes twinkle with fire. If they haven’t enough power to melt me, his teasing smile certainly does the job.

I’m lost for words. How could he look so good every time I see him? This is not fair. Normally, no matter how handsome a guy looks, he loses his charm to me after seeing him a few times. The rule applies to everyone I know, including Cody. Not even celebrities are exceptions. Even Brad Pitt looks less appealing if I browse his pictures for more than two minutes. So why am I looking at Alex as if I would never tire of gawking at him? This is crazy. My body reacts like I’ve recalled a delicious meal. The only difference is instead of my stomach, my lady bits are screaming.

Stop it. I scold my body. Don’t get too excited. You might not get another meal like that.

As he comes closer, it’s even harder to calm down. I became conscious of how I look. I’m wearing a casual t-shirt over an old jersey skirt. I regret not putting on some makeup or arrange my hair. My ponytail must be sagging, and I have fallen strands of hair all over my neck. My face is sweaty, and so is my entire body. I probably smell. I swallow and finally mumble, “Hi Alex! I thought you’d be late.” It’s only five-thirty.

“I am late,” he says. “And I’m sorry.”

Not until he comes closer do I realize his right hand is behind him, looking like he’s hiding something from me.

“What’re you hiding?” I ask.

He smirks and says, “I have something for you. Close your eyes!”

I obey, smiling. “What is it?” I ask with my eyes closed.

Something soft and cold brushes against my face, and I giggle. “Can I open my eyes now?”

“Yes.”

I open my eyes and gasp at the beautiful rose bouquet in front of me: red, pink, yellow, and purple!

“So pretty! For me? What’s the occasion?”

“To welcome you to my house.”

I can’t stop my grin. This is the first time anyone buys me flowers. Wait. Maybe not the first time. My dad bought me flowers for my high school graduation, and Cody bought me flowers on my twentieth birthday.

But this time, it feels so different.

“You’ve got any vases?” I ask as I hold the bouquet in both hands.

“Yes,” he says. “Come here. I’ll give you a house tour and show you where everything is.”

“Right,” I follow him into the kitchen. “I’ve got a lot to learn.”

He takes out a crystal vase from a hutch and passes it to me. “Will this one do?” he asks as he searches for something else. “It’s the only one I have. I don’t have the habit of having flower arrangements. I don’t even remember where this one came from.”

I know I shouldn’t, but I quickly come up with a possibility. It must’ve been an old girlfriend. She could even be Trisha. She lived here with him, didn’t she?

“It must be Karina, my housekeeper,” he says. “She used to bring flowers from her garden.”

I feel better at that explanation. And then I feel silly. If I let a vase cause so many conjectures, how will I enjoy my stay here? Wait. Am I supposed to enjoy it? This is just another job, as far as I’m concerned. Once this one week is over, I’ll end up with two thousand dollars more in my bank account, and with one more month’s internship pay, I’ll be ready for school in Paris.

I arrange the flowers in the vase while Alex opens the fridge for a beer. He’s unbuttoned his shirt, and when I catch sight of a strip of his hairy chest, I recall the sensation of touching him. My thighs tingle, and I look away, blushing.

“Where should I put it?” I ask, keeping my head low but aware of his bright eyes.

“In the living room, I guess. On the coffee table or the console?”

Gosh. Why is his voice so gruff? Does the beer do it to him? I leave the kitchen in a hurry and put the flowers on top of the coffee table.

I then plop down on the couch to admire them. Beer in hand, Alex comes to sit down next to me, keeping a respectful distance between us. “So, have you eaten anything?”

“Yeah. I had a sandwich at home at around noon.”

“Well, that was a while ago,” he looks at his watch. “Let me take you to dinner.”

I’ve been looking forward to it, but suddenly I just want to be alone with Alex in his condo. “We could just order for delivery.”

He frowns. “I do that all the time. Tonight I’ve got company, and I would like to eat out.”

“Sure, if you insist,” I say. “Where do you want to go?”

“Capital Grille on 51st. I’ve already reserved a table.”

“Really?” I grin. It’s my favorite restaurant in town. I’ve only been there with my dad and not with any friends because it’s so pricy. Remembering the filet mignon I had years ago still makes my mouth water.

I was thrilled for a moment, but then my shoulders sag.

“Why’re you pouting?” Alex asks.

“I don’t have anything nice to wear. I’ve only packed t-shirts and casual skirts.”

He frowns. “You don’t have to wear fancy clothes, but I could take you shopping first if you want.”

“S-sure.” I hesitate. “Or we go somewhere less expensive.”

Alex thinks for a moment. “What about the dress you’ve just made? It looks cute.”

“Are you sure?” I say uncertainly. “I haven’t even tried it on. Okay, I’ll do it now.”

I grab the dress and go to my room. It needs some touch-up but maybe it isn’t bad at all. It’s very cute but a bit too juvenile for me. So I pick out a sheer blouse from the closet and put it over the dress. I tie the fronts of the shirt, so it looks like a cropped top. Perfect. Why didn’t I come up with this idea sooner? I’ll add a light green sheer top to the dress as soon as I get a chance.

I turn around in front of the mirror for a few minutes and go to the hallway to meet Alex. “What do you think of this one?”

Alex’s eyes brighten. “It’s gorgeous!” he says, assessing me from front to back. “Did you design it as well?”

“Yep!”

“I always thought puff sleeves ridiculous and old-fashioned. But sweetheart, you totally changed my opinion! It’s quite playful and sexy.” He shakes his head approvingly. “Truly your dad’s daughter.”

I laugh. He surely knows how to speak the right thing. “You’re so good at flattering. Let me go get my purse.”

I turn toward my room, but he grabs my arm and pulls me to him. “I’m not trying to flatter you, sassy girl. I mean it. And I want you to draw the design and submit it to Karl. Tell him it’s for next summer’s collection. And tell him it’s my order.”

I blink to register the meaning. “Are you serious?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” his voice is deep, and his smoldering eyes make me shiver.

“Okay, I’ll do just that,” I say.

He still doesn’t let go of me, and his eyes linger on my lips for a moment before they travel down to my neck. And then, to my surprise, he bends down—and kisses my exposed shoulder through the thin sheer fabric, his velvety lips tracing from my collarbone to my shoulder blade and the top of my arm.

While I’m gasping, he says in a gruff voice, “I never pay much attention to a woman’s shoulders before,” he murmurs. “Now I know how much I’ve missed.”

Oh, God. My lady bits tingle at that comment. I want nothing but his lips on me, not just my shoulders but my entire body. For a second, his dark, smoldering eyes tell me he wishes to do just the same. But he draws a deep breath and glances at his watch. “We’d better go. Our reservation is at six-thirty.”

“Okay,” I say and follow him out of the door.