Fake Fiancée for Dad’s Best Friend by Gena Snow

Chapter 5

Vivian

 

 

 

 

The jet hovers over a mountain area and lands at a private airport in Santa Barbara.

After I unbuckle my seatbelt, Alex helps me out of my seat. As we say goodbye to Kim and the pilot, a Bentley stops before us, and a middle-aged gentleman comes out.  “Welcome home, Alex!”

“Hi, Jack!” Alex hugs him and introduces me to the family butler.

My mouth constantly falls open after we enter a residential area in the mountains. Alex told me a bit about his parents without many details about the place they lived. But my dad had been here and mentioned the place a few times, saying the Montecito home was like a mountain resort. 

Even so, I’ve anticipated dry, desert hills in California, but the lush green grass and dense forests in front of me prove me wrong. There are only a few mansions scattering on hill tops, with vast distances between them. Through the tree branches, I get glimpses of modern luxury homes and their turquoise-like swimming pools.

Jack stops the car in front of a Mediterranean-style mansion the size of a small hotel with bright red-tiled roofs and dazzling white walls. Besides a pool, there’s a lawn—wait, a golf course, next to it. The moment I step out of the car and onto the house's driveway, I see the strip of Pacific Ocean beyond the cypresses that line the property.

“Wow!” I exclaim after deeply inhaling the fresh mountain air. “You grew up here, Alex? This is paradise.”

Alex chuckles. “It is nice.”

Nice? What’s he talking about? Is he being smug? This place is better than most of the vacation spots I’ve been to.

I recall the Andersons owned a ranch resort in the area, and Alex was expected to inherit the family business, but he left home after college and built his own empire instead. At the moment, I thought his action was insane. Why would anyone give up such a vast, beautiful estate, blessed with sunshine nearly year-round, for a confined urban life?

“Don’t you miss it?”

“I do, especially the sunshine,” he says as he looks out of the window, his eyes glimmering with excitement. “I’m glad to be home.”

He wraps his arm around my waist as we walk across the vast lawn toward the front entrance of the house. I keep glancing around at the magnificent estate, gasping at everything on our way, including the marble statue fountain and the rose garden. The veranda is spacious, with chiseled pillars and arches.

My heart pounds frantically as the moment of serious pretending is about to begin, and I clutch Alex’s hand involuntarily.

“Are you nervous?” he asks me.

I nod. “A little.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “My parents are nice.”

That does little to calm me. I feel worse lying to nice people.

The door opens before we get to it, distracting my attention.

A tall gentleman with silver hair steps out of the house, followed by an elegant lady with short blonde hair. They smile the moment they see us. “Alex!”

“Mom! Dad!” Alex says to his parents.

“Welcome home, Alex!” The couple takes turns to hug their son.

Alex wastes no time introducing me to his parents. “Vivian, please meet my mom Karen and my dad Mike. Mom and Dad, this is Vivian, my fiancée.”

I blush the minute I hear the introduction, not entirely because of guilt. He’s such a good actor, the way he smiles at me proudly and the way his arm wrapping around my shoulders possessively as if I were his treasure almost make me forget it’s an act.

“Awww!” Karen presses her hand over her breastbone as if touched by her son’s happiness.

Karen is in her early sixties but looks no more than forty to me. She has a very genuine smile. After hugging me, she holds my hands in hers and looks me up and down. “You look adorable! I’m so glad to meet you, Vivian!”

I didn’t expect such hospitality and enthusiasm. I feel so awkward that all I do is smile like a fool for a full minute before I thank her.

Alex’s dad Mike looks a lot older than his wife and must be in his mid-seventies. It isn’t surprising because Mike had a previous marriage before meeting Karen. But despite the greys and wrinkles, I can still see he was once a very handsome man, just like Alex.

He’s also very kind. “Hello Vivian, welcome to the family,” he says when it’s his turn to hug me.

 

The moment we enter the living room, my mouth drops to the floor. I expected luxury but nothing like this. The Persian rugs, plush velvet armchairs, and chandelier hanging below the mahogany wood ceiling with accent beams are the fixtures I’ve only seen in movies.

My God. This is the wealthiest house I’ve been to. Of course, I’ve seen celebrity homes on TV and in magazines, but it’s the first time I’m actually inside one. I know Alex is rich, and I’ve been to his Lower Manhattan condo once, but the luxury is far from comparable to this. I’m completely in awe and loss for words.

A maid brings us tea and refreshment, and we sit down on the sofa. Alex must feel my nervousness because he turns to me and whispers into my ear. “Are you okay?”

The caring gesture rouses a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. I nod and smile at him. “Yes.”

“It’s just an old house,” he says to me while his parents are speaking to the maid and the butler.

I know he isn’t being smug this time. He’s trying to ease my anxiety.

After a brief moment’s inquiry about our flight, Karen says, “Dinner won’t be ready for another hour. Why don’t the two of you go to your room, rest, and settle down?”

“Thanks. We’ll do that, Mom.”

 

Jack takes my luggage and leads us to our room upstairs. The room is huge! Again it has a mahogany ceiling and Persian rug on a hardwood floor. A king-sized bed takes less than one-tenth of the space, and there are couches and a sofa in front of a fireplace—my God. The guestroom alone has more footage than my dad’s entire house. It opens to a balcony and has a fantastic view of the surrounding hills and the distant ocean.

“Wow!” I gaze at the mesmerizing ocean view. Even the million-dollar Hudson River view at Cody’s balcony doesn’t hold a candle to this! I’m speechless when I find out the bathroom, which is the size of my bedroom, also has the same view. “This is the best guestroom I’ve been to in my life.”

Alex chuckles. “It’s my bedroom. I lived here until college.”

I gasp. “No wonder,” I say and glance around. Indeed, there are Alex’s childhood photos on the walls and a music album collection on the shelf. He likes Elvis, just like my dad. “It doesn’t feel like a bedroom because it’s so big.”

“I know,” Alex says with a nod. “Everybody says that.”

Everybody? Has he brought many guests here? Who were they? I’m curious and jealous.

I stand in front of the wall to browse among his pictures. He was already hot and cute in high school and very athletic. There are photos of him playing baseball, tennis, and soccer. My eyes fall on a picture of Alex on horseback in an equestrian outfit: white shirts, white pants, and black boots. He was still a teen back then, tall and slender and cute, but also confident.  My heart melts. I wish I had met him back then. Shit. I wasn’t even born.

“I was a champion rider back in high school,” Alex says to me while standing beside me.

“Great,” I blurt without thinking. “Then you can probably teach me how to ride.”

“No problem,” he smiles with twinkles in his eyes. “I can teach you at the resort’s equestrian center. It isn’t far.”

Seeing he takes me seriously, I back out. “I’m just kidding. I’m not interested in riding.”

He narrows his eyes on me. “Are you sure? Because my lessons are two hundred bucks an hour, and I’m offering you for free.”

I waver. “Well, if you put it that way, I guess I’ll give it a try,” I say.

“Good,” he says. “We’ll do it first thing tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I nod uncertainly. I’ve never even dreamed of riding the horse.

I haven’t dwelled on the subject for long when I find another picture of him in swim trunks taken at the pool right in front of the house. My God! He’s so gorgeous. He must be in his early twenties. Already masculine, bronze, and sexy. My eyes are glued on the beautifully chiseled abs glistening with water beads. He’s running a hand over his spiky wet hair and flashing a smile brighter than the sunshine that he’s bathing in.

“Your dad took the picture,” he says to me. “I invited him to spend the summer here in our junior year.”

I swallow while struggling for words, but all I come up with is, “Nice!” I say it without even looking at him, afraid he can read through me. I’m a mess inside. My heart flutters, my belly clenches, and my thighs tingle. How does he look now? Will I get to see him topless like that?

I’m hanging my dresses in the walk-in closet when I catch sight of some paintings stacking in the corner. Out of curiosity, I flip through them. They’re landscapes with colorful rustic sceneries and simple concepts. An orange sun rises on the blue sea, a red cottage sits on top of a lush green hill,  and golden maple trees stand against purple-blue mountains. They’re almost impressionist with sparse details, but the bright, saturated colors form sharp contrasts.

“So beautiful!” I say, unable to take my eyes off them. “Who’s the artist?”

Alex looks in my direction and grins. “World-famous painter Alexander Anderson.”

I take a moment to understand his humorous answer.  “You painted them? No way!” I look carefully at the bottoms of the paintings and see his stylish signatures. Mouth agape, I admire the pictures once again. Most of the landscapes resemble the ones I’ve seen around the estate.

“Yes,” he says, nodding. “I did these a while ago. Sometimes I can’t believe I painted them.”

“You don’t paint anymore?”

He shakes his head. “Haven’t done anything serious since college. I was business major and an art minor at Columbia. You know that, right? It was how I met your Dad.”

I remember something about their college lives vaguely. Dad said Alex was a good painter. HIs work was auctioned at a campus art show for a thousand dollars, and he donated the money to the gallery.

“Why did you quit painting?”

He shrugs. “I got busy. It’s all.”

“Oh, you must start painting again, Alex!” I say, still going over his work. “These are marvelous!”

He chuckles. “Okay, I’ll do that for you. Here are some more,” he says as he points at another stack in the bottom shelf of a bookcase.

I browse through them. These are portraits: Horses grazing on a hill, a Bulldog playing on a lawn, a man, perhaps Mike, playing golf. “Nice,” I say as I reach the last one.

It’s a woman’s back-portrait. She’s tall and slender, her black hair put up into an elegant bun. Her blue evening dress dips low, showing her bare back.

“Who’s that?” I ask.

Alex’s smile fades a bit when he sees the picture. “Oh, she’s a friend.”

I look at the date. Five years ago. “It’s done five years ago.”

“That’s right. I had the impulse to paint that day. But I didn’t even finish it,” he says and shoves the paintings back to the bookcase.

 

It takes but a few minutes for me to unpack my things. I sit down on the couch. “So what else are we going to do besides horse riding?” I ask.

“I could take you to the beach if you want,” he says, sitting down next to me. He drapes an arm around my shoulders but withdraws it right away as if being reminded we don’t have to pretend. “The engagement party is on Sunday.”

“Engagement party?” I gasp. I didn’t know that part.

He smiles sheepishly. “I didn’t know until last night. Karen invited some family members and friends to celebrate the good news.”

“Oh my God!” I whine. “How many people will be here?”

He shrugs. “I told them I didn’t want to publicize the news so they only invited friends and family members. And since it’s a short notice, I would say, no more than twenty?”

“That’s a lot,” I cry. “What are we gonna do?”

He pats me on the arm. “Don’t worry. Just do what we’re supposed to. Pretend.”

“Right,” I mumble. What difference does it make? Except I’m about to lie to twenty more people. Shit.

But I don’t have the time to dwell on the matter because a maid comes up and tells us dinner is ready.