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“Mel is smart and funny and generous, not that most men ever figure that out or even bother to try.”
Her vehement defense of her best friend might have been touching if it hadn’t also highlighted Elizabeth’s own insecurities.
“So are you … every bit as pretty on the inside as you are on the outside, from what I can tell.” Indeed, the more he saw, the more he liked. And the more attractive he found her to be.
That disturbed him a little. What was it his dad had said just prior to going on one of his drunken binges? That he’d fallen in love with Thomas’s mother not in spite of her quirks and imperfections, but because of them.
Elizabeth was quick to disagree with his assessment. “I’m not pretty. I’m not ugly or anything, but …” She fiddled with the headband again. “I’m rather plain.”
“Plain?” Did she really think so? With that lush mouth and those rich, dark eyes? Not a chance. He might be out of line, but he reached over and tugged the headband free, tossing it on the coffee table like a gauntlet. A cascade of satiny tresses fell forward, all but obscuring her face before he pushed them back. “From where I’m sitting you’re very pretty,” he challenged.
A blush stained her cheeks as she fiddled with the stem of her wineglass.
It had been a long time since Thomas had been around a woman who became flustered from a simple compliment. “By the way, Elizabeth …?”
“Yes?”
“I’m not most men.”
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_06d6e5ba-eb54-55ea-92ee-5d509aaedcfa)
AS IF she needed reminding on that score. Quite frankly, Thomas was unlike anyone she’d ever met—personally or professionally. And that was saying a lot given all of the doors upon which she’d knocked during the past several months to raise funds for the endowment.
She still wasn’t quite sure how to act around him in part because their relationship was professional and personal at the same time. It didn’t help that she found him so appealing. But that was superficial. It was based on sexual chemistry, she reminded herself. Beyond his good looks and his love for his grandmother, what did she truly know about him? If she was to pull off her part as his fiancée—and that was her only motive here—she needed to know more about him.
Much more than that she found him too handsome and charming for her peace of mind.
Besides, she’d rather he be the one in the hot seat.
“You know, I just realized that while I’ve been telling you a lot about myself, I don’t know nearly enough about you except that you matriculated from Michigan and have the good sense to be a fan of Alfred Hitchcock.”
“What else do you want to know?”
Where to start? Favorite color? Favorite dessert? Where he went on his last vacation? How old he was when he stopped believing in Santa Claus? Benign topics, all, and definitely the sorts of things a fiancée should or would be expected to know.
But the question she heard herself ask was “When did your last relationship end?” Followed quickly by “You’re not involved with someone right now, are you?”
Last night, Thomas hadn’t kissed like a man who was stepping out on his girlfriend, but then their situation was hardly normal. The kiss had been for effect. It was intended to put them both at ease, not that the objective had been achieved as far as Elizabeth was concerned.
“I’m not seeing anyone.”
She let out a breath that she hadn’t been aware she was holding. “Good. I mean, it would be awkward otherwise. For her. And, well, for me. I’d hate to be the ‘other woman,’ even if only in theory.” She ordered herself to stop babbling and cleared her throat. “And as for my other question, what’s the answer to that?”
Thomas’s expression turned oddly introspective as he studied his wine. After taking a sip, he said, “I don’t know that I’d necessarily call it a relationship, though it was exclusive for as long as it lasted.” He looked up, his gaze locked with hers. “When I’m seeing someone, Elizabeth, I’m faithful.”
“We’re not really ‘seeing each other,’” she said before she could wonder if he even meant to apply monogamy to their situation. Hoping to lighten the moment, she added, “I mean, could it even be considered cheating if said cheating involved a fictitious fiancée?”
At his lifted brow, she figured she’d made things clear as mud with her attempt at humor.
“Fictitious or not, I won’t be dating during our … engagement.”
That should have been reassuring, except that it called to mind another question Elizabeth realized she hadn’t yet gotten around to asking. “How long will that be? You never actually said.”
He frowned. “I don’t know the exact length of time, but I’ll only need your, um, services—” He must have found that word as unsavory as she did. “That is, your cooperation for this weekend. Nana Jo just wants to meet my fiancée. And, given the distance between here and Charlevoix, it’s not like she’s going to be expecting us to drive up for Sunday dinner each week.”
“Oh. Good.” And that was good, she reminded herself, when she experienced a foolish twinge of disappointment.
“I won’t withhold my personal donation to Literacy Liaisons until our ‘breakup,’ if that’s what you’re worried about. The check will be on your desk the first business day after the holiday weekend.”
Waverly Enterprises’s check had been received not long after he’d left her office earlier in the day. Already, it had been deposited into the agency’s special bank account.
“I wasn’t worried.” She’d forgotten all about the check during the past couple of hours, but she would do well to remember that Thomas’s generous donation was the reason she was doing this. Even so, she nibbled her bottom lip and asked, “So, how long did it last?”
“What?”
“Your last relationship.”
“Oh.” He appeared to do some quick mental calculations. “I guess it was nearly two months.”
“Wow. A whole two months. And you managed to stay faithful the entire time.”
“Sarcasm. Hmm.” His expression turned bemused and he wagged a finger in her direction. “I wouldn’t have thought you capable of it.”
Elizabeth rarely resorted to sarcasm or to sarcastic humor. In fact, she found it a bit of a turnoff, one of the main reasons she didn’t watch many television sitcoms, which relied on it so heavily for their laughs.
“I apologize for the sarcasm.”
“No need.”
“There is,” she insisted. “My comment was rude”
Thomas’s smile was rueful. “But not completely unwarranted or off base. As I told you last night, I’m not interested in commitment. So, I tend to end relationships quickly with the women I date. I prefer for things not to get too …”
“Intimate?”
“Messy.”
“I see. And when was it that you ended things this last time?” she asked.
“Three weeks ago.”
“Three weeks ago.” Elizabeth resisted the urge to whistle through her teeth. She didn’t like the sound of that, though why it should matter she didn’t know. Still, there was no denying that it did. It made her feel only marginally better that he’d been the one to end it. No pining going on, apparently. But three weeks? The scent of the woman’s perfume was probably still lingering in his home. And on his linens.
“Is that a problem?” he asked.
“No. Why would it be?” Why, indeed?
“No hearts were broken, I can assure you,” he said.
She slowly turned the stem of her wineglass. Gaze affixed to the deep red liquid, she asked quietly, “Have you ever had your heart broken?”
“No. Not once, which has been my objective.” It was a curious thing to admit. Before she could question him on it, though, he said, “What about you?”
She thought about the guys she’d dated in the past. She wasn’t as prolific a dater as Thomas apparently was, but she’d enjoyed a couple of long-term relationships, including one that had lasted more than a year. Things had progressed at a normal pace, though they’d never gotten past the point of exchanging keys, much less making promises to spend a lifetime together. Her heart had been dinged up afterward, but broken? She’d thought so at the time, but now …
“No.”
“So, you’ve never been in love, either?”
“I guess not.” That came as a sad revelation. After all, Elizabeth was pushing thirty.
But Thomas looked pleased. “Good. It’s not worth it, you know.”
“How can you say that when you just admitted that you’ve never been in love yourself?”
“Let’s just say I know. I saw firsthand what it can do to people.” He shook his head. “No thanks. I don’t want to be that—”
“Vulnerable?”
“Foolish,” he clarified.
He saw love as foolish? Perhaps she should have expected that since here he was trying to pass off a woman he barely knew as his fiancée. Still, it seemed … sad.
Thinking back on her own relationships now, she said, “I think it would be nice to be deeply in love with someone.”
“In love? Yes. But you can’t stay there.” His tone was matter-of-fact.
“Why not? You don’t think love can last?” She had her parents’ example to prove otherwise. No marriage certificate bound them together, but their commitment was real.
But Thomas wasn’t disagreeing. Not exactly. “It lasts. Unfortunately, it lasts beyond the grave.”
“Should it have a time limit, an expiration date?”
“No. No.” He shook his head, looking both lost and resolute. “It shouldn’t, and it doesn’t end. It lasts forever. It’s a chronic condition, not a terminal one.”
“I’m not sure I understand your objection, then.”
“My dad loved my mother. Deeply.” His tone was barely above a whisper when he added, “Desperately.”
“And that’s bad?”
“Not when she was alive, it wasn’t.” Half of his mouth lifted briefly before his lips thinned into a straight line. “My parents and I were involved in an accident when I was eight. Our car skidded off the road in a rainstorm and wound up upside down in a water-filled ravine.”
His tone was flat, but his expression was haunted. So much so that it made Elizabeth ache for him. Ache for them all.
“Your mother didn’t make it,” Elizabeth guessed. Pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place. She didn’t like the picture that was emerging.
He shook his head slowly. “For my grandmother’s benefit, my father claimed that she died instantly. But I was there.”
Thomas said no more than that. He wasn’t trying to be evasive. He simply wasn’t capable of forcing the words past his lips and giving voice to a truth that had haunted him for more than two decades: Had the choice been left to his father, Hoyt would have saved his wife rather than his son.
But Thomas’s mother hadn’t given her husband the option. As murky water had gushed into the car through the broken windshield, and Hoyt had struggled to unbuckle her jammed seat belt, she’d batted his hands away and screamed, Don’t worry about me! Get Tommy out! Get Tommy out!
“Oh, Thomas. I’m so sorry.”
Elizabeth’s sincere sympathy wasn’t able to banish the hellish memories. Nothing was. He knew that from experience. But he couldn’t deny that he found her concern soothing, settling.
“It’s not something I like talking about it,” he admitted. Even with Nana Jo, he preferred to steer clear of the subject. It was just too damned painful, for her as well, he figured, since she’d lost her only child.
“I understand. Ordinarily, I would consider this none of my business, but, given our unique set of circumstances … how did your grandmother come to raise you if your father is still alive?”
“My father’s an alcoholic.” Another admission he rarely shared. “He was what I’d call a social drinker before the accident. Afterward.” Thomas set the wine he’d barely touched on the coffee table. “He could down a fifth of whiskey in a day and then stumble to the store for more. He tried rehab, more than once. But I don’t think his heart was in it. He was lost without my mother. He still is. And he’s still drinking. Of that much I’m sure, even though I rarely see him.”
Thomas glanced over, fully expecting to see pity in Elizabeth’s eyes. It was there, along with something else, something that made him almost yearn for the comfort he knew she wanted to give him.
“It’s hard when someone you love walks out of your life.”
“I had no choice in the matter,” Thomas heard himself say.
He swallowed thickly afterward. Even so, feelings welled up, helplessness chief among them. He’d had no say in his father’s emotional and physical defection, just as he’d had no say in surviving the accident. Get Tommy out! How ironic that his mother’s unconditional love had made him unlovable in his father’s eyes. At least that was the way Thomas saw it.
Elizabeth said nothing. Instead, she came over and sat next to him on the love seat, angled toward him. Their knees bumped. She laid one of her small hands overtop of his, which were clenched tightly together in front of him. The gesture was one of comfort. Because that was what he knew he would find, he pulled away and stood.
“You know, it’s getting late.”
“Oh. I guess it is.” She wasn’t quite successful in hiding her bafflement.
“Thanks for dinner.”
“You brought the Chinese,” she pointed out.
“The company, then.” He started for the door.
“You’re welcome.” But her smile was uncertain.
She followed him onto the porch. Outside, darkness was falling. Up and down the street, landscape lights were starting to click on. Elizabeth reached back into the house and flipped on the porch light, but it barely illuminated beyond the steps.
“Be careful getting to your car,” she said as he started down her walk.
“I’m good.” He waved and then made a liar of himself by tripping on the buckled pavement.
“Thomas—”
“I’m fine!”
“Good night,” she called.
Rather than echo the sentiment, he halted midstep, turned around and returned to her, stopping one crumbling cement step shy of the porch where she still stood.
