The Pretend Fiancé (8 page)

"You say that now," Gwen muttered. Those butterflies in her stomach had transformed into a swarm of bees.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing... Hey, what did you think of Aiden's grandmother, Judith?" she said, prompting him to action by opening the door and stepping back out into the hall.

David shrugged as he patted his pockets to make sure he still had the key before following her out. He really did look a little weird wearing those clothes. He'd always been a slacks and button-down guy. For a second, Gwen entertained the thought that he might be trying to win her mother back, to rekindle something. But that was a silly,
Parent Trap
pipe dream, she knew.

"A bit uptight and proper for me. Reminds me of my gram, who grew up in the Depression. Severe, disciplined, judging, all that. I didn't much like the way she was glaring at you and Aiden at the party. Why?"

Hearing the words from her father helped, made her feel like he, at least, would always be on her side.

"No reason. You think mom's in?"

"How should I know?"

"You're being a great help," Gwen said. They reached the door to her mother's room and she lifted her hand to knock but paused.

"Forget something?" David asked.

"No, it's just... Nothing. it's nothing," Gwen said, except she didn't knock.

Thus far, she'd been plowing through all this stuff on momentum, on that singular desire to keep Aiden and for Aiden to keep his life the way it was.

But the cost of doing so chose that particular moment to hit her.
I'm about to ask my two parents, who can hardly be in the same room for five minutes without getting into a screaming match, to put their own happiness on the line for mine.

She didn't even bother asking herself if she was being selfish. That was obvious.

"Are you sure, Gwenny? You seem off. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" David said.

"I'm sorry, dad, I just can't. I need to think about things."

"I'll come with you," David said, beginning to follow her down the hall.

Gwen stopped, turned to face him, and shook her head. "I think I just need to be alone. Please?"

David spread his hands in submission. The wrinkles on his forehead deepened, and she knew he was concerned. "Okay. Just remember that I... Or we, I mean, we're here for you. It’s not so bad between Barb and me as I think that you think it is."

"I know," Gwen said.

She could have gone back to her suite, but she didn't. Aiden waited for her back there. Aiden, who would notice immediately that something was up and would eventually coax it all out of her. And, feeling the way she was at that moment, he might even be able to convince her to back out of the whole thing.

So instead she fled down the hall, heading in the general direction of the elevators. When she rounded a corner, she let off on the gas a little. Her dad's eyes had followed her as far as they could, chasing her.

Gwen leaned against a section of wall between two doors, clutching the file holding the new contract to her chest. "What am I doing?" she muttered.

Why did it matter so much that Aiden keep his job at Carbide Solutions? He'd already made it clear to her, more than once, that he could and would leave if that's what it meant to stay with her.

Then again, he'd also put his signature down on the various dotted lines of this contract.

It all swirled around in her head like water in a whirlpool, never staying still long enough for her to fix on any one point.

So she went to the bank of elevators and jabbed at the button to go down. It lit at her touch. She jabbed it again and again, making the tip of her finger sore. Her eyes flitted impatiently about the place, ignoring the small bouquet of flowers set on the table against the wall and the pieces of classical art in their gaudy wooden frames.

Why is it everywhere I go, the elevators always have to be so painfully slow?

Finally, the doors slid open and she stepped inside, thankful the car was empty. She prodded the button for the ground floor.

Unlike the hallway and the elevator, people filled the lobby. Guests with their little wheelie-luggage, busboys manhandling it all onto carts, smartly dressed auditors and butlers and valets all weaving their way through the chaos.

As soon as the elevator doors opened again, a wave of conversations slammed into her, overwhelming her. It was loud. Not at all like they day they’d arrived.

She couldn't be there, not with all those people around.

A little boy yammering to his mother in what Gwen thought was German nearly ran into her leg. And as soon as she dodged him, she had to execute what must have been a pretty impressive dance maneuver to dodge a luggage-laden handcart.

The blood rushed passed her ears. Her skin heated so that even the chilly air conditioning felt uncomfortable. That wall of sound around her closed in.

All too late, Gwen realized that this was the beginning of a panic attack.

"Excuse me! Sorry. Oh, I didn't mean to..." she said, shooting hasty apologies to the people she nudged out of the way. Said people started to stare. A few of them asked if she was all right (at least, she assumed they were. Most of them didn't speak English).

Her vision started to tunnel, everything turning black but for the little circle in the middle. Like at the start of a James Bond movie but without the sexiness and the $12 ticket crinkling in your pocket.

She focused it all on the set of revolving doors at the end of the lobby. Even the cavernous walls of the lobby closed in on her, triggering a claustrophobic reaction that only deepened the panic.

Air, I need air. Fresh, mountain air
, she kept thinking.

She nearly collided with the edge of the revolving door, but managed to grab on and use it to hold herself up. She followed it out, the claustrophobia growing momentarily worse when the doors in front of and behind her brushed against the wall to form a tiny, triangular room.

And then she was outside. The triumph was short-lived however, as she forgot about the set of concrete stairs leading up to the door and stumbled.

"Hey! Whoa, be careful!"

A pair of hands snagged her shoulders and saved her from painful fall.

"Sorry. Thanks," Gwen said. This time she grabbed the handrail.

Being outside did help. There were no oppressive walls to press in on her. She could feel the space around her.

"Hey, are you all right?"

"No. Yes, I mean," Gwen said, not wanting to invite further questions.

The owner of the voice, and also the set of hands that saved her, turned out to be a black-haired women in a skirt suit. And a pretty one, too. The woman, not the suit (although Gwen found it pretty stylish). The hair fell in glossy waves to her shoulders, and framed a pretty face with high cheekbones and a set of soft brown eyes. If Gwen had to guess, she figured the woman was only slightly older than she was.

It was the type of hair, the type of beauty, Gwen might have been jealous of, had her mind not been otherwise occupied.

And maybe it was the suit, but she had this air of confidence about her. Of certainty and direction. But she also had an easy smile that smoothed some of that out, and Gwen couldn't help but take an instant liking of her.

"I know it's none of my business," the woman said, "But are you sure? You look a little, I don't know, shaken up about something."

They both stepped aside to let a couple of camera-toting tourists up the stairs. Gwen still clung to the rail as though letting go would be the death of her.

Gwen could only imagine how she looked. Pale. Shaken. Completely underdressed.

"Something. Someone," Gwen said, letting the death grip she had on the contract lighten enough to allow circulation to her fingers again.

The woman nodded, glanced back at the hotel, then down at an expensive, if fashionable, watch. "Okay," she said.

"Okay, what?"

The woman put a hand on Gwen's shoulder and led her down the stairs. From there, she took Gwen just down the street to a quaint-looking cafe with a half dozen bistro tables and twice as many chairs set up out in front of it. Only one other table was occupied, and that by an old, white-mustached man staring down into his tiny porcelain espresso mug.

A bow tie wearing waiter came up and spoke to her in French. She answered without hesitation in the same language, holding up two fingers and smiling.

The panic gripping at Gwen's inside began receding. The fresh air really helped. The relative quiet (compared to the lobby at least) did, too.

The waiter nodded, and headed back for the cafe.

"You speak French," Gwen said, her brain still a little too fuzzy to keep her from stating the obvious.

The woman smiled in response. "French, German, Italian, and I'm working on my Cantonese. Oh, and I've been told my English is pretty flawless, minus the American accent, that is."

Pretty, smart, and funny. Yes, Gwen definitely liked her. She smiled. "So you're American?"

"Well, my paternal grandfather is from Toronto. I hope you won't hold that against me. We like to keep that little factoid hidden."

"I won't tell," Gwen replied, her smile turning into a grin. "What did you say to the waiter?"

Gwen had taken precisely one semester of French back in middle school. She remembered that Bonjour meant Hello and that Oui was either Yes or No.

"Well, you look like you could use some espresso, and I know I could, after that flight."

"Thanks. I'm Gwen, by the way."

"Catherine. Not Cathy, not Cath..."

"Cat? Kitty?" Gwen supplied.

Catherine twisted her lovely face into a mock snarl, "Definitely not." She finished with a wink. "So, now that we're done with the introductions, do you want to talk? It's okay if you don't. It's just that I've always found talking through something really helps. And since we're strangers, I'm not really biased."

That weighed down Gwen's newfound levity somewhat. She set the folder down on the bistro table, tapping her fingers against it.

"I think I'm a terrible person," Gwen said, deciding to go for it. Catherine was a stranger, after all. And somehow it was easier to tell all this to someone who had no part in her life and never would.

The waiter came back to their table with two steaming cups on china saucers, "
Merci
," Catherine said, turning back to Gwen, "I don't know about terrible. Have you tried just being bad, or maybe even downgrading to disagreeable? I know there may be a pay cut involved, but there may be other benefits."

Gwen chuckled again. "If only..."

"So like I said, I'm a stranger. Unbiased and whatnot. Why don't you walk me through what's going on, and then I'll be the judge on whether you're terrible or not? Scout's honor. Girl Scouts, that is." Catherine made two quick chops in the air over her heart with her finger.

Gwen's first instinct was a polite refusal, but she bit it back. Why not tell Catherine? Oh, maybe not the whole truth. But enough to fill her in? So far, this had been quite therapeutic. And the steaming cup of espresso in front of her really did smell appetizing.

Besides, she was right. She was a stranger. What did it matter if Catherine judged her? There was a pretty good chance they'd never see each other again after this anyway.

"Okay, just bear with me..." Gwen began.

"Brown, black, grizzly, or polar?" Catherine said. When Gwen sighed, she held up her hands. "I kid, I kid. Bad joke. Please, continue."

Gwen launched into the story, beginning with their trip to Europe and ending with her breakdown outside the door to her mother's room. She left out certain key details, like names. And she tried to be as vague as possible about the contracts. Both the one Aiden knew about and the one he didn't. "I know it sounds pretty out there, but that's my life. Truth is stranger than fiction, I guess."

Catherine lifted her saucer and held the cup daintily in her other hand as she leaned back in her chair. Her fingers were long and graceful.
Is there anything not beautiful about this woman?
Gwen wondered. She took a sip, her soft eyes also somehow sharp. She stayed quiet for a while. Long enough for Gwen's pulse to ratchet up again.

Remember, you don't care if she judges you
, Gwen told herself. Even her inner monologue could tell it was a lie, though.

"You must really love him," Catherine said.

"So much," Gwen agreed. Unable to take the waiting any longer, Gwen broke it with, "So, what's the verdict, Your Honor?"

"You're not a terrible person," Catherine said.

"I'm not sure I believe you."

Catherine set down her saucer, then put the empty mug onto it with a clink. "I never said you had to. I think a terrible person wouldn't have been bothered by this at all. They would have just rammed it right on through without thinking of anyone else. That's what makes a person terrible, you see, lack of empathy... Sorry, sometimes that freshman philosophy course rears its ugly, useless head."

"No problem," Gwen said, absorbing Catherine's words.

"Not terrible. But maybe a little selfish. And if we want to spice up the recipe, a dash of short-sightedness..."

"Thanks," Gwen said, heaving a sigh.

"Hey, I'm not trying to offend you. Please don't take it that way. I also think it's incredibly sweet and endearing, how far you're willing to go for him. I wish I had a man who'd do all that for me!"

She bet that Catherine could get any man she wanted. Any man who wasn't gay, at least. Gwen did her best to fight back the little sparks of jealousy and irritation flaring up inside her. Although she suspected that her irritation stemmed from her knowing that Catherine was right. "One will come along."

"Maybe," Catherine said, dismissing the point with a wave of her hand. She got a look at her watch. "You know, I still have to check in. And then I have this meeting with my boss. He's been away for a while and needs to be caught up on some new developments. But this has been nice! Lovely meeting you, Gwen."

Catherine pulled a few of those funny looking Euro bank notes from her purse and tucked them beneath her saucer so that the wind couldn't snatch them away, then she offered her hand to Gwen.