Holiday Hoax: Chapter 9

Sebastian and I don’t say much at the beginning of our journey. I stare at the way-too-big ring that’s now on my finger, wondering why any woman would want such a large rock.

It’s not that I can’t appreciate a beautiful ring, but this is so huge it feels borderline gaudy.

At least on me.

I feel bad I offended Sebastian. He tried to hide it, but I clearly did.

I continue staring at the ring, flustered over it and our kiss.

Well, kisses.

And his large hands all over me.

What am I going to do all month?

I always knew keeping Sebastian in line would be challenging, but now I know what it’s like to kiss him and have his flesh pressed against mine. I could easily have caved and let him have his way with me. I’m sure I would have enjoyed it, but I would have hated myself after.

I don’t judge people for casual sex. What they do is their decision. I’ve never had anything casual, but I know in my gut that having sex with anyone I’m not in a serious relationship with won’t be good for me.

I tear my eyes off the monstrosity on my finger and my heart beats harder. Sebastian makes it race every day when I see him in his suit. When he showed up in his jeans and T-shirt, I could have fainted. And just like his suits that hug his body in all the right places, so do these clothes.

Plus, seeing him in non-work clothes reminds me that this arrangement we have is happening. Now that I’ve signed the prenup, there’s no going back.

I squeeze my thighs together, continuing to take in his chiseled features.

Why haven’t I ever been kissed like that before?

Oh gosh, this is so bad.

I cannot be falling for him.

He veers onto the expressway and catches me ogling him. He smirks as he says, ‘I think we need to get to know each other, Georgia. If we’re going to fool my parents and everyone else, we need to know stuff.’

‘Okay,’ I reply, agreeing. It makes sense if I’m going to be his fake wife.

He turns his dimpled smile on me, asking, ‘How old were you when you lost your virginity?’

I gasp. ‘That’s not your business.’

‘I think it’s something every husband knows about their wife. Wouldn’t you think? No secrets?’ he challenges.

My pulse creeps up. Is this guy for real?

‘Come on, Georgia, spill it,’ he orders.

I turn it on him. ‘How old were you?’

He doesn’t hesitate. ‘Fourteen.’

I blurt out, ‘You were fourteen years old?’

He shrugs. ‘Yeah. What’s the big deal?’

‘It just seems very young to me,’ I claim.

He grunts. ‘I’m a dude. That’s what we do.’

‘A dude?’

‘What? You’ve never heard that word before?’

I try to hold my smile back but can’t. ‘No, I just never imagined Mr. Cartwright calling himself a dude.’

He leans closer, claiming, ‘I’m not the stick-in-the-mud you probably think I am.’

‘I never said that.’

He grunts. ‘Spill it, Ms. Peach. How old were you?’

I put my hands over my face and moan. ‘Why are we talking about this?’

‘I told you. Now you have to tell me,’ he asserts.

I cave. ‘Fine. I was nineteen.’

He gives me a look like he already knew that.

I ignore his reaction and change the subject. ‘What’s your favorite color?’

He wiggles his eyebrows. ‘Blue. Like your eyes.’

My flutters take off, but I reprimand, ‘Are you going to be sweet-talking me this whole month? Because it’s annoying.’

He chuckles. ‘I’m the annoying one? Isn’t that more like your personality? To sweet-talk people so you can manipulate them?’

‘Manipulate them?’ I question, insulted.

‘Okay, wrong word. But you know what I mean, Little Miss Sunshine.’

I give him a dirty look.

‘You can’t even be pissed at me without looking cute,’ he states.

My butterflies multiply.

He inquires, ‘What’s your favorite color?’

‘Yellow.’

He grins. ‘I knew it.’

‘How?’

Arrogance washes over him, and I curse myself for the zings I get flying through my core. He answers, ‘Yellow like sunshine.’

I slap my hand on his chest. ‘Stop with the sunshine talk.’

‘Why? You’re like the happiest person I know. Unless it’s an act?’ He cocks an eyebrow.

Hurt, I declare, ‘No. It’s not an act. Is that what you think I am? Fake?’

‘Not at all.’

‘I feel like you’re degrading me when you say it.’

He locks eyes with me. ‘Georgia, I’m not degrading you.’

‘You aren’t?’

‘No. Your little sunshiny attitude is starting to wear on me,’ he says and winks, then turns his focus back to the road.

His statement does nothing for my overactive senses. I ask, ‘What’s your favorite type of music? Let me guess. It’s country.’

He groans. ‘Hell no.’

Surprised, I reply, ‘No? But didn’t you grow up in a small town?’

‘So? It doesn’t mean I like country,’ he claims.

‘You don’t like any of the songs?’ I question.

‘Some of the newer stuff is okay, but that old-school twangy stuff, no. It drives me nuts.’

‘So, what do you like?’

‘Rock, mostly. How about you?’

I ponder the question for a moment. ‘Well, I like everything except elevator music, techno, or that really Gothic stuff.’

He smiles as if I’m amusing him. ‘What’s your favorite food?’

‘Pecan pie,’ I state.

His eyes widen. ‘Pecan pie is your favorite food?’

‘Yeah. Why do you act like that’s bad?’

‘What is it with you and sweets?’

‘Do you have a problem with sweets?’

‘Yeah, it’s called sugar. Do you not know how bad it is for you? It kills people,’ he claims.

‘Everything in moderation is fine,’ I assure him.

He shakes his head as if I’m crazy.

For some reason, I feel insulted. I accuse, ‘Is this some warped idea you have that women should be stick poles?’

His eyes widen. ‘When did I say I wanted women to be stick poles?’

‘Well, if it looks like a frog and jumps like a frog…’

He scowls. ‘Don’t accuse me of things you know nothing about.’

Tense silence fills the cab. I finally break it, asking, ‘So what’s your favorite food?’

‘Tex-Mex or barbecue.’

‘Ah, very Texan of you, Mr. Cartwright,’ I tease.

‘Don’t even try to tell me you don’t like Tex-Mex or barbecue,’ he asserts.

‘You can’t go wrong with either. I’d happily eat those dishes any day of the week.’

‘Whew! No one in my family would let me marry you if you didn’t like that kind of food,’ he teases.

‘Good to know,’ I claim. ‘So, tell me about your family and how you grew up. I probably should know some stuff about them. Right?’

He turns on his blinker, looks over his shoulder, then veers into another lane, passing a semi. He answers, ‘We grew up on the ranch. As you know, we’ve got thousands of cattle, but we also have horses, chickens, goats, and lambs.’

‘That sounds like a good way to grow up,’ I state.

He continues, ‘My mom and dad have been together forever. My dad’s name is Jacob. My mom’s name’s Ruby. But you probably already knew that.’

‘Yes,’ I admit. The Cartwright family is known all over Dallas, and his parents have even been featured in articles.

‘So, let’s see, my brother, Alexander, is thirty-four. He’s got two kids, but…’ Sebastian clutches his jaw for a minute, and I notice his fingers grip the steering wheel tighter. ‘His wife died of cancer shortly after his second son was born.’

‘Oh no! I’m so sorry!’ I offer.

Sebastian mutters, ‘Is what it is. There’s also my brother, Mason. He’s twenty-nine. Jagger’s twenty-seven. They’re both single, which doesn’t make my mother happy, of course. And then I have my sister, Evelyn. She’s thirty-five and the perfect one.’

I laugh. ‘The perfect one?’

‘Yep. She and her husband have three kids, along with the white picket fence. It’s what my mother wants for all of us.’

‘You don’t want that? It sounds nice to me.’

He grunts. ‘No way. That’s boring.’

‘Why is it boring?’

‘It just is.’

I sigh. ‘Okay. So do you have any other sisters?’

‘Yep. Three.’

‘Wow! So there’s…’ I count it in my head. ‘Eight of you?’

He chuckles. ‘Yep. That’s what happens on ranches. There’s nothing else to do. You fuck, then fuck some more,’ he says.

The thought of Sebastian’s finger on my panties sends a shudder down my spine.

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to use obscenities in front of you, my dear wife,’ he jokes.

I roll my eyes again. ‘So what about your other sisters?’

‘They’re all single too, which doesn’t make my mother happy. Ava’s thirty-one. Willow’s twenty-five, and Paisley is twenty-one. She’s going to graduate from college in the spring.’

‘I bet it was fun growing up with all of them,’ I comment.

A nostalgic look passes over Sebastian’s face. ‘Yeah, I guess it was. There were always tons of things to do. My siblings and I were always getting into trouble. Well, Evelyn didn’t get in trouble, but Ava did. Willow and Paisley are a lot younger than me. So I was pretty much grown and out of the house by the time they started doing their shenanigans.’

The ache I always feel when thinking about how I don’t have any family left rears its ugly head. I mumble, ‘You’re lucky to have them.’

Silence fills the vehicle. He finally says, ‘All right, enough about me. Tell me about your childhood.’

My chest tightens. Having to tell Sebastian anything about me makes me feel vulnerable for some reason. It’s like the less he knows of me, the better, but I also know that I can’t keep everything from him. We do have to fool his family, and they’re sure to ask. Especially when we start planning the wedding.

I still can’t believe I’m about to get married, not even for thirty days, and for money. I push the guilt out of my mind and start off, ‘Well, my mom and dad were musicians.’

He cuts across a lane. ‘Really? What kind?’

I hesitate, then answer, ‘Country. The old twangy kind.’

‘You’re lying to make me feel bad,’ he accuses.

‘Nope!’

‘Sorry. Hope I didn’t insult you,’ he offers.

‘You didn’t.’

‘So, do you really like that type of music?’ he asks.

‘I don’t know. It’s okay. I don’t have anything against it, but it’s not my favorite,’ I answer honestly.

‘You said your parents were musicians. What happened?’

My stomach dives. I take a minute to gather my thoughts and inform him, ‘I grew up with my grammy and my grandpa because my parents were always on the road. I was only five when their tour bus smashed into the side of a concrete bridge. There weren’t any survivors.’ I look out the window, blinking hard. I rarely get emotional over my parents. Typically, it’s over my grammy. Maybe it’s because I’m about to get married and not one person I know will be there, even if it is a fake union.

Sebastian’s voice fills with sympathy. He grabs my hand and squeezes it. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. That must have been hard for you.’

Something about Sebastian being sympathetic makes me nervous. I pull my hand away and clasp it with my other hand in my lap, claiming, ‘It’s fine. There’s nothing I can do to change it.’

Silence fills the air, and tension grows between us. He questions, ‘And what happened to your grandparents?’

‘My grandfather died of a heart attack about five years ago. My grandmother died over the summer from a stroke.’

‘That’s tough, Sunshine,’ Sebastian states.

I turn back toward the window, glancing at the cars we’re racing past.

‘You don’t have any siblings?’ Sebastian questions.

That ache grows bigger. I shake my head. ‘No, it’s just me.’

‘Hmm,’ is his only reply to that.

I don’t want to ask him what his hmm is about, so I change the subject. ‘What will your family think of me?’

He grins, and my heart skips another beat. He states, ‘They’re going to love you.’

‘Why do you think that?’ I inquire.

He gives me a look like I’m crazy. ‘Because you’re perfect.’

Heat rushes to my cheeks again.

He continues, ‘You’re polite and charming. You’ve got the southern girl act down perfectly.’

‘I don’t put on an act,’ I insist.

He waves me off. ‘You know what I mean. Plus, you’re hot. Sexy. You check all the boxes.’

More embarrassment fills me.

He thinks I’m hot and sexy?

This is not good.

I don’t think anyone’s ever thought I was sexy before.

I stay quiet, growing flustered and thinking about our kiss again.

Sebastian gets off at an exit. ‘Well, get ready for the country. It’s going to be nothing but farmland from here on out.’

My stomach churns with nerves. This is something I never thought I would do, yet here I am.

We don’t speak the rest of the ride. My anxiety kicks into full gear when he pulls through the large gate.

What if they don’t like me?

It doesn’t matter. It’s only for a month.

Sebastian pulls in front of a large ranch home, and five young children come running over. A little girl yells, ‘Uncle Sebastian!’

He gets out of the truck, and she jumps into his arms. He hugs and tickles her. She squeals.

The other kids jump on him, and it takes a few moments for him to hug all of them. His face lights up, and it warms my heart to see him with them.

He’d make a good father.

Don’t go there.

He turns to me and says, ‘This is Georgia. Georgia, meet my brother Alexander’s boys, Wilder and Ace. These are my sister Evelyn’s kids, Isabella, Emma, and Jacob, Jr.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ I say.

‘Welcome to our home,’ Isabella says, then jumps on me as she did to Sebastian.

I laugh and hug her back. ‘Thank you!’

‘I’m six, Emma’s five, Jacob’s three, Wilder is ten, and Ace is eight,’ she informs me.

‘Wow! Those are all great ages,’ I declare.

‘My birthday is in a few weeks, so I’ll be seven soon!’ She aims a bright smile at me.

‘Sebastian!’ a woman’s voice calls out.

I turn and recognize his parents from the articles in the paper. I assume the other two people are one of his brothers and sisters.

His mom hugs him and his dad leans down and kisses my cheek. ‘I’m Jacob, and this is my wife, Ruby.’

Ruby steps forward and embraces me. ‘It’s so nice to meet you, Georgia. Sebastian told me all about you last night.’

I glance at Sebastian.

He slides his arm around my waist and tugs me into him, then kisses the top of my head. ‘That’s Alexander and Evelyn. Everyone, meet Georgia.’

‘Is that a ring?’ Evelyn asks, then exchanges a glance with Alexander.

Sebastian’s grip tightens on me. ‘Yes. And you’re all going to be busy this next week.’

‘Why is that?’ Evelyn asks.

He drops the bomb. ‘We’re getting married next Saturday.’

‘What?’ his brother blurts out.

‘You heard me.’

‘In a week?’ his mom shrieks. ‘Why didn’t you say anything on the phone?’

Sebastian’s body tenses.

‘We wanted to surprise you,’ I offer.

‘That’s right. And with our busy schedules, we thought the timing was perfect since everyone is here,’ he adds.

‘Well, this is…oh, this is perfect!’ his mom declares, her eyes filling with tears.

‘Mom, don’t,’ he orders.

‘Oh shush!’ She throws her arms around both of us again.

‘Can I be in the wedding?’ Isabella asks, tugging on my dress.

‘Isabella! That’s rude to ask!’ Evelyn reprimands. She says to me, ‘Sorry!’

I laugh. ‘It’s okay.’ I crouch down so I’m at eye level with Isabella. ‘What do you think about you and Emma being flower girls?’

‘Yes!’ She claps.

‘Perfect.’ I rise, and Sebastian winks at me. My butterflies go crazy again.

His father declares, ‘Sebastian, I need to tear you away from your bride for a bit. You too, Alexander.’

‘Dad, we just got here,’ Sebastian claims, glancing at me.

‘It’s okay. I’ll be fine,’ I assure him.

‘You sure?’ he asks, voice full of concern, which surprises me.

I didn’t expect Sebastian to consider if I was comfortable enough with his family to be left alone with them. It makes me wonder if I judged him too early out of the gate. ‘Yes. I’m sure,’ I insist. Then I take a step toward the house.

Sebastian grabs my hand and pulls me back into him.

‘Whoa!’ I utter.

His lips twitch. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

‘What?’ I ask.

He tugs me closer and gives me a semi-chaste kiss, making me want more. But he pulls back. ‘That.’

I can’t help but smile. I murmur, ‘Oh. Thanks.’

‘Georgia gets upset if I don’t kiss her before we part. Don’t you?’ he states.

Embarrassment surges through me. This is his family and a bunch of strangers, and he’s basically insinuating I have to kiss him every time we part?

He smirks. ‘It’s okay. My family won’t judge you for wanting my lips on yours all the time.’

Oh, I see what he has up his sleeve.

I laugh and tilt my head, accusing, ‘Don’t you mean you don’t like parting ways without kissing me?’

‘Oh, such lovebirds,’ his mom coos, tearing us out of our locked gazes.

He pats my ass, releases me, and declares, ‘I won’t be gone long.’

And as bad as it is, everything about his statement makes me happy.