Page 53 of Strictly Pretend

My eyes catch Brooks’ eyes. He offers me a comforting smile but I can’t do this. I just can’t take a man’s mother’s ring from him.

“We’ll give it back,” Brooks says, his gaze not wavering from mine. “Just as soon as I buy you a proper engagement ring.”

“It’s okay. My mom’s gotten another five rings since this one,” Tex tells us. “Told ya, she’s an old romantic. Loves weddings, especially her own.”

Okay, so that’s not so bad.

Brooks tips his head at me. And I know he’s asking me what he should do. I know what we should do. Run away and never look back.

But it’s Cassie’s wedding. We’re neck deep in this. I give him a slight nod.

And then he drops to his knee in front of me, in the smoothest, easiest movement I think I’ve ever seen. He takes my hand in his, his face completely solemn. And though I know this is pretend, and that it means nothing at all, a wave of emotion washes over me.

“Emma,” Brooks says. “Beautiful, amazing Emma. Since you came into my life it hasn’t been the same. In the best of ways. You make me laugh, you make me smile, you make me feel like this world is better because you’re in it. I can’t imagine waking up in a world where you’re not mine. Please do me the absolute honor of agreeing to be my wife.” There’s no teasing in his voice. No malice. And though I know it’s all a lie, the sweetness of his words sends a shiver down my spine.

I can’t look away from him. I don’t want to. The likelihood of me ever getting a real proposal like that is minimal. So for today I’m going to pretend it’s real. That I’m living the fairytale.

Until the wedding’s over and we both go our separate ways.

“I think ya gotta answer him,” Tex prompts.

I take a shaky breath. “Yes,” I whisper. “Of course, the answer is yes.” Brooks slides the ring on my finger – it’s a little tight but he gets it over my knuckle, and then he stands and cups my face in his hand and wipes the tear away.

“Kiss her, man,” Tex tells him.

And he does. This time it’s not so soft. It’s hard and passionate and feels like a fiancé claiming his wife-to-be. It’s not real, I tell myself, but I still melt into his arms until he pulls away and kisses the spot where my jawline meets my neck.

“Okay, my man.” Tex high fives him. “Can I get a picture of the three of us?” he asks, pulling his phone out of his jean’s pocket. “My first proposal. Jesus, I can’t wait to tell my mom. She’s gonna love it.”

He steps between us and we pose as he gets a shot of the three of us. He insists I hold my finger up to show the ring.

“Thanks. Now let’s get you to your tent,” he says, hurrying us back to the cart. “I’m sure you two have some celebrating to do, if you know what I mean.” He winks at us.

So I climb back into the cart as an engaged woman, my fake fiancé helping me up.

Neither of us exchanges a word for the next five minutes as the driver hurries the horse to get us to our destination.

But Brooks holds my hand for the rest of the ride.

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

EMMA

The sea of yurts – tents with a conical roof and a pretty name – have been erected in a wooded glade, presumably to lend some shade. Not that the shade is enough to keep them cool – each one has air conditioning running inside them – and as we step through the wooden door the blast of cool air hits my face like a welcome embrace.

I can feel Brooks’ presence right behind me as I walk in and take in the opulent interior. No money has been spared here. The floor is tiled with cool white marble, and at the center of the room is a four-poster bed. It has nets on each side, presumably to protect us from whatever insects like to nibble on you in Montana at this time of year. There’s also a sofa and coffee table on one side, and on the other is a dining table with two chairs. Another door at the back leads to a fully plumbed bathroom, complete with his-and-hers sinks, a double size shower, and a toilet.

There are at least a hundred of these yurts in the gladed woodland. I can’t even imagine the cost of renting the tents, let alone plumbing them and arranging for electric. It’s another world.

I turn around to make a joke to Brooks about the bathroom being ‘intense’ – but he’s walking around the main room, looking in light fixtures and running his hands over the wooden frame that the canvas is fixed to.

“What are you doing?” I ask him.

“Nothing, darling. Come here.” He holds out his arms to me. It takes a second to realize I’m supposed to be walking into them. When I do, it’s nothing like the passionate embrace he gave me after I accepted his fake proposal. His arms are stiff and unyielding as they wrap around me.

“Twenty-four-seven,” he murmurs.

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