Page 24 of Confessions of a Smutty Romance Author

I shook my head. Of course my parents had Googled my fake girlfriend. “Did you run a police report too, detective?”

“Results pending.”

I smiled over at her. No matter how annoying this was, it felt good to know she still cared about me to look out, even though I’d rounded thirty. “We both needed something. I wanted a good person to be with you to do dialysis at home, and she needs a boyfriend to save her second movie deal. Easy peasy. But please don’t tell Dad if you haven’t already. He’s theworstat keeping secrets.”

“Just from me,” Mom said. “Marriages don’t have room for secrets.”

I nodded, knowing that was true. Dad was as loyal as they came when it came to our family.

Mom studied me skeptically. “You know, I’d be more worried about the arrangement, but I saw the way you looked at her all night.”

Now I had to take my eyes off the road to ask her. “What do you mean?”

Mom laughed as if I were being daft. “I remember your father giving me that look when we were only twenty. That’s how you were conceived.”

And now I was blushing. “Mom.”

She chuckled. “You looked like a thirsty man in the desert and she was your oasis.”

Mom wasn’t wrong. I’d gotten caught off guard last night, seeing Mara in that dress, watching her get along with my family. And then that kiss.

Damn. That kiss.

Mara was too damn good at pretending this wasn’t fake.

“She’s a beautiful woman,” I said finally.

“Absolutely,” Mom agreed. “I used to wish I had curves like that.”

“You did?” Mom had always been small and petite, and I’d never heard her complain about her size before. She didn’t even complain about her scarred skin. She just faded into the background. Stopped showing up, going out.

She nodded. “They had these water bras that you could wear to make it look like you had big boobs. They were great as long as you didn’t run into anything sharp.”

“Okay, I’ve heard enough.” I laughed.

She smiled. “I’m glad you’re happy. You have a little extra bounce in your step.”

“It’s probably nerves,” I replied, turning toward the dialysis center. “I’m doing a press conference with her today to help salvage the movie deal.”

“What channel will it be on?”

“Why don’t you google it?” I retorted.

She gave me the side-eye, and I smiled back as I parked in front of the center. We walked inside together, Mom’s shoulders tightening the closer we got to seeing people. I handled most of the talking as we checked in at the reception desk, and a nurse took us back to the row of chairs. There were a few people already in, so I asked for a chair farther away “so she could focus on her book.”

Mom squeezed my arm in thanks and then sat in the chair, the nurse connecting the machine to her port. When Mom had first been diagnosed with partial kidney failure a year ago, I’d been so terrified of losing her. All those feelings from the fire came flooding back. But now that I knew more (and was prepared to donate a kidney if needed), this was mostly just business as usual.

They got her set up in no time, the machine whirring with the rest of them. She got out her book, cracked the spine, and started reading, while I propped my laptop across my legs and started working on client emails. I could stay with her, for a little while at least.

“Oh my word,” Mom sputtered. I looked up, worried she was hurt, to see her cheeks turning bright red and her hand covering her mouth.

“What?” I asked.

She giggled silently. “I’m reading one of Mara’s books and—”

“And what?” I asked nervously. “Is it bad?”

She shook her head quickly and passed the book to me. “Three paragraphs down.”

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