Page 50 of The Fiancée Farce
Tansy looked between them, feeling clueless. “Gemma, did you know Mr.Barnes is ordained?”
“No,” Gemma said, looking a million miles away. “I didn’t.”
“He is. And he offered to officiate our wedding. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”
“Nice.” Gemma blinked hard and smiled, all bright, brilliant white teeth. “Yes. We would be honored. Now, if you would—”
“Gemma,” he said, “I had an idea I wanted to run by you.”
“Oh? Sure.” Gemma smiled, a little strained. “Hit me with it. Or—my apologies, I’d love to hear it.”
A warm smile graced his aged face. “TheSeattle Tribunewould love to run a piece on your impending nuptials. Would you be interested in giving an interview sometime this week? Tuesday, perhaps?”
Gemma smiled broadly, looking like she’d regained her footing, her confidence.Weebles wobble, and all that. Tansy hid a wry smile behind her fingertips. It seemed Gemma was made of the same sturdy stuff, quick to bounce back.
“Tansy, sweetheart, are you free on Tuesday?”
“I could swing it,” she said. “As long as it’s before four.”
Belltown Books was hosting the launch of local romance author Truly St.James’s recent release later that evening.
“Perfect.” Mr.Barnes smiled. “Gemma, I’ll give Veronika your number so you can set something up.”
“Great.” Gemma rested her hand again on the small of Tansy’s back. “Now, Mr.Barnes, if you’ll excuse us, I’m going to steal my fiancée for a few minutes.”
“Of course.” He chuckled. “Tansy, it was lovely meeting you. You ladies enjoy your party.”
“Thank you.”
Gemma’s palm drifted from the small of Tansy’s back to her hip and then down to her hand, tangling their fingers together. She guided Tansy along the perimeter of the party and past the bar, swiping a bottle of scotch.
“Are we leaving?”
Gemma led her through a door on the far side of the room. “No.”
“No?” Tansy added a burst of speed to her steps to match Gemma’s longer stride. These shoes—satin slingback kitten heelswith embellished bows on the front—were a bad idea. Blisters were already forming on the back of her heels. Now that she was walking in them as opposed to just trying them on in the store, it was obvious they were about a half size too small, and her toes were beginning to pinch.
Gemma made a right, leading Tansy down the hall past a painting of a field of tulips in bloom. “I just needed a break and didn’t think it was fair to leave you to fend for yourself again. Besides”—she glanced over her shoulder, meeting Tansy’s eyes—“I promised I would find you.”
“So where are we going?”
Gemma’s smile went sly, rising higher on the right than the left. “Patience, Tansy.”
She tried not to smile. “I thought we’d already established patience isn’t a virtue you possess.”
“At this point, I’m just flattered you believe I possess any virtues at all.” Gemma laughed bitterly. “My father sure as hell doesn’t.”
Tansy winced. “I’m, uh, going to go out on a limb and guess that your conversation didn’t go well?”
“You wouldn’t be wrong.”
“What did he want to discuss? If you want to talk about it. No pressure if not.”
“Oh, you know, the usual.” Gemma made a left at the end of the hall. “What a disappointment I am. That I’m unfit to run the company. How he thinks our relationship is a farce.”
Tansy’s toe caught the edge of the rug, causing her to stumble. Gemma slowed. “Sorry. I—he thinks it’s a farce? That’s—that’s bad, right?”
“Well, it’s not a cause for celebration, so I wouldn’t go busting out my party hat, if I were you.” Her lips pursed. “But I’m not concerned. The last time I gave a fuck about my father’s opinion,I was still wearing a training bra. Victor can call this a farce until he turns blue in the face, for all I care. As long as Mr. Barnes is convinced we’re real, we’re golden.”
