Page 53 of The Fiancée Farce
Wanting to be wanted, wanting to be loved. With her parents, Tansy had seen firsthand what it looked like to be truly, madly, deeply in love with someone and loved back just asfiercely. Knowing a love like that was possible, that it existed, that it was out there was half the reason Tansy had spent so much of her youth with her head in the clouds, dreaming of the day she’d find someone to love and be loved like that. It was why it had only taken a few sweet words and a kiss or two from Tucker to make her believe he cared.
To not have that blueprint was probably just as hard. Harder, maybe. Craving something you didn’t have a name for, like living life in black and white until the day you realized there was a whole spectrum of color out there.
“I don’t think it sounds stupid,” she said, staring into Gemma’s eyes so she’d know just how sincere Tansy was. “I don’t think it sounds stupid at all.”
Gemma ducked her chin and—was that a blush Tansy spotted? Something swelled inside her chest, toes curling inside her too-tight shoes at the thought of affecting Gemma so.
Gemma tucked her hair behind her ears and cleared her throat. “My father caught me snooping, and when I told him I wanted to be like that, he told me,no daughter of mine is going to be a wanton woman. As if I even knew what that meant at the time. But that was all I ever heard growing up.Van Dalens don’t do that.I thought I wanted to be an actress for a little while, go into theater.Van Dalens don’t do that.It was drilled into my head. What I wasn’t allowed to do, who I wasn’t allowed to be. Van Dalens don’t do that?” Gemma shrugged, a blithe contrast to the sharp set of her jaw. “I decided I wouldn’t be a Van Dalen, then.
“Westis my mother’s maiden name.” Gemma let the bottle of scotch dangle from her fingertips. The amber liquid looked gold in the light of the fireplace, a few shades darker than Gemma’s honey-colored tresses. “I wanted to change it legally when I was younger, but my mom told me I was a Van Dalen whether I likedit or not. If I didn’t like what the name stood for, instead of jumping through hoops to change it on some piece of paper, I should make it mean something else. Something I could be proud of. I never did change it formally, but there was nothing stopping me from going byGemma West.”
Tansy’s feet started to pulse, toes aching. She was tempted to follow Gemma’s lead and kick her shoes off, but she knew from experience that once she took her heels off, there’d be no forcing her feet back into them. She settled on shifting her weight from one foot to the other, trading off the pressure. “Let me guess—your family didn’t approve?”
She couldn’t imagine a family seemingly as controlling as Gemma’s being okay with her making a name for herself. A name that wasn’t theirs.
“Honestly? I have no idea how they reacted. We weren’t exactly speaking at the time. I was at Columbia, just trying to live my life, be a normal college student. I wound up in some tabloids, gossip columns, and word reached my father, who told me to clean up my act and come home for the summer,or else. And I like ultimatums just about as much as I like locked doors and being told no. When I refused to play by his rules, he cut me off and stopped paying my tuition, even though my grades were good—my grades weregreat.I mean, I wasn’t a saint, but I had finally decided what I wanted to be, and I was happy. I think that’s what he hated most. That I was happy and he didn’t have anything to do with it.”
Gemma lifted the bottle and took another long swig, leaving a raspberry-colored smudge on the glass.
Tansy didn’t drink, not beyond a glass of wine here or there, but she was tempted to take the bottle from Gemma if only so she could press her lips to the place where Gemma’s mouth had been.
“I transferred to NYU. Took out student loans because I didn’thave access to any of the Van Dalen accounts until I turned twenty-five. I majored in marketing with a minor in print and online journalism, graduated summa cum laude, and got an internship at theNew York News Daily, a VDP subsidiary. I applied under the name Gemma West, because I loathed the idea of being a nepotism baby. After my internship was over, I got a job as a marketing assistant at the paper, and that’s what I’ve been doing for the last six years.”
Holyshit. Of all the things she’d expected Gemma to say, it hadn’t beenthat. None of it. She didn’t underestimate Gemma, far from it, butwhoa.Impressivewould be putting it lightly. “That’s—Gemma. That’s amazing. Your accomplishments... those are nothing to scoff at. You should be really proud of yourself.”
Her eyes filled with that same look as before, when Mr.Barnes had mentioned how proud her grandfather had been. She shrugged, playing it cool, wiping the smudge of her lipstick off the mouth of the liquor bottle. “I guess I’m not entirely hopeless.”
She wasn’t hopeless. Not at all. She was brave and bold and—a lot of things Tansy wished she could be. She admired Gemma. Which felt like a weird sentiment, considering she also wanted to kiss Gemma, to taste that scotch secondhand.
“Your family didn’t know?” She shifted her weight to the other foot, pulse pounding painfully in her pinched pinky toe. “Not about any of it?”
Gemma leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes. “I thought they didn’t until about ten minutes ago when Mr.Barnes told me my grandfather knew I went to NYU. Now I have no fucking clue.” Her laughter had a bite to it, an edge that made Tansy frown. “Now I can’t help but wonder whether I got that job because my grandfather did know. Maybe it was nepotism after all.”
Tansy frowned. “You can’t know that.”
No more than Tansy could know whether her parents would be proud of her. It was a dangerous sort of guessing game better not played unless you liked torturing yourself with what-ifs.
“You’re right,” Gemma said, eyes still closed. “It’s not like I can ask dear old Granddad what he was thinking.” She cracked open one eye and smiled. “Unless you’ve got a Ouija board I can borrow?”
Tansy shook her head. “Sorry. I don’t mess with ghosts.”
“Smart.” Gemma laughed.
“And the modeling?” Tansy asked, dying to know how that fit into the puzzle that was Gemma van Dalen. “How’d that happen?”
“I met a freelance photographer who was working at the paper. She had a model call out sick for a cover shoot she was working on and asked if I was interested in being an alternative. The publisher and author both liked my look and I got picked. I liked it, and the extra cash didn’t hurt at the time.” She smiled. “I guess I became one of those wanton women after all.”
“I can think of worse things to be than wanton,” Tansy said.
“Really?” Gemma stared at her from beneath heavy, low-lidded eyes. “Because you strike me as a very good girl, Tansy.”
Tansy stared at her. Seriously? “Even after everything I told you about—”
“You didn’t do a damn thing wrong, and you know it. I know it. Everyone with half a brain knows it.”
Gemma’s vehemence was not only reassuring, it was oddly... empowering. It emboldened Tansy to stop worrying so goddamn much. Which, yeah, was easier said than done. But doable.
Tansy smiled, lips trembling, not from fear but from nerves. The good kind. “Looks can be deceiving.”
