Page 79 of The Fiancée Farce
“I make a mean Roy Rogers if you ever want a mocktail,” Gemma said, and Tansy released a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.
People had a tendency to get weird when she talked about taking meds for her brain. Luckily, Gemma wasn’tpeople—proofthat Tansy really ought to stop assuming anything, let alone the worst, about her fiancée.
“I will keep that in mind.” Tansy smiled. “It’s still your turn.”
“Drats.” Gemma snapped her fingers. “Okay, fine. Let’s see... do you play any instruments?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Tansy shoved her plate of pad thai aside and leaned back against the couch, stuffed. “I play the violin.”
Gemma’s jaw dropped. “Get the fuck out.”
Tansy laughed.
“I’m serious. I don’t care that it’s your apartment.” She pointed at the front door. “Get out of here. Theviolin?” She shivered. “Unf, that’s hot.”
“Hot?” As far as reactions went, that was a first. “Are you serious?”
“Are you kidding me? All those strings? That bow?” She paused. “Itiscalled a bow, right? Or am I mixing that up with some other instrument?”
Tansy bit the inside of her cheek to keep from giggling. “Yes, it’s a bow. And there are only four strings.”
Gemma’s head fell back against the cushion of Tansy’s recliner, her eyes shutting. “Yeah, but like, manual dexterity is sexy, Tansy.”
Sexy.She’d never been called that before. Not with any degree of sincerity, at least.
“I never said I wasgoodat playing the violin—only that I could play it.”
Gemma cracked open an eye. “Are you saying youaren’tgood with your hands?”
Now,thatwas a trick question. “I’m saying I plead the fifth.”
Gemma wrinkled her nose, looking adorably put out.
Tansy laughed. “Fine. I’m saying you’ll just have to wait and see for yourself.”
Gemma’s expression did a complete one-eighty, looking like a kid on Christmas morning. “A private concert?”
Gemma wiggled her brows, which would’ve been funny enough, but there was a smudge of sauce on the side of her mouth that Tansy just now noticed and—
If someone would’ve told her three months ago that she’d be sitting on the floor of her apartment with cover model Gemma West, aka Gemma van Dalen, on a date and that said Gemma West would have sauce on her face while making innuendo-laden jokes about Tansy’s manual dexterity, she’d have told them to get the hell out.
Even now, she had the strangest urge to pinch herself.
Instead she tossed Gemma a napkin. “You’ve got sauce on your face.”
Gemma snorted. “Are you going to call me a big disgrace next?”
“No.” Tansy couldn’t ever remember laughing this much on a date before. “It’s sauce, not mud.”
“Eh. Most people would take any opportunity they could to call me a disgrace.” Gemma wiped her face and set the napkin down on the table. “You saw it today at the interview.”
A flicker of leftover indignation boiled her blood at the memory of the interviewer’s assumptions. “She was out of line.”
Gemma’s lips, no longer smudged with sauce, curved upward. “Did I mention how much I appreciated that? You coming to my rescue?”
Her face flushed. “Only five times.”
“Only.” Gemma stared at her, smile going soft and doing something fluttery to Tansy’s stomach. “I’d be remiss if I didn’t make it six.”
