Page 9 of The Fiancée Farce
Tansy frowned down at her sweater. “What’s wrong with my cardigan?”
Gemma snorted.
Tansy continued to glare.
“Oh, you were serious? Aside from it being ugly as sin and belonging at the bottom of an incinerator?” Gemma shrugged. “Nothing, I suppose.”
“I happen to like this sweater.” Tansy scowled. “It’s vintage and I got it for a steal. And I get cold, okay? Some of us aren’t currently operating with a blood alcohol level high enough to dilate all of our blood vessels and—and activate our thermoreceptors.”
“Mmm, that’s nice. I like it when you talk nerdy. Is that something you do often?” Because Gemma could really get behind that. And on top of it. All over it. Unf.
A rosy blush bloomed along the crests of Tansy’s cheeks.Damn, that blush was adorable. If Gemma didn’t know better, she might’ve called herself smitten. Good thing she did, in fact, know better. “I—I don’t know how to answer that.”
“Sounds to me like you need someone to warm you up.” Gemma grinned. “I volunteer as tribute.”
“Oh sweet Jesus,” Tansy murmured. “You’re completely plastered, aren’t you?”
Gemma threw her head back and laughed. Not quite. “Look, in the morning I’ll be sober, and I can guarantee I’ll still want to marry you.”
“Holy shit,” Tansy whispered. “You’re—you’re actually insane. You’re not just drunk, you’re certifiable.”
Okay, fair. Who married a total stranger, proposing in the first five minutes after having been introduced, the circumstances behind said introduction less than forthright to begin with? Nobody, that’s who, but Gemma was nothing if not a trailblazer. A very,verydesperate trailblazer. “That didn’t sound like ano.”
Tansy balked. “I wasn’t aware I’d been asked a question.”
Oh, the girl had some brass after all. Gemma grinned. “You want me to get down on one knee? Propose?” Gemma leaned close, lips brushing the shell of Tansy’s ear. “Say yes now, and later, I’ll spend as much time on my knees as you want.”
Tansy’s breath stuttered, and Gemma smirked.
“Marry me and no one has to know none of this was real. No one has to know about your lie.” Gemma leaned back, looking Tansy in the eye. “Marry me and I can promisepatheticwill be the last thing anyone calls you.”
Tansy’s eyes flitted over Gemma’s face, a tiny crease forming between her brows as she weighed Gemma’s words. Her vows. “This is crazy.”
Crazy as this all certainly was, the alternative—Van Dalen Publishing falling into the hands of her cousin—was unconscionable.
“I can’t—I can’tmarry you. I don’t know you.”
“You’ve got a picture of me saved on your phone. I’m sure you know enough.”
Tansy’s face fell, but Gemma was distracted by the head of silver-streaked hair cutting through the crowd toward them. Aw,hell. Her father had radar, some fucked-up sixth sense, an ability to smell fear, and Gemma... Gemma probably reeked ofeau de desperation. It hadn’t exactly been her brightest plan, claiming to be engaged to a stranger, putting all her eggs in one basket, betting on a girl she didn’t know, a gambit if there had ever been one, but Tansy—shit. Gemma didn’t even know her last name.
It was—it would befine. There’d be plenty of time for lastnames andgetting to know yous later. Right now, Gemma needed to plead her case to the girl who’d fallen into her lap by some stroke of good luck, the universe’s way of telling Gemma there was hope for her yet. Her only objective now needed to be convincing Tansy that marrying her was a brilliant idea, not some fool’s errand. If they played their cards right, this could pan out in both their favors.
She leaned a little closer, keeping her voice pitched low in case of eavesdroppers. “Don’t think of this as a marriage. Think of it as a—a business merger. A marriage of convenience.”
They might be lying to everyone else, but at least thus far they’d been mostly honest with each other. It was a better foundation for marriage than most couples could say they had.
Tansy frowned. “That sounds romantic.”
Romance had nothing to do with it. “Look, I’m not promising you the greatest love story of all time here.” Against her better judgment, Gemma remained honest. She hadn’t lied to Tansy yet, and she didn’t want to start. “But it won’t be forever. Two years. What the hell else are you doing with your life?”
Living some sort of lie, apparently. Gemma failed to see why Tansy couldn’t trade one for another, this one with all sorts of untold perks.
Gemma’s father paused, steely eyes meeting hers across the dance floor.
She’d expected her father would find her eventually. That he’d attempt to pull her from the room, maybe pile her into the back of a town car, sending her on her merry way.
They had a routine. He’d ignore her existence for months on end—a whole year, if she was lucky—then she’d do something he considered scandalous, and Victor would come running to erase the evidence, ruing the day he’d knocked her mother up. It wassweet, really. How many girls could claim to have such a reliable father-daughter relationship?
