Page 102 of Things We Fake
Cam leaned forward, eyes gleaming, gesticulating for effect. “Picture a woman, her face covered in some sort of pink sludge, hair tied back in a sweatband, wearing a robe that I swear was last seen in a 1970s horror film.”
My mother pursed her lips in disapproval.
Paul barked out a laugh. “Yeah, that sounds like Sue.”
Cam’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. “And she’s holding a giant glass of wine, staring at me as though she’s deciding if she should drink it or throw it in my face.”
Michelle laughed, holding her belly. “You guys are adorable.”
I threw my napkin at Cam. “You’re the worst.”
He caught it, completely at ease. “I thought I had walked into a haunted house. I almost ran.”
My mother shook her head, untouched by the hilarity. “Really, Susanne, I hope you’ve changed those habits and threw away that old robe. You can’t expect to hold onto a man like Cameron with that attitude.”
Everyone fell silent for a few moments. Humiliation burned my cheeks. My mother hadn’t changed a single bit. I had been worried about Cam’s mom and sister, about my dad’s reaction to meeting Cam, when I should have known the most dangerous thing tonight was my mother’s sharp tongue.
Becky saved me—sweet woman that she was.
“Holding a man down isn’t really what we do these days, unless it’s with handcuffs and for fun,” she said, grinning.
The men laughed, and I shot Becky a grateful smile. If anything good came of tonight, I hoped it would be a friendship with her. I liked her immensely.
My mother’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t comment further. She’d always known how to pick herbattles, and Becky was a strong adversary. Maybe she could give me lessons.
“Why didn’t you run?” my father asked Cam.
Cam glanced at me, his amusement softening into something warmer. “Because the second I saw her eyes, I knew I was in deep trouble.”
My stomach did a wild flip.
Paul raised an eyebrow. “So, you saw her covered in… whatever the hell that was, and you still asked her out?”
“Absolutely,” Cam said smoothly.
Helen chuckled. “I like this story, Cam. Glad to hear you’ve inherited my insight into people. Sue seems to be an amazing young woman.”
Cam gave his mom a sweet smile. “She’s incredible.”
As he gazed at me, he brushed his lips over my knuckles. The red in my cheeks spread to my ears and throat. I probably looked like a blushing bride.
Michelle leaned back in her chair, shaking her head in amazement. “That’s the most adorable meet-cute I’ve ever heard.”
Paul snickered. “It’s more of a horror movie intro, if you ask me. The Woman in the Pink Mask.”
Cam turned to me, grinning. “See? That would make an excellent title for our wedding invitations.”
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t fight the smile tugging at my lips. “If that’s your idea of romance, I fear for our marriage.”
Becky raised her glass. “To The Woman in the Pink Mask.”
Everyone laughed, clinking glasses. Even my father, who had been watching Cam with measured scrutiny, seemed to relax a little.
The waiter returned, setting our plates down with practiced elegance. My filet mignon sat in a pool of rich red wine reduction, accompanied by creamy truffle mashed potatoes and charred asparagus.
Across the table, my father inspected his osso buco, while Paul eagerly dug into his duck confit. Michelle, indulging her cravings, had opted for wild mushroom pasta, and my mother, ever refined, selected the lobster. Cam admired his chicken Alfredo, Becky practically beamed over her rack of lamb, and Helen’s plate held an elegant roasted eggplant drizzled with balsamic glaze.
It was a meal designed for celebration, but my appetite was in a standoff with my nerves. As I picked up my knife, ready to cut into my steak, my mother’s voice sliced through the warm hum of conversation.
