I stop, surprised at the vehemence and tinge of bitterness in my voice. It’s never bothered me until this moment, or at least I’ve pretended so well that I’ve fooled myself. But under Connor’s piercing gaze, the eyes of a man who’d be even more shunned by the neighborhood than I am, I realize that maybe it bothers me more than I admit.

  “Hard worker, focused, able to prioritize, creative,” Connor says, rephrasing my self-describing words and turning them on their heads. “I’m not finding the problem.”

  His reframing of the laundry list of my flaws heals something I didn’t even know was broken, bringing a smile to my face. Reflexively, I reach out and punch him lightly in the chest, making him smile a little.

  “Sexy. You forgot sexy,” I brag-chastise, twisting left to right in my dress. I’m not fishing for compliments, but he’d damn well better agree.

  I wasn’t sure what the dress code for ‘family dinner’ is, so I played it safe in a red circle skirt that hits mid-thigh and a slim-fitting silk blouse. I chose a matching jacket that I can leave on if it’s chilly or take off if it seems appropriate. In my heels, I’m feeling large and in charge next to Connor.

  “And sexy,” he says quietly. The word comes from deep in his throat, rough and scratchy in a way that makes my skin vibrate even though he’s a solid two feet from me. But his eyes flow over me appreciatively in a way that brings my focus solidly to him, and I stop my girlish twirling, freezing in place. I get the sense that he’s being genuine and is as surprised by his admission as I am. After a too-quick moment, he growls, “We should go. Get in.”

  He broke first, but instead of feeling like I won, I feel like he was able to wrench back control faster than I could, making me the loser in that battle. But I will win the war. The one for my laptop, I remind my libido. That’s what this is about.

  My insides tighten, trying to argue that a little poke and play couldn’t hurt and would probably feel really good. If anything, I bet he could clean out my pipes and clear my writer’s block while leaving me feeling fully sated.

  But I refuse to listen to the horny bitch and walk to the passenger side of Connor’s big truck. Putting my hand on the door handle, I pause, looking over at him with a smile. “You’re not kidnapping me, are you? We’re going to dinner with your family?”

  His eyes narrow, and I wonder what about that joke slipped in a bit too deep. The kidnapping or the family dinner? Or maybe it’s that I committed him to this charade and dinner when he obviously didn’t want to go in the first place. “Get in the truck, Poppy. Or don’t. Your call.” He walks around to the driver’s side, getting in and starting the roaring engine. Fuck the gentleman act, it seems.

  “Guess I’ll get the door myself then,” I say, knowing he can’t hear me over the growl under the hood. I climb in, literally since his truck’s on some big ass tires that have me showing a hell of a lot of thigh just to get in, and buckle up.

  “Do you have any sense of self-preservation?” he asks, hands tight on the steering wheel. He looks at me, and I realize his asshole act outside was because he wanted me to storm off and go back to my house, cowering in fear of the big, bad man next door.

  Because if I did that, he’d be off the hook. Oh, he’d still peel off into the night, but it sure wouldn’t be to go to his family’s for dinner. But with me here, he’s got no choice. And that scares him. Hell, I might even scare him instead of the other way around.

  “Of course,” I answer, though I’m not entirely sure that’s true. Right now, I’m starting to scare myself because I’m not leaving this truck short of a pistol in my face. “But I am also willing to do anything to get my laptop back. And I figure if we go to dinner, I’ll find out more about you, and I can leverage that to get my laptop back,” I say, explaining my not-well-thought-out plan of desperation. And then I shrug. “If you kidnap me and sell me to the highest bidder, then my publisher won’t find me and the book won’t matter anyway. Either way, let’s go.”

  Dark humor, but nerves are starting to bounce around inside me like wasps, stinging and sharp. But it thaws Connor some, and he gives me a nod. “Fair enough.”

  I thought we might have a little conversation on the way, him filling me in on more details and maybe even planning some information in case folks ask those landmine questions that happen in every ‘fake relationship’ story I’ve ever read . . . but those are the only two words he says for the entire drive.

  I, on the other hand, ask questions—lots of questions. About his family, about his stealing, about how he got good at it, about who has my laptop, about his sister. I’m a regular chatterbox, peppering him with questions to show him that I’m not going to give up and that I want to do this.

  And not once does he speak, not a single answer, no matter how easy or outlandish the question. So I resort to talking to myself, a frequent habit.

  “I’m just curious, you know. It’s in my nature to learn about people, their experiences, their lives, what makes them who they are,” I comment as we make a right turn. “Sometimes, they end up as characters in a book, but mostly, it helps me imagine the world from different perspectives. It makes me a better author, I think. Maybe a better person too. I’m a good listener.”

  He grunts at that, and considering I’ve been talking for almost forty minutes straight, that does seem a little less than true. But I am a good listener and a good observer. For instance, Connor might not have said a word, but he’s reacted to plenty of my questions. I see his teeth grit when I get too close to a button, his lips twitch when he thinks what I said is amusing, and the way his eyes cut over and his Adam’s apple bobbed when my skirt shifted as we drove over a pothole.

  Finally, at a pause in my rambling, he clears his throat, and I wait for him to share some massively informative detail or answer one of my hundreds of questions. “We’re almost there. Two-minute warning to back out.”

  Instead of changing my mind, I take a tip from Aleria and place my hands on my thighs as I close my eyes. “Universe, if you’re not too busy dealing with the tides and the earth’s erosion, could you spare a moment to watch over me and Connor on this dangerous mission to see his super-scary family? Thank you. Peace, love, light, and donuts. Love, Poppy.”

  I open my eyes to see Connor staring at me from the corner of his eye in shock. “Did you just pray to the universe that my family dinner goes well? And offer donuts in exchange?”

  “Everyone likes donuts,” I say with a shrug. “Even Mother Nature.” He blinks rapidly like he doesn’t know what to say to that. Just to really tweak his brain, I add, “I tend to rotate the prayers and wishes. Always want to cover my bases, and I figure that it’ll at least give me an in if there is someone up there listening for me to explain myself when it’s my time.”

  “Huh.” A minute later, he turns into a driveway that surprises me. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. This house is massive, more estate than homey. I’d call it a McMansion except the property’s too big for such a trite description.

  He parks, and I see the first clear vulnerability in Connor’s armor as he squeezes the steering wheel and lets out a rough sigh. “You okay?”

  “I should be asking you that,” he says, but he doesn’t. Instead, he gets out and comes around to my side, opening my door this time. I offer a smile of thanks, but he only mutters under his breath, “Let’s get this over with.”

  We’re greeted at the door by Connor’s mom, a tall, beautiful woman who carries herself with grace. “Why, hello . . . it’s so nice to meet you, Scarlett!” she greets me, air kissing both of my cheeks. “I’m Debra, but please call me Mom. Where has he been keeping you?”

  “Oh, he keeps me tied up in the basement,” I tease. Connor stiffens at my side, but Debra laughs, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “But seriously, it’s nice to meet you.”

  “We’re so lucky to have you here,” Debra says. “I promise we’re not nearly as bad as he says we are.”

  She glances at Connor with a smile, and I’m sure she means it to be a joke, but it comes off a bit too truthful. To ease the tension, considering Connor hasn’t said much, I tell her, “He hasn’t said much. Guess he’s the strong, silent type.”

  To seal the comment, I snuggle into Connor’s side, doing my best to sell our ‘fiancé’ situation. Unfortunately, Connor’s stiff and straight, like he’s got a corn cob stuck up his ass. I’m about to elbow him when Debra laughs lightly, though it’s one of those polite, that wasn’t funny, fake ones. “Okay then. Let me get Dad and Caylee. They’re in the office.”

  Once she’s gone, I push away from him with a glare. “Hey, buddy, I can’t do this alone. You have to play along if you want to keep up this charade.” I point from him to me. “Buy in a little.”

  Connor sags slightly, looking like even that small interaction nearly exhausted him. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “Not enough,” I warn. “Keep this up, and they sure as fuck will know I’m not Scarlett.”

  He shrugs, and I think he might be on the verge of saying fuck it to the whole fake fiancée thing minutes after walking in the door. I definitely didn’t consider that as a potential play-out of tonight’s act.

  Before Connor can reply, Debra comes back with an older version of Connor trailing her. Next to him is a young woman who definitely takes after her mother in the tall, elegant, and pretty departments. I swear, did these people hit Copy+Paste and create their kids, one in each of their image?

  “Okay,” Debra says when Connor doesn’t say anything, “so this is my husband, Robert, and our daughter, Caylee. Everyone, this is Scar—”

  “Poppy,” I interrupt, smiling sweetly. “Sorry for the confusion.”

  “I thought your name was Scarlett?” Caylee asks curiously. She seems to have her brother’s number more so than his parents and is looking at me carefully.

  I run with it, giving a pretty good, embarrassed grin as I lean back into Connor’s side and gaze up at him bashfully. “Well,” I drawl out, “it’s sort of a thing that only King Con calls me. You know, because of the . . .” I gesture to my red hair, making the nickname connection obvious and also making it seem more like a bedroom name than a pet name in the hopes that they’ll leave it. I mean, who wants to hear their son called King Con around the dinner table when it instantly brings up thoughts of dick size and wild monkey sex?

  “Oh,” Caylee says, easily satisfied and backing away from that verbal bear trap.

  “Where’s the groom?” Connor interrupts, trying to move things along and check the boxes he’s got in his head for this visit. “I thought I was going to meet him.”

  It’s the right move, redirecting the conversation to a topic he knows his sister will want to talk about so that she doesn’t focus on us. Or the pretend us, at least.

  “Evan will be here any minute. I came out early to talk to Mom about last-minute wedding details, and well” —she smiles generously— “he’s pretty much done with all the wedding talk. I might be a little obsessed.” She holds her finger and thumb up an inch apart, grinning at me. “I’m sure you know how it is.”

  Actually, I don’t. I’m seriously the sort of woman who’ll have my wedding on a last-minute whim if and when it’s my time, but I’ve got a role to play. “Of course. We’re taking things one day at a time, though, not on the edge of The Day like you are.” I take a cue from Connor, keeping the focus on Caylee. “You must be so excited.”

  Caylee squeals happily, her feet doing a tappity-tap dance on the wood floor as she finds a new ear to bend. “I can’t wait. You have to come. You’ll get him to come, won’t you?”

  Her eyes implore me, nearly begging, and I look to Connor, who clears his throat. “Tonight, Caylee. I came to dinner. I’m meeting Evan. Let’s leave it at that.”

  Connor’s voice isn’t unkind, just matter-of-fact, but I see the disappointment in Caylee’s eyes. She offers a shaky smile to her brother, though. “Yeah, I’m glad you’re here. I just thought . . . maybe . . .” She trails off.

  The front door opens, and a male voice calls out, “Babe? Where you at?”

  Caylee immediately brightens once more and runs for the door. Through the frame, I watch as she jumps into the arms of a blond man in a suit. He spins her in a circle, her knees bent to keep her feet off the ground, as he kisses her with a loud growling smack. Obviously, it’s Evan.

  “I missed you today,” he tells her sweetly like a hero from a Hallmark movie. He’s definitely got eyes just for Caylee. I can see that even through my crack.

  She beams as he sets her down, and they come into the big room, Caylee excitedly tugging at his hand. “Evan, this is my brother, Connor. And his fiancée, Poppy.”

  Evan moves forward instantly, an easy smile on his face and his hand outstretched to Connor. “Good to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you, man.”

  “None of it good, I’m sure,” Connor quips back, taking his hand in a firm yet polite handshake.

  “Let’s eat,” Mom says, stopping that train before things can run off the rails. I get the feeling that Connor’s right. Whatever Evan’s heard, it probably wasn’t good.

  We go into the dining room, which despite the size and formality of the decor, is laid out with a homey casualness that tells me that even if Connor comes from a rich family with issues, their noses aren’t so far in the air that they can’t smell their own farts.

  “How was your day, Evan?” Debra asks, opening a bottle of wine. “Ready for the big day?”

  “Everything’s ready,” Evan says with relief. “My boss verified that my vacation is approved, and they even threw me a surprise wedding party in the break room.” He turns to Caylee. “The gifts are in the car, and Janice wrote down the list as I opened them so we can do the thank you notes to everyone correctly.”

  Caylee smiles and pats his hand. “That is so sweet of her.”

  “She made the cake too, and though I didn’t tell her, I am really hoping our wedding cake is tastier.” Evan pauses dramatically, already grinning at his own joke before he tells it. “She made a fondant ‘ball and chain’ decoration. Cute idea, but in execution, it looked like dog turds made of chocolate. Kinda killed the yum factor.”

  Soft laughter rings the table, at least from most of us. Connor merely snorts, his lips twitching while Robert says nothing, like he didn’t even hear the joke. But everyone seems to just let that slide as food’s passed around and plates are filled.

  “So, Poppy, what do you do?” Caylee asks. “Connie never told us.”

  “Connie?” I quip, giving Connor a raised eyebrow. He glowers but doesn’t correct his sister, which tells me more than ever about them. “Well, I’ve done a lot of things, to be honest. But I’m an author working on my second book, Trouble in Great Falls.”

  “Is that so?” Debra asks, but a second later, her eyes widen. “Wait . . . you’re that Poppy Woodstock? I read your book! Connor, how did you find yourself a gem like her?”

  “I’d say he stole me more than anything else,” I tease Connor, who growls, though I’m not sure if it’s at my tease about stealing or his mom’s implication that he could never score a find like me. “Seriously, how could I have resisted this big glowery look of his? And I take it as a personal challenge to massage away that frown line on his forehead.” I play the odds and gently run my finger along the line in question, feeling victorious when he doesn’t flinch away but instead stares directly into my eyes, allowing it.

  “Good luck with that,” Caylee says. “Connor’s had that since I was a baby, at least.”

  “Speaking of babies . . .” Debra says, and I have to snort as Caylee puts on an expression that makes her look so much like her brother it’s scary.

  “Mom, repeat after me,” Caylee says, taking Evan’s hand. “Wedding, honeymoon, and then, sometime in the future, babies.” It sounds as though they’ve had this conversation before. “But if you keep asking, I’m going to be forced to tell you, in detail, about all the ways we’re ‘practicing’, and neither of us wants that. Keep your nose out of my uterus, and I promise I’ll tell you when there’s something to tell.”

  “Caylee,” Debra gasps. I swear if she had on pearls, she’d be clutching them.

  But Caylee shrugs, “You’re the one who asked about the potential results of my sex life at the dinner table. You get what you get.”

  I make several mental notes, wishing I could write them down because Caylee is character inspiration come to life and sitting across the table from me. I’m in writer heaven.

  Small talk continues, with Caylee getting asked a lot about the wedding without another mention of babies while Caylee and Debra both toss questions my way about me and Connor. Connor answers most of them, but I deal with more than my fair share as well. It’s fun, vibing with Connor and trying to weave my truth into the fictions that Connor may have told his family.

  Thankfully, his lack of communication with them leaves me plenty of holes to slip my facts into. One strange thing, though, is how Robert Bradley doesn’t say anything. In fact, Connor’s father has been silent since I shook his hand, and even then, I think he only offered it out of social habit.

  Since then, he’s appeared distant, merely sipping on his drink and shifting food around his plate. Connor isn’t really all that much better except when someone speaks to him directly, though I’ve seen him giving that patented glare to his dad a couple of times. They’re obviously not close, and Connor said as much when we were talking about what to expect tonight, but I didn’t expect this degree of ice between the two men.

  Actually, it’s not just between them. There seems to be a thick wall around Robert Bradley that keeps everyone at arm’s length. He’s practically an island in the room with his own family. Ironically, as much as that seems to bother Connor, he’s doing the same thing to his mother and sister.