Fake Marriage (Contemporary Romance Box Set)

Her gaze drifted down my body and then back up. “I was wondering why you were wearing slacks and a button shirt. I thought maybe you had a job interview or something.”

“I have a job.”

She shrugged. It was a reminder that she thought I was a slacker. That somehow bartending and playing in a band wasn’t real work.

We finished our wine, which didn’t smooth her edges as we ended up arguing over who’d drive. She didn’t want to get in my truck, but since all my band stuff was in it and wouldn’t fit in her car, my truck was the only option if we were going to carpool. Eventually, she relented.

“I’m not making a statement,” Trina said when we arrived and walked into the large rec area of the senior center. “I told Sinclair I wouldn’t.”

“I’ll do it. I think as long as you schmooze with the people and dance with a few of the men, you’ll be all right. Watch their hands though. Old men like to squeeze great asses.”

She arched a brow at me. “Thanks for the warning.”

I took the stage with my band to set up as Trina made the rounds, saying hello and chatting with the seniors.

When we were ready, I went to the mic. “Are you ready to dance?”

“Yeah!” several of the seniors said, grabbing the hands of their partners and coming to the dance area.

“Before we start, I want to introduce Katrina Lados, Mayor Valentine’s right-hand woman. And for those of you men looking to dance with her, watch your hands. Ms. Lados doesn’t put up with nonsense.” I winked at her when she frowned at me. “Especially you Mr. Costner.”

“Aw man,” the elderly man known to have an eye for the ladies said.

“How about we start with Sinatra’s Come Dance with Me?” I counted out the beat and we started playing.

When I first formed my band, my goal was to be a country rock star. Of course, I couldn’t build that sort of career here in Salvation. I’d have had to have gone to Nashville. But my drummer married his high school sweetheart, and my bass player had to stick around to help the family farm, and I and the rest of the band ended up settling into our respective jobs. I suppose I could have gone on my own, but after a while, I found I was quite content with my life. I didn’t need fame and fortune. All I needed was a drama-free life, my family, and music. I had all that here.

But to stay in Salvation and play music, the band had to adapt. We played old standards for the seniors, more contemporary music for weddings, and on our own, we occasionally did gigs with original music. My life was good. I hoped to make it great by convincing Trina to give me a chance.

I finished the song. “On to a song that was my grandparents’ favorite. Cole Porter’s Night and Day.”

“Oh, I love that too,” a woman on the dance floor said. “Don’t you Harry?”

“When will you play, I’m Beginning to See the Light?” Harry asked.

“Bobby Darin will be next,” I said.

We started on Night and Day, and as I sang, I watched Trina. She wasn’t one for group settings, but she smiled and chatted with the seniors. The fact that the seniors were smiling and laughing back suggested Trina wasn’t being snarky or difficult. Perhaps she was like that just for me.

We moved on to I’m Beginning to See the Light, which Harry belted out with us. He didn’t have a bad voice and I wondered if maybe we should have him come up on the stage for a tune.

When we finished, I turned to the band. “What about Baby Love?”

“It’s not a standard,” Jeff, my bassist said.

“It’s a slow ballad though. It would probably fit,” Billy, the drummer, said.

The rest of the band nodded that it was worth the try to do an original song. This song wasn’t just original, it was old. I’d written it years ago based on a poem I discovered Trina had written. The baby in question was Sinclair’s child, but the words could also represent romantic love.

“For fun, we’d like to play you one of our own original songs. I hope you like it. It’s called Baby Love.” I watched Trina as we played the opening notes.

“My heart beats for you, my breath breathes for you…” I started.

Trina’s gaze jerked to me, her eyes narrow. I continued to sing the words she once wrote for my sister and her unborn child. Her breath caught the moment she knew for sure I was singing her words. I smiled, wanting to acknowledge the beautiful poem and hoping she liked the music I’d set it to.

But what I saw instead was anger. Her face actually turned red, and if steam coming out of the ears was a real thing, I was sure that’s what would be happening to her. She turned and hurried out of the large room.

What the hell? I thought, but I continued to finish the song.