My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

Lorenzo’s hands come to my hips, and he pulls his face back, his eyes twinkling. I’m reminded of the slow dances at Courtney’s wedding when I thought there might be something brewing between us as our bodies pressed together.

“Is that so?” Those words, in that accent, have me thinking all sorts of naughty things, wiping away the memory of him walking out of the wedding and replacing it with what he’s willing to do now to help me save face in front of Emily.

Heat flushes me, even if he probably doesn’t mean what I’m thinking, but if he wants me to ‘thank him’ on my hands and knees, I’m sure this hotel has some soft towels for cushions.

Trying to regain my balance and give my mind some oxygen to get my body under control, I step back, swallowing and trying to think about anything other than how those sensuous lips would feel against mine. “So, uh . . . other than saving my ass, what are you doing here, anyway?”

“Got a job offer,” Lorenzo says easily with a dismissive shrug. “Just a short term gig, but I’m cooking here at the hotel.”

“Really?” I ask, surprised. “I didn’t know . . . I mean, Violet didn’t say anything.”

Lorenzo smirks and asks naughtily, “Was I supposed to tell her?”

I see his point. Violet’s not his keeper, but it seems like something she’d want to know so she could worry about his wellbeing while he’s halfway around the world and she can’t do anything about it. That’s just how Violet is, especially now that her maternal instincts have kicked in after having Carly.

I blanch, the realization of what I’ve done hitting me. “How did this happen?”

“Right place, right time, I guess. Lucky for us both.”

What are the odds? And how is this lucky for him? Playing husband to a crazy woman to impress a bitchy one?

Before I can even respond, Janey comes up. “Hey, you get the room? I found the beach lounger where I’ll be sitting every time we get a few minutes.” She suddenly zeroes in on how close I’m standing to Lorenzo and his hand possessively placed on my lower back. “And hello to you too. Are you one of the resort’s amenities? Because I’ve got a spot that could really use a massage.” Her brows lift and lower quickly. She’s kidding. I think.

“Janey, this is Lorenzo. We have a bit of a situation that he’s going to be helping me with. We can discuss it more in private.” She wants to ask more. I can see it in her eyes, can see the questions dancing on her tongue, but then she looks past me and pales.

“Oh, shit! Incoming, four o’clock. That’s my cue. Catch you in the room,” she hisses. With that, she snatches a key card out of my hand and disappears down the hallway right as a racket fills the lobby. It sounds like there’s a hockey fight going on behind me.

But when I turn to look at my four o’clock, I find it’s not an impromptu ice rink battle but Claire and Cole coming in along with their entire entourage. A photographer is walking backward in front of them, snapping away but staying out of frame for the videographer who’s doing a weird side cross step to keep the camera steady. Security guards frame them on the right and left, and two assistants with earpieces and tablets walk behind them. Then there’s the luggage—seemingly never-ending carts of pink glitter suitcases and a few gray hard side cases as well. I don’t think there could be more hubbub if the Kardashians themselves were walking in.

Leading the whole brigade is none other than Meredith Wildeman.

Shit, I need to get out of here. But a voice sounds out across the din.

“Ah, flower girl. There you are. Have you looked in on the facilities yet?” Meredith asks.

Thankfully, Claire and Cole continue on their way, bypassing the front desk and heading straight for the elevators. I’m glad because I don’t want them to hear me answer ‘no.’

“Not yet. I just arrived,” I explain, gesturing lamely to the carry-on bag over my shoulder. “I’m heading up to my room to drop everything off and then to the coolers.”

Her lips press into a thin line, her brows dropping low as she taps on her ever-present tablet. “Hmm, so I’ll leave that unverified on the checklist.” Her disappointment doesn’t seem real, as though she expected me to drop the ball.

She turns to Lorenzo, and I’m trying to decide if I should introduce them—and if so, how—when Meredith speaks first. “And Chef Toscani, have you been to the kitchens yet?”

His answer is slow and rolling, the charm as thickly accented as his speech. “Yes, I met with the head chef. We are good.”

Wait? What? I think we might need to talk about more than my crazy honeymoon scheme! He’s said he’s cooking here, but how does he know Meredith?