Best Fake Fiance (Loveless Brothers 2)

He shifts his hand, laces his fingers through mine.

What if? I think again.

“I think the lasers might be broken,” Daniel murmurs to me, a smile in his voice.

“They probably got wet,” I say.

“We should’ve warned her to use the waterproof lasers.”

“Too late now,” I say. “Remember it for next year’s duck regatta.”

Now the ducks are coming on fast, little yellow dots bobbing furiously up and down on the river. Up against the stone wall, Rusty’s bouncing with glee, her ash-blond curls sproinging in the sunlight.

Daniel’s gonna have a hell of a time untangling that later, I think.

“How long do you think we’ll have to listen to Levi go on about the environmental impact of escaping ducks tomorrow?” Daniel asks, his voice low and slow, even over the rising hubbub.

“He’s not wrong, you know,” I point out.

“Hank always goes on a duck cleanup mission the next day,” Daniel says. “He’s very conscientious. Levi just doesn’t like him.”

“I think it depends on whether Silas brings June,” I say, and Daniel snorts.

“Levi has seen a woman before, right?” he asks, rhetorically.

“He went to college,” I say. “He has a master’s degree. There must have been some women somewhere.”

“He’s been in the woods too long,” Daniel says. “Too much communing with birds and bears and squirrels and poof, you’re calling your friend’s little sister ma’am.”

“I should go get drinks with her,” I say. “I didn’t know she was back in town.”

“For some reason, that’s been relegated to the second-hottest gossip this week,” he says, and he flicks the engagement ring with one finger. “I don’t think she minds too much.”

The ducks sweep past the observation area, Rusty hopping up and down, surrounded by other kids who are also hopping up and down.

“Yeah, she probably owes us for that,” I say.

There’s a furor at the finish line, mostly of kids. Hank holds a duck up, and he’s shouting something, but it’s too loud to make out what it is, and besides, I’m making sure I keep track of Rusty.

Suddenly, she comes tearing out of the knot of kids, hair wild, face lit up like a lantern, breathless.

“CHARLIE,” she practically screams. “YOUR DUCK WON!!!!”Chapter TenDanielYou’d think that Charlie had won an Olympic medal.

Rusty can’t stop shouting. Hank Rogers pulls Charlie up to a podium — an honest-to-god winner’s podium — and presents her with a golden duck statue. There’s a medal. The mayor shakes her hand. Hank shakes her hand. She has to hold up the winning duck for a photo from the newspaper. The owner of La Dolce Vita gives a quick speech relating duck races to Italian food, and then he presents her with a $200 gift certificate to his restaurant.

Naturally, during all this, my brothers appear.

“She should use her platform to call for the end of the duck regatta,” Levi says as they walk up.

“Congrats on your fiancée,” Seth tells me, ignoring Levi. “She need a date to the restaurant?”

I shoot him a glare. He grins, because he’s an asshole sometimes.

“Instead of complaining about the ducks, you could go on the duck hunt tomorrow morning,” Caleb says to Levi.

The duck hunt is for stray rubber ducks, not actual ducks, but Levi harrumphs anyway.

“I’m going,” cajoles Caleb. “I’ll pick you up.”

“Come on, Levi,” says Eli, who of course is also there, just because. “Put your money where your mouth is.”

“Money’s filthy,” Levi says.

“It’s just an expression,” says Caleb.

“He knows that, he’s just being difficult,” says Eli.

“You’re one to talk,” mutters Levi.

“I heard June is going,” I say.

I didn’t hear that. I just want to see what Levi does, because I’m enjoying not having all the attention on me.

Levi arranges his face. I swear I can see his features moving one by one, until they’re all in the most neutral possible position, like he’s studied it.

“Oh?” he says, staring off into the middle distance.

“Who’s June?” asks Caleb.

“Silas’s little sister,” I say. “She was in my class in high school.”

“I remember her,” volunteers Seth. “She was cute. She single?”

Levi acts as if he’s turned to stone. Thank God for Rusty, who comes charging back, still breathless with excitement over Charlie’s win.

“DAD,” she shouts. “THEY WANT A PICTURE WITH YOU.”

“You don’t need to scream,” I tell her, but she’s already grabbed my hand and is dragging me toward the podium.

“I got him!” she shouts, depositing me next to Charlie

“Thank you,” says the photographer. “Very helpful.”

She’s middle-aged, a streak of gray in her pulled-back brown hair, and amused at Rusty’s antics in a no-nonsense sort of way. I should probably know her name, but I can’t think of it. My mom probably knows. Seth probably knows. They’re both good at stuff like that.

“All right, smile and hold up the duck, please,” she says, lifting the camera to her face again. “Turn? Chin up. Duck lower. Get closer.”

I’ve never liked having my picture taken — it makes me feel like an ant under a magnifying glass, in danger of getting burned — but I smile and turn my face and hold my arm around Charlie’s waist anyway as she holds up her winning duck.