Faking It For Mr Right

But I’ve been seeing a lot of displays of wealth lately. So I clench my jaw and manage not to let it drop at the sight of the marbled floors, the intricate carved wooden balustrades and a chandelier that looks like it weighs more than Xander’s car.

“You must be Melanie!” Whatever I was expecting, it isn’t this. Xander’s father looks just like him. An older version, yes. A little grayer on top, and balding in a little circle. But he has the same handsome face and strong jawline. The same mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

I hold out a hand, but he ignores it and draws me in for a tight hug, just like his daughter once did, kissing me first on one cheek, then the other. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mr.—”

“Please, call me William. After all, we’re going to be family, are we not?” His eyes continue to shine with what seems like genuine enthusiasm. He glances over at Xander and his smile turns sly. “I can see why she caught your eye, son. She’s beautiful.”

My cheeks flush, and I duck my head, embarrassed. “Thank you, William.” It feels strange to address Xander’s father so informally, but he brightens when I do, and that relaxes me a little. If he prefers to be called by his first name, who am I to argue?

“Well, come in, come in, let’s not stand in the doorway all night.” William shuts the door behind us and shoos us deeper into the house. “Relax, kick off your shoes. It’s so nice to finally meet you,” he adds. “I’ve heard so many wonderful things, not just from Xander but from his siblings as well.” Something about the way William talks reminds me of Patricia too—he’s all business, chattering away. It makes me smile.

“Try not to scare her off, Dad,” Xander mumbles as he follows after us both, flashing me a reassuring wink. “If Patricia and Marco didn’t manage it, then she’s already a keeper.”

We follow William into a living room that looks more like the kind of parlor you’d see in an old movie, complete with the kind of plush furniture that terrifies me to even think about sitting on. But William plops right onto one of the seemingly antique couches and pats the seat beside him.

After a moment’s hesitation, I perch on it lightly, all too aware of every spot where my butt meets the expensive fabric.

“Relax.” William chuckles. “You look like you’re trying not to internally combust.”

“This is just… a very nice house, that’s all,” I manage, my eyes fixed on the ceiling, the walls, the floors. Anywhere but at William’s piercing gaze. Part of me worries that if he looks at me too deeply, for too long, he’ll see the deception written all over my face.

William waves a dismissive hand. “You should see the Malibu property, if you think this is nice.” Xander rolls his eyes. His father grins. “What? In this family we enjoy our wealth. We aren’t like some of the wealthy families you’ll meet, all miserly and stingy with every dime. Now, tell me about your family. Xander tells me you grew up in the country?”

When I tell him the name of my hometown, William nods sagely, his expression knowing.

“I had a feeling Xander’s business trips to that area might be more than they appeared on the surface,” he replies, smirking. Xander and I trade smiles of our own.

At least since we kept our story so close to the truth, it’s an easy one to uphold and remember. Plus, it gives Xander a good excuse for all the traveling he did last year, before we actually met.

Before we met, just a little over three weeks ago now. And now I’m pregnant with his child. Not to mention lying to his whole family about our history. What am I doing?

My unease must show, because Xander reaches over to catch my hand, squeezing lightly, while his father glances back and forth between us. “Oh, how rude of me. I haven’t even offered you both drinks. Champagne? Whiskey?”

“Water for me, thanks,” I murmur.

“I’ll grab us whiskies,” Xander offers, and squeezes my hand once, tightly, before he rises to cross out of the room. I resist a childish urge to shout after him to beg him not to leave.

Instead, I fold my hands in my lap, around one another, holding tight.

“So, Melanie.” Xander’s father smiles. “Have you and Xander talked about children yet?”

If I’d been holding a drink already, I would have either choked on it or spilled the whole thing on myself. In lieu of that, I cough under my breath, then clear my throat, hard. “Um… no, we haven’t exactly.”

“Because, although he hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with me about it, I’m fairly certain he wants them at some point,” his father continues. “I just want to be sure my son is thinking about the future when he makes a decision as big as marriage, you know?”