Chapter Twenty
Dean
San Antonio, we have a problem.
If I’m understanding Solange correctly, we’re now trapped in a fake dating mashup that’s going to tie us together for just a bit longer. Are we tempting disaster by prolonging this pretend relationship? Of course. Am I going to do it anyway? For Solange? Hell yes.
Solange’s mom and aunts gather around the newcomers, and everyone talks excitedly with one another. As the group drifts away from the door, the younger of the two women waves at our table, crouches between Solange and me, then gives Solange a peck on the cheek.
“Oi, prima,” she whispers. “Is this the new boyfriend?”
“Oi, Ana,” Solange says, looking down and rubbing an eyebrow. “He’s the one.”
The woman winks at me, then straightens. “Can’t wait to talk later.”
My “girlfriend” lightly squeezes my thigh and stands. “Excuse us, everyone. Our cousins are visiting from Brazil. Dean and I should go say a quick hello.”
“Hang on,” Kimberly says, her hand hovering over the table to stop us. “We don’t want to monopolize your time any more than we have, so let’s just say our goodbyes now.” She gives us a warm smile, then places her hand in Nia’s. “This has been so much fun, and we really appreciate your giving us a taste of the DMV. You’ve been gracious hosts, and we’re excited to make the big move. I’ll be singing your praises when I speak with the firm’s partners next week.”
Kimberly isn’t revealing whether she’ll accept a position with the firm, but I didn’t expect her to; she’s been up-front from the beginning that Olney & Henderson is one of three firms she’s considering. I’ve tried my best to be honest about Olney, pointing out its strengths and its weaknesses; the rest is up to Kimberly. I know one thing, though: If she decides to go elsewhere, it won’t be because Peter and I failed to do our part.
“We appreciate the kind words,” I tell her. “And if there’s anything else we can share, you know how to reach us.”
Kimberly nods. “Absolutely.”
“But tell the truth,” Peter says, swinging a thumb between him and me, his smug grin in place. “Which one of us would you say is going to make the more lasting impression?”
Kimberly stares off into the distance before responding. “I’ll remember you both. For different reasons.” She scrunches her nose. “Let’s just leave it at that, okay?”
“Deal,” I say, smiling as I rise from my chair.
“Can I get a to-go box, though?” Nia asks sheepishly.
Solange laughs. “One to-go box, and if it’s okay with you, two great big hugs, coming up.” The women exchange hugs, then Solange strides to the counter.
“We did good,” Peter tells me, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his chinos. “I never would have imagined it, but we make a great team.”
“No one’s more surprised than I am.”
He leans in so only I can hear what he says next. “I’ll admit, I thought you and Solange were faking this relationship. And make no mistake, I was ready to sing like a canary when I confirmed it. For whatever reason, Henderson’s really got a bug up his ass about you. But seeing as I couldn’t trip you up, I’ll finally concede it’s legit.”
“How big of you. The truth is, our relationship may have started under atypical circumstances, but I care about her a lot.”
It’s the first honest statement I’ve made about Solange and me since forever, and it feels good to say it out loud.
Peter gives me a friendly tap on my arm. “I’m happy for you, then.”
“Thanks, man.”
I’m this close to asking Peter about the sex party—whether he knew what he was getting us into, specifically—but this isn’t the time or place, and I’m not sure it matters anyway. We did what needed to be done. Opening up a new can of worms isn’t wise.
Our group says its goodbyes, and after the Olney contingent leaves, Solange draws me into the circle of people getting reacquainted with Cláudia and her family.
She places an arm around my waist and pulls me close. “This is Dean, my boyfriend.”
“He’s a liar,” Solange’s mother adds. Beside me, Solange stiffens, then her mother’s eyes bug out. “I mean, he’s a lawyer.”
“No, you were right the first time,” Rey says with a smirk.
Oh, yeah. We need to lock Tia Izabel away somewhere for the duration of their stay; if not, she’s liable to confess everything under the slightest duress. And Rey? He’s a damn jokester.
“So good to meet you, Dean,” Cláudia says.
“Likewise, ma’am.”
Cláudia leans toward Solange. “Ele é bonito.”
Solange covers her mouth with a fist and laughs into her hand. “She thinks you’re cute.”
“I like her already,” I whisper loud enough for everyone to hear.
Rodrigo shakes my hand. “Sorry we showed up early. One of my colleagues mentioned that seeing the DC tourist attractions this weekend would be a nightmare, so we decided to switch around our itinerary and head to New York City on Saturday instead.” He points at his wife. “And she thought it would be fun to surprise everyone.”
Beside me, Solange’s mother grumbles and talks to her sisters under her breath. “I bet she wanted to catch us with a dirty house. Humph.”
Oblivious to Izabel’s suspicions, Rodrigo adds: “And thanks for letting Ana and Carlos stay with you while we’re here. We appreciate your hospitality.”
I flinch slightly, then catch myself. Poker face, Dean. Poker face. What’s this about Ana and Carlos staying with us? I turn to Solange for an explanation, making every effort not to broadcast the panic coursing through my body.
“Just a few days, remember?” she says, curling into me and patting my chest. “Because we have two bedrooms.” She drops her voice to a whisper when she addresses Cláudia and Rodrigo. “He’s so busy. Sometimes I think whatever I say goes in one ear and out the other.”
Oh shit. She did mention some of her cousins would be bunking with her and Brandon. But now that I’m reprising my role as her fake boyfriend, they’re bunking with me. I’m going to need cue cards or a teleprompter to pull this off. “Sorry, you’re right.” I fake a forgetful gesture. “It slipped my mind, but we’re happy to have you.”
Ana gives her husband a saucy wink before she returns her gaze to Solange and me. “It’ll be nice to give my parents some space. We’re all sharing a hotel room in New York, so a little privacy now would be nice.”
Carlos waggles his brows at his wife.
Ah damn, they’re definitely planning to have sex in my home. Unfortunately, my walls are thin. And Solange and I will be stuck together in my bedroom. Let’s hope that Ana and Carlos keep the dirty talk to a minimum and that Solange is a heavy sleeper.
Solange taps my chest again. “Oh! Just in case this slipped your mind, please don’t forget we’re having dinner at the tias’ place Friday night.” She turns to Cláudia and Rodrigo. “We’re still on for that, right?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Rodrigo says. “We’re leaving for New York early Saturday morning.”
“Great,” I say. “And no, sweetie, I didn’t forget.” I raise our clasped fingers and kiss the front of her hand. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Solange gives me a coquettish smile. Damn, she’s good.
Cláudia taps Solange on the arm. “If you two are living together, does this mean a wedding will happen soon?”
“Nope,” Solange says matter-of-factly. “Marriage isn’t for everyone. Besides, a piece of paper isn’t going to change how I feel about Dean. We’re in love, and we’re committed to each other. That’s enough for us.”
If that were true, Solange and I could be a real couple. But she’s pretending, and so am I. You must remember this, Dean. I look over to Solange’s mother. “Izabel, can we get a few boxes of Pilão? We’re running out, and we’re going to need some for the morning.”
Izabel looks at me with hearts in her eyes. “Of course.” She takes my hand. “Come, filho. I’ll help you gather a few things to make sure your guests have a nice stay.”
Now that I think about it, faking a relationship around Solange’s family is going to be infinitely easier than faking a relationship around my colleagues. I just need to be charming, treat Solange like a queen, and keep any inappropriate thoughts to myself.
This is going to be a breeze.
* * *
This isn’t, in fact, a breeze.
For two people who’ve been doing a decent job of pretend dating thus far, we’re flubbing it now—big-time.
As soon as we walk through the door of my condo, Solange switches on an as-yet-unseen HGTV mode in her brain. Problem is, it in no way suggests she’s ever seen my place, let alone lived here.
“Wow,” she says, her eyes widening in wonder. “These floors are gorgeous. Ash-gray hardwood is such a unique touch.”
I chuckle and flick my gaze up to the ceiling. “C’mon, Solange. Stop fishing for compliments about our flooring. I’m sure Ana and Carlos are so tired they couldn’t care less.”
Solange straightens and shakes her head as if to clear it. “Right. Of course.” She gives them a rueful grin. “Sorry to blab about our décor. That I helped pick out.”
Ana and Carlos park their suitcases by the door and wander through the kitchen and living area.
“It’s a great place,” Carlos says. “Spacious too.”
“Yeah,” I say proudly. “I lived in a unit a few floors down, but then this two-bedroom became available a couple of years ago, and I jumped on it.”
“We jumped on it, honey,” Solange says, forcing a smile. “And I’m pretty sure I was the one who found the listing.”
“Yeah, how could I forget about that.” I gesture as if my head’s too full of information. “So much to remember.”
“Yes, well,” Ana says, yawning. “We’re pretty exhausted. Would it be okay if we turned in early?”
“Absolutely,” Solange says. “I’ll make sure to have coffee ready in the morning. Dean leaves at the crack of dawn—”
No, I don’t.
“—so you probably won’t see him until tomorrow evening.”
“Sounds good,” Ana says. “Can one of you show us to our room?”
Solange bounces on her toes. “Sure!”
Okay, then.
She leads Ana and Carlos down the hall and turns left—toward my bedroom.
“There’s no need to show them our room first, Solange!” I call after her. “We can give them the tour tomorrow.” I drop my head on the counter and silently cry-laugh. Witnessing Solange fall apart is the most adorable thing ever.
“Right,” she yells back, pivoting midstep and striding to the guest bedroom. “It’s just such a neat room. I get excited to show it to people.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. When I check my texts, I see a message from Max:
Max: We heard. Lina rushed over to Solange’s and put together a few things. Going to leave the stuff outside your door in five mins. Up to you to get it inside.
Me: Thanks.
Max: Be smart.
Me: Always am.
When Solange returns, I put my index finger over my lips and show her the text.
“That’s excellent news,” she whispers. “But why is he telling you to ‘be smart’?”
I shrug. “I think he’s just worried that you’re going to take advantage of the situation.”
She tilts her head and stares at me.
“I’m kidding,” I say, holding my hands up. “He thinks Lina will be pissed if I cross any lines with you.”
“I’m twenty-eight years old, not twelve, and it’s none of their business.” She snaps to attention. “Not that I’m suggesting I want something to happen. It’s just not their concern if something does happen.”
“Exactly. Yeah. I know what you mean.” I don’t want to say anything else. Not about crossing lines, at least. Soon, we’ll be going to my bedroom, where we’ll spend the night together—me on the floor, probably—and I don’t want her to feel any more uncomfortable than she’s already feeling. “Your things should be outside by now.”
Solange tiptoes to the hall and gives me a thumbs-up, which I suppose is my cue to drag her bag inside. Once that’s done, we creep to my bedroom, where she immediately catalogs her belongings.
“Lina’s the best,” she says. “Seriously, cousins who get you are priceless. She even included a romance novel.” She pulls out two neatly folded items of clothing. “If it’s all right with you, I’d love to take a shower.”
“Solange, you’re not a guest here. You’re my . . . friend. Do whatever you want.”
Truth is, I want her in my room. I want her to use my things. I want her not to think of herself as my guest. Using my shower is a step in that direction. Which sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. All of this over a damn shower. What the hell is wrong with me?
“I won’t be long,” she says, her clothes and toiletry bag in hand. “Five-minute showers are the norm.”
She closes the door, and I heave a deep sigh. It’s going to be a rough night.
Minutes later, Solange emerges from my bathroom. She’s wearing terry shorts and a tank top, and her hair is piled high on the top of her head. Her cheeks are dewy, and beads of moisture dot the bridge of her nose. And fuck if my heart doesn’t start beating wildly just because we’re alone in the same room together.
I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly. Solange is in my life as a test. That must be it. There’s no other rational explanation. Since meeting her, I’ve been questioning goals that have guided my decisions for years. Whether my job is the right fit for me. Whether I have the kind of support network that would help my eventual partner and me to raise a child. Whether it would be so bad to make the kinds of promises that would keep a woman like her in my life. This is terrifying stuff, but then I remember: A plan isn’t solid unless it can handle the occasional curveball. There’s no need to panic, and there’s no need to upend my world. One foot in front of the other, Dean. You’ve got this.
“Do you need anything?” I ask while I gather my own sleep clothes.
She massages her neck, a light touch that draws my eye to her collarbones and shoulders. I want to rest my head in that space and fall asleep there. Fuck. Maybe you don’t got this, Dean.
“I’m fine,” she says. “Are you going to take a shower now?”
I swallow and nod. It’s the best I can do.
“Then I think I’ll go out to your kitchen and get my bearings. You won’t be around during the day to steer me in the right direction when I get lost.”
“Good point.”
She places her phone in its charging dock and slips out of the room.
After showering, I find Solange sitting in the armchair in the corner of my room, a paperback in her lap. She sits up and nibbles on her lip. Damn, I hate this air of unease between us.
“I’m happy to take the floor,” I say, pointing at the bed. “But there’s plenty of space for us both, and I changed the sheets this morning. Whatever you want. Really. What matters to me most is that you feel comfortable.”
We stare at each other for several beats, then Solange slips under the comforter without a word. I climb in too.
“You own fitted sheets. And a headboard. Amazing.” She buries her face in my pillow and takes a deep breath. After a few seconds, she lifts her head. “And you use fabric softener?”
“Bingo. Downy lavender and vanilla bean. Max once accused me of giving him bedding that smelled like a woman’s perfume. I was so insulted.”
She flops onto her back. “An unsophisticated nose, he has.”
“Right? He’s uncouth as hell.”
We’re lying side by side, both of us staring up at the ceiling. It’s an unexpected end to our evening, but when I’m spending time with Solange, unexpected is my new normal.
“What a fiasco, huh?” she says.
That’s the understatement of the decade. “There’s never a dull moment when I’m with you. Must be a day ending in Y.”
She laughs. “Cute.”
“So tell me why we’re doing this.”
“This?”
“Faking a relationship for your relatives.”
She turns on her side, and I do the same.
This is intimate as hell, and yet it feels right. We’re not strangers. Not anymore. I’ve shared details about my life with her that only a few others know. If she asked, I answered. Because I thought it had some bearing on what we needed to accomplish. Now I realize Solange knows more about me than most people in my life do.
And, sure, she’s shared pieces of herself too. And I can order her a cup of coffee just the way she likes it. But I want to know everything. Or as much as she’ll tell me.
She inhales, then breathes out slowly. “I don’t know all the particulars, but my mother and aunts feel like Cláudia looks down on them because they were all single mothers when they raised their kids.”
“That sounds like a reason to look up to them.”
“I agree. Tia Viviane and Tia Mariana aren’t pressed about it, I don’t think, but it’s a sore spot for my mother. Before the visit, Cláudia made a remark suggesting that I’d never settle down. My mother, annoyed but also feeling uncharacteristically petty, bragged that I was in a relationship and that it was getting very serious.”
“Ah, so this is where Brandon comes in.”
“Yeah.”
“Is Cláudia right about you? Are you destined never to settle down?”
She lifts her head a bit and peers at me. “I’ll settle down eventually. Where and when it makes sense to.”
I don’t say anything. Right now, all I want to do is listen—and be here for her.
After a minute of silence, she says, “My mother thinks I avoid making big decisions because I’m afraid I’ll end up being sucker punched by them. She’s not entirely wrong, but she’s not entirely right either. I just think I owe it to her to be smart about my choices. To not fall into the same traps that she fell into.”
“You’re referring to your father?”
“That’s the main one, yeah. But it’s other stuff too.”
“Where’s your father now?”
“No clue,” she says. “The last time we talked he promised to attend my high school graduation. He didn’t show. The worst part is that my mother tried to warn me against relying on my father. She didn’t tell me not to connect with him, but she cautioned me not to expect too much. She was right. I was wrong. Lesson learned.”
“He’s never tried to contact you as an adult?”
She closes her eyes. “Not even once.”
The ache in my throat prevents me from responding as quickly as I’d like to. It’s inconceivable to me that a person wouldn’t want Solange in their life in some way. Being a part of her circle is a prize we should all want to win. “Are you angry with him? Resentful?”
“As to me, not at all. Because that would suggest that I was missing something by not having him in my life. Or that my mother didn’t do enough, and that’s very much not the case. My mother was my mom and my dad. She made up for his absence a million times over. But as to her, I’m livid. He had no business saddling her with a kid if he didn’t want to hang around.”
“I’m sure your mother never thought of you as a burden,” I say gently. “The love between you two is unmistakable.”
“Still, I can’t help thinking about what might have been if she hadn’t gotten pregnant with me.” She shrugs. “Sometimes we feel things we know aren’t rational, but we still feel them.”
I treasure her honesty. Appreciate that she’s willing to be vulnerable with me. She deserves the same. “I don’t know my dad. At all . . . He and my mother had a fling.”
“Does he know about you?”
“My mother claims he does.”
She reaches over and squeezes my arm. “Then it’s his loss, Dean. I hope you know that. You’re an amazing guy, and anyone who can’t appreciate that isn’t worth your time.”
A part of me wants to believe her. But I can’t help wondering why my father never looked for me. Why I didn’t matter. Then again, if he’s anything like the men my mother dated when I was a kid, maybe I’m better off without him. “I wish you weren’t leaving so soon. I’m going to miss talking to you.”
“I’ll be one text or phone call away. Besides, you’ll be too busy doing whatever partners do.”
I can picture it now. Being a partner at Olney. Working my ass off seven days a week. Ditching my pro bono work because it doesn’t align with the firm’s priorities. Coming home to an empty place. Sounds . . . fan-fucking-tastic.
For a moment, I pretend I’m living a different life. One in which Solange and I make sense. One in which I come home to her every night. To this bed. “Can I hold you?” I manage to say, my voice uneven. “Just hold you.”
“You’re a spooner,” she says, a hint of amusement in her voice.
“Yeah, I’m a spooner.”
She turns over. “Hold me, then.”
I don’t hesitate to mold my body against hers and pull her in tight. The back of her head is resting against my chest, a few of her curls tickling my neck. Taking in a deep breath, I let her freshly bathed scent fill my nostrils. As of tonight, vanilla is my new aphrodisiac.
“Better?” she asks, snuggling into my embrace.
“This is perfect,” I whisper.
She stiffens in my arms, but then her muscles loosen quickly, as though she knows her response to my words revealed too much.
I don’t wait for her to say anything in return. Instead, I disentangle us just enough for me to turn off the lamp on my nightstand. Within seconds, I’m gathering her in my arms again. Her breathing’s steady, so I close my eyes and simply marvel at the fact that Solange is here.
Before I drift off to sleep, her voice fills the air. “Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad I crashed your wedding.”
My instinct is to pin this statement to a board and dissect it for educational purposes. What does she mean exactly? Is she happy we met? Glad I didn’t get married? Asking her to explain is precisely what I shouldn’t do.
But Solange surprises me and answers the very questions rattling around in my head. “I’m glad you didn’t marry Ella. She wasn’t the right person for you.”
I don’t want to be another guy in her life who makes promises he can’t keep. Empty declarations are just as meaningless to me as they are to her. So I settle on the truth. I can always give her that. “I’m glad you crashed my wedding too. And . . .”
“And what?” she whispers.
“And I’m so glad you’re in my life.”
I hope that’s enough. Judging by the way she squeezes my hand, I think it is.