I climb into the Mercedes. To all appearances, Ryder is a wonderful catch. But I never realized being his fake fiancée would be this mentally draining.
I underestimated the true significance of what I was agreeing to do.
Too late to back out though. Not only would it be embarrassing to all involved, I want my baby taken care of.
And I also want Ryder to get his grandfather’s painting. I know Julian only cares about controlling him.
The paparazzi and “reporters” no longer surround the compound. Ryder hired additional security personnel to get rid of them, and it appears they have.
I park the Mercedes in the garage and climb out. I want to kick off my shoes and just veg for the rest of the evening. Let my achy pelvic joints and back rest. Maybe watch something in the movie room. The memory of what we did there last night heats my blood. I won’t mind an encore at all.
I open the door to the house.
“Surprise!”
My eyes widen as Mom and Simon rush forward and hug me one after another. I spot Bethany and Oliver in their work clothes behind my parents. And Ryder is standing off to the side.
I blink. I have to be dreaming. Except the hugs are too solid to be a figment of my imagination.
Mom’s a slight woman, but she can hug like an overly maternal python. It’s the kind of hug that lets you know everything’s going to be okay because she loves you. Mom’s in her best dress—the blue silk one I bought for her birthday last year. It deepens her eyes and gives her a regal air. She’s pulled her graying hair into a French twist, and light makeup livens her face, highlighting her small nose and pretty mouth—the same features she gave me.
Simon’s hug, on the other hand, is what you’d call a bear hug. He’s a big man, and he just engulfs you. There are a few extra gray streaks in his dark brown hair compared to when I last saw him, but his eyes are still as warm as roasted chestnuts in winter. He’s put on a red polo shirt and khakis for the occasion.
“What are you doing here?” I stammer.
“Ryder flew us in,” Mom says. “Isn’t he the sweetest?”
“Yes, he is.” And I asked him to not involve my parents until later. I give him a meaningful look over Simon’s shoulder, but he merely beams at me.
Although I’d like to think that I’m immune to his smiles, I’m not. It’s hard to stay upset with him when that dimple pops on his cheek, and his face lights up with his trademark boyish grin. And blast the man, he knows it.
He dressed much the same as Simon—a pale blue polo shirt and slacks. Given that he doesn’t usually wear such formal stuff at home, I’m sure somebody texted him what Simon was wearing so he could make everyone feel comfortable. Ryder can be surprisingly thoughtful at times.
Mom continues, “I’m so glad we’re going to have a chance to get to know him a little better.”
“It’s indeed very lovely,” I say.
Simon clears his throat. “You look great, Paige,” he says. “I can’t believe it. My baby girl, all grown up.”
Tension creeps into my muscles. This isn’t a real wedding, but Mom and Simon are getting emotional over it. I feel awful, but manage a lame smile. “I’ve been grown up for a while now, Simon.”
“You’ll always be my little girl, Paige.” He pats my shoulder. “This is what you really want, right?”
“Of course.”
I bury my face in his chest as I hug him again and nod. I don’t think I can lie to him convincingly. Simon can always tell if I’m not being honest. Must be all those years of dealing with sneaky teenagers.
“Well, then, that’s all that matters. You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”
Then it’s time to hug Bethany and Oliver. I ask her, “Why didn’t you tell me at the lunch yesterday?”
“Ryder wanted to keep it secret. It’s supposed to be a surprise.” She grins.
“My land, I hope I’m not late.”
I stiffen at the voice. It can’t be…but it is.
I turn and see Geraldine, gorgeous in a royal blue cocktail dress. Her shiny black hair is in a fancy updo, and chandelier earrings dangle from her ears. She looks like she’s in her mid-thirties, not the mother of three fully grown children.
“Ms. Pryce,” I say.
She purses her mouth. “Don’t be so formal, my dear. You’re practically my daughter.” She comes over and hugs me lightly to avoid wrinkling her dress and gives me an air kiss on each of my cheeks. “You should call me Mom. If that feels too casual, then Mother will do nicely.”
My jaw drops before I can recover. She’s never talked to me like that in all my years working for Ryder.