Mr. Fiancé(28)

“It’s a quarter till eight,” she says, her voice small as she suddenly focuses on making sure the tongue on her shoes is just perfect. “You should get ready. Mom was serious about everyone being there for breakfast.”

“Leave any hot water for me?” I ask jokingly. A mansion like this could probably heat enough water for a hotel and not have a problem.

“Should be enough,” she says, still refusing to look at me. She fusses with her shoes a little more, then stands up. “I’m going to head down.”

“No,” I say, rising from the bed, and she looks at me with surprise. “Wait.”

“What—” she starts, then crosses her arms underneath her breasts, frustrated. “Why?”

“Don’t you want us to be more cohesive? We need to go down to breakfast together.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” she says, biting her lip again, and she looks so cute. I smile and swing my legs over, giving her my back as I go over to my bag. “So . . . I guess I’ll just hang out. Hurry, please?”

I chuckle. Please, now? Progress. “I’ll be ten minutes.”

I gather a change of clothes, some nice black dress pants and a white dress shirt, and walk into the bathroom. I take a quick cold shower, half to take care of my dick and half to wake me up. After a quick shave, I brush my teeth and step out, feeling more in control of myself.

Mindy looks up from sitting on the bed, picking at her nails. I see something flash in her eyes and she says, “You look . . . refreshed.”

I grin. “Thanks. Listen, about last night—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” she says, giving me a slightly regretful half smile. “What we’ve both been doing is wrong. But we made it through one night. We only have six more to go. Let’s just drop anything that came before and get through this without killing each other.”

You mean fucking each other, I say in my head.

“Agreed,” I reply instead, though I know it’s all a lie. There’s too much tension between us. There’s only one way for this to end up, and that’s her playing cowgirl on my cock.

Still, I smile and offer her my arm. “Ready?”

She looks at my arm for a moment before she takes it, rising to her feet. We leave, and part of me feels good with Mindy on my arm. Maybe we’re pretending, but I could get used to pretend.

We go downstairs, but before we enter the dining room, Mindy plasters a heavenly smile on her face.

“Good morning,” Mary Jo chirps as we walk in. “Thanks for making it on time.”

I look around and quickly notice that not everyone is here. Aunt Rita and Ivy Jo are here, along with John, but Charles, Layla, and Roxy are missing.

“Good morning, ladies . . . and John,” I say with charm. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

“Did you guys sleep well?” Mary Jo asks.

“Absolutely wonderful, didn’t we, babe?” I ask Mindy. “I slept like a baby,” I add.

Mindy nods. “Mmmhmm. That bed was really comfortable and the room was gorgeous. I loved the view from the balcony. I felt like I was sleeping at the Ritz Carlton.”

“I hope some baby-making action was going on,” Ivy Jo mutters. “Less viewing. More screwing.”

I chuckle as everyone seems to ignore her. I guess she’s earned the right to say whatever the hell she wants at her age.

John sets down his spoon, standing up from his plate of grits and eggs to give Mindy a hug. “I’m glad you both enjoyed your room. You know we just had it redone? My father had turned it into my playroom when I was a child. I just couldn’t see doing that anymore, so I had it restored and upgraded.”

“It’s lovely,” Mindy says, looking around. “Hey, where’s Roxy?”

Her mom scowls, and I have to laugh. Mothers everywhere are the same. “Late to breakfast, as usual. I swear, that child . . .”

“And Uncle Charles?” Mindy asks, hoping to stop a rant before it begins.

Rita shakes her head. “Honey, you’ll be lucky if he’s up by two. He usually skips breakfast. It’s those damn cigs. He has no appetite.”

“Good morning, lovelies,” a cheery, singsong voice says. Roxy walks in looking bright faced, a disgruntled Layla behind her. “How are my favorite people?”

Roxy goes around kissing everyone before sitting, totally ignoring the daggers her mother is staring at her. Meanwhile, Layla sort of slumps into a chair, still looking like she’d prefer to be anywhere but here.

“Would’ve been better if you were here on time,” Mary Jo finally says, stabbing at her eggs like she’s ready to murder the chickens they came from.