Don't Speak (A Modern Fairytale, #5)(30)

What made his blood suddenly run cold was the thought that Fancy would figure out a way to invade Laire’s privacy and discretion, hunt her down on her little island and make a scene, embarrass and shame her. An overwhelming protective instinct—no doubt left over from his Neanderthal ancestors—rose up within him, hot and urgent. No matter what, he would never, ever subject Laire to his mother’s judgment and scorn.

Hell no.

“Well?” she prompted, her expression wary but still curious. “If it’s not Van, who is it? Katie Healy? Stephanie Reynolds-Jones?”

Two other well-heeled daughters of North Carolina who had houses in the Banks. Fuck. She was staring up at him, waiting for an answer, and since he couldn’t come up with anything better on such short notice, he said, “Promise you won’t say anythin’?”

To protect Laire, he’d have to let his mother think he was dating Van, but the last thing he needed was for Van to find out he’d told his mother they were dating. She didn’t need that kind of encouragement, and trying to explain to her that he’d used her as an excuse wouldn’t go over very well.

“I’ll be as silent as the grave,” his mother promised, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, speaking softly as though sharing a confidence with her. “It’s Vanessa. You guessed it. But we want to keep it a secret for now and see how things go.”

“Oh, I just knew it!”

He cringed inside at her enthusiasm but plastered a smile on his face. “We’re takin’ things slow, Mother. Now, don’t wreck everythin’ by talkin’ about it, you hear?”

“I hear,” she said, grinning at him like the cat that got the cream.

Stepping back, he gave her a stern look. “Remember your promise, now.”

“I won’t say a word . . . but, Erik!” She reached out and touched his arm. “She’s perfect for you. Vanessa Osborn and Erik Rexford,” she said, her eyes taking on a dreamy look as she headed toward the kitchen to water her flowers. “Absolute perfection.”

“I’m a lucky man, Mother,” he called after her, finally allowing himself to wince.

“Yes, you are.” She sighed happily. “You treat that gal nice, now!”

The kitchen door swung shut, and Erik turned around to find Hillary standing on the stairs behind him.

“What gal?”

Shoot. “No one.”

“Well, I’m not deaf, and if I’m not mistaken, our mother just exclaimed your name with Vanessa’s and said the words “absolute perfection,” which it would be, I suppose, for Fancy Rexford. But I happen to know you’re not datin’ Vanessa Osborn.”

“Shh.”

“Why?” she asked, raising her voice a touch. “Don’t want Fancy to know you’re lyin’?”

“Maybe I’m not,” he snapped.

“Yes, Erik dear, you most definitely are. Because while you’re MIA, doin’ God-knows-what every night around nine o’clock, my heart is being ripped out at various parties and beach bonfires with our friends.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“You’re off having a jolly time while I watch Pete make cow eyes at Van and listen to Van gripe about my brother’s disappearin’ act.” Hillary took another step down, placing her hands on her hips as she stood in the vestibule across from him. “So . . . who is she?”

He was torn between his loyalty to Laire and his surprisingly strong desperation to share his happiness with his sister.

“You can’t tell anyone.”

“Huh. This is intriguin’.”

“I mean it, Hills.”

She nodded slowly, her eyes locked on his. “Okay. I promise.”

“All right. Come on, then. Not here.”

He gestured for her to follow him and slipped out the front door, with his sister trailing behind, until they reached the safety of the garage. He pressed in the code to open the door and watched as it rose slowly.

Walking around to the driver’s side, he slipped into the seat of his Mercedes convertible, and Hillary sat down beside him. He turned over the motor, creating a nice hum of white noise before turning to her.

“You don’t know her. She’s a local girl.”

“She’s a—are you nuts?”

Erik braced his hands on the steering wheel and sighed. “No. I just . . . I like her.”

“Where the hell did you meet her?”

“She delivered seafood for my birthday party.”

“She’s a seafood delivery girl?” Hillary snorted. “Oh, Erik, Fancy is goin’ to shit a brick over this.”

His eyes widened. “You swore you wouldn’t tell!”

Hillary took a deep breath. “Calm down. I won’t. But she’s goin’ to find out.”

“How?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Somehow. Don’t you watch movies? These things never work out well. And you just used Vanessa as your cover? Erik, Erik, Erik. This is no good.”

“Maybe I’ll just introduce her to Fancy and hope for the best.”

“Her? The local girl?” Hillary gave him a look. “The best bein’ a merciful death?”