Don't Speak (A Modern Fairytale, #5)(43)

His decision to stay in Raleigh until Sunday was solely based on Laire’s unavailability this weekend. Since she was going to be busy with her sister’s wedding, he figured it was easier to stay away for a few extra days. It would be torture to know she was so close if he wasn’t allowed to see her.

After speaking with her, he sped home from Corey to Buxton, making the drive in a cool forty minutes. But he was so preoccupied reliving their short conversation, including the sweetest declaration his ears had ever heard—I’m falling in love with you too—he didn’t notice Vanessa standing on the dock until he was pulling up alongside.

“Hey, stranger!” she called. “Throw me the line and I’ll cleat you!”

Huh. What’s Van doing here?

“Yeah, um, okay.” Remembering his manners, he waved in greeting. “Hey, Van! What’s up, honey?”

“Your mama called and invited me up to Raleigh with y’all for the weekend,” she said, flashing him a million-dollar smile. “Couldn’t say no to the governor’s wife.”

Fuck.

He sighed, feeling annoyed.

He liked Van as a friend. Truly he did. But his lie had just gotten a whole lot stickier. His mother probably thought she was doing him a favor, but actually she was making his life far more difficult. He didn’t want to spend the weekend with Vanessa and how the hell was he going to be convincing about dating her in front of his mother when the only person he wanted to be with was Laire?

“Oh,” he said. “Great.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Such enthusiasm! I didn’t tell you that you needed a root canal, Erik!”

“Of course not,” he said, forcing a grin. “Glad you’re comin’.”

“Without Pete taggin’ along,” she said quickly. “Just you and me.”

“And me!” chirped Hillary, suddenly appearing on the dock behind Vanessa. “And I call shotgun.”

Erik forced himself not to smile, but damn, he loved his little sister.

“That’s not very gracious,” noted Vanessa, a sour expression puckering her lips as she turned to glare at Hillary.

“She gets carsick,” said Erik.

“Since when?” demanded Vanessa.

“Just started this summer,” said Hillary. “Wouldn’t want me to puke, now, would you?”

“Of course not,” said Vanessa magnanimously, turning back to Erik. “Well, I guess we’ll have plenty of time to catch up in the city.”

“Can’t wait,” added Hillary.

“You’re not twenty-one yet,” said Vanessa, giving Hillary dagger eyes. “My mama invited y’all for dinner on Friday night, and I was hopin’ Erik would take me out on Saturday night to a few of Raleigh’s hot spots!”

Erik sighed, forcing himself not to roll his eyes. Seemed like Van had the whole weekend planned for them. He glanced up at Hillary, who shrugged her shoulders at Erik. I tried.

“Hot spots, huh? I guess we’ll figure it all out once we get there,” he said, dreading the four-hour drive, the party tonight, and the prospect of Vanessa trying to get alone time with him all weekend. But what could he do? He’d have to put her off as gently as possible when they were alone but make sure his arm was around her every time Fancy looked over. What a fucking mess.

He turned to his sister and his fake girlfriend, concealing a grimace with a plastic smile.

“Well, pretty girls, I guess we all better get ready to go.”

***

Back at work on Sunday evening, her eyes sliding to the restaurant door every five minutes, Laire couldn’t help mentally reviewing her weekend as she bused tables, refilled water glasses, and impatiently waited, after what felt like an eternity, to see Erik’s face again.

Whether intentional or an oversight, the fact that Laire was seated beside Brodie Walsh at her sister’s wedding reception yesterday turned out to be a blessing in disguise, because she’d finally had a chance to confront him in a public way without making a big scene.

“Hey, sweet Lairey,” he’d greeted her, his eyes skimming greedily down the dusty-rose pink of her bridesmaid gown.

“Hey, snake,” she’d said amicably, appreciating the way all conversation at the table had suddenly ceased, six pairs of surprised eyes turning to Laire and Brodie.

“Now, baby—”

She stood behind her chair with her fingers biting into the back. “Don’t ya dare call me baby like we have an understandin’, ya yethy lout,” she hissed, her accent all the stronger for her anger.

“Come on, now. Y’all were singin’ a different tune on prom night,” he said, looking around the table uneasily at her sister Isolde; brother-in-law Paul; cousins Roland and Harlan; Roland’s fiancée, Maura; and Kyrstin’s best friend, Rachel. Brodie was on her turf right now, and he knew it.

She raised her chin. “I’m surprised ya remember prom night, since ya got mommucked drunk.”

“I waren’t that—”

“Yeah, ya ware,” said Laire. “So drunk, ya tried to kiss me all sloppy ’n’ prolly don’t remember me sluggin’ ya. But that’s how ya woke up wi’ a black eye.”

“Nah. That ware a fishin’—”