Beth didn’t eat a bite of her dinner. For the first time in a week, it had nothing to do with self-control. Her stomach had been churning through the whole meal.
She'd been certain that at any moment the whole ruse would fall apart. Someone would ask something about her past, about Charlie's past, about anything at all, and Charlie would freeze. They would be caught in the lie and revealed as frauds.
But it never happened. Everyone was pleasant, and the topics stayed light. Her pretend Charlie showed off his charming side, laughing at Mr. Masterson's jokes, complimenting her mother's dress, even talking a little baseball with Jordan. Beth couldn't have hoped for a better result. There wasn’t even a hint of the dangerous man she’d seen a flash of in her room. By the time the salads had been removed, he had the whole table eating out of his palm.
There were two exceptions, of course—Spencer, who still regarded Charlie with a skeptical eye, and Isobel, who only had laughter in hers.
Isobel excused herself from the table as soon as the waiter came around for coffee orders. Beth took the cue and followed her.
Isobel grabbed onto her arm as they walked to the bathroom.
“So? Who is he?” Isobel asked as soon as the door swung shut.
“What do you mean? He’s Charlie.”
Isobel balled her fists on her hips and gave her a pointed glare. “You know what I mean. How the hell did you pull this off?”
“I really don't know. The situation just kind of fell into my lap.” She wasn't about to tell Isobel what kind of man Charlie really was.
“Where did you find him? Is he an actor?”
Beth scrunched up her nose. There wasn't any way to answer. Not a truthful one, at any rate. “Kind of.”
Isobel's eyes widened. “Is he a gigolo?”
“Oh my God, Isobel.” Beth put a finger to her lips, in case they could be overheard.
“He is, isn't he?” Isobel went on. “That's why he's so hot. And so good with people.”
“Are gigolos known for their social skills?” Beth asked, furrowing her brow.
Isobel shrugged. “I don't know. I've never known one before. But I'd imagine they'd have to be.”
It made sense. And it was sure a hell of a lot easier than having to tell Isobel that she had dragged a potentially dangerous criminal to her wedding. Sure, it made her seem desperate, but what the hell?
Isobel's eyes widened as all the pieces fell together in her mind. “And you're sharing a room with him. Are you—?”
“Dear God, no!” At least that part was true.
“Why not? Just look at him.”
Beth's mouth hung open. “Because I'm not so hard up that I have to pay for sex.”
Well, that wasn't exactly true. She probably was that hard up. But her pride wouldn't allow it. At least the pesky emotion was good for something.
“No, you're just hard up enough to pay someone to pretend to be your boyfriend.” Isobel laughed.
Beth rolled her eyes and bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “I couldn't think of any other way out of it. You don't think anyone suspects, do you?”
Isobel shook her head. “No. Your mother just about ate him up with a spoon. I think she's already picking out colors for the nursery.”
“What about Spencer?”
Isobel's expression turned serious. Nothing sucked the air out of the room like mentioning Spencer.
“I don't know why you spend so much time worrying about what Spencer thinks. I sure as hell don't, and he's about to become family.”
Beth went to the sink and looked in the mirror. She combed her fingers through her hair, smoothing out an invisible tangle. “I just do. I just want to have a small moment where I get the better of him. It doesn't have to be big.”
Isobel came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Well, give up on that dream. It isn't going to happen. It would mean that Spencer would have to see his own flaws, and men like him just don't do that. It just isn't in him. It's some male defense mechanism, I guess. You're just going to have to write him down in the mistake column of your life, and console yourself with the fact that you are a thousand times better than him, whether he ever sees it or not.”
Beth looked up at Isobel's reflection in the mirror. It was a nice speech, one she would have benefitted from hearing two hours ago, before her life had tipped upside down.
“But you can do all that after the wedding,” Isobel said. “First, hit the hell out of that Charlie out there all weekend long. Do it for those of us who can't.”
“Isobel!”
“What, I'm getting married. I'm not dead.”
Isobel turned Beth around and pulled her into a hug. A moment later, the bathroom door swung open and Isobel's mother walked in.
Mrs. Munoz was every bit as graceful as her daughter. It was easy to see where Isobel got it from. Beth had spent so much time at the woman's house growing up, she'd come to think of Mrs. Munoz as a second mother, one who cooked spicier food and didn't complain about how Beth was wearing her hair.
“Is everything all right?” she asked when she saw the pair hugging and the tears in Beth's eyes.
“Of course,” Beth said, wiping them away.
“Beth starts crying every time I mention the wedding,” Isobel said, covering for her. “She promises that she won't do it during the ceremony, but I wouldn't put money on it.”
“Neither would I,” Mrs. Munoz said.
***