Home > Call Me Crazy (Bellamy Creek #3)(8)

Call Me Crazy (Bellamy Creek #3)(8)
Author: Melanie Harlow

“Okay.” He set the colander in the sink. “Can I pour you a glass of wine?”

“Uh, sure.” I wanted to keep my wits sharp tonight, but figured one glass wouldn’t hurt. It might even help take the edge off whatever physical attraction I felt for him.

“Opener?”

I pulled it from a drawer and handed it to him, careful not to let our fingers touch.

While he opened the wine, I faced away from him and took a breath before finishing the pasta, transferring it to the serving bowl and grating a little more parmesan onto the dish. From the fridge I pulled out some fresh basil and quickly chopped a small handful, sprinkling it over the top.

When I turned around, Enzo took the large, heavy bowl from me and placed it on the island. “This looks incredible.”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.” Lowering myself onto one of the counter stools, I took a sip from the glass of wine he’d poured me.

“That was a compliment,” he said, scowling. “See, this is the problem with women. You try to say something nice, and they don’t know how to just say thank you.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” I muttered, grateful he’d said something to remind me why I would never be romantically interested in him.

Never, I repeated, watching those hands as he served us both salad and pasta.

Never.

Never.

Never.

 

 

Three

 

 

Enzo

 

 

“So,” she said as we began to eat, “should we wait until after dinner to talk business?”

“No need,” I said, drizzling olive oil and then vinegar over my salad. “We can talk now if you’d like. And if there’s anything we need to get in writing, we can do it when we’re finished.”

She took a sip of wine. “So you’re still up for this?”

“I am. Are you?” My tone came out more challenging than I’d intended.

“Yes. I just felt like maybe I should double-check with you, since your decision-making abilities were impaired last night.” She didn’t even bother to hide her smile.

“Well, today I’m stone cold sober, and I’m still in.”

“Excellent. So am I.” She stuck a forkful of salad in her mouth.

“So the way I see it, there are three phases to this project,” I said, feeling like I was pitching a new construction deal. “The engagement, the marriage—which includes the baby—and the breakup.”

“Sounds about right.”

“I don’t think we should wait on the engagement. It might seem like it’s coming out of left field, but we should probably fake the whole falling in love thing quickly, and just make the announcement we’re married.” I took a bite of pasta—it was fucking delicious. Her cooking would definitely be a perk. “I figure we can do like a City Hall thing and tell them after the fact.”

She took another sip of wine and set the glass down slowly. “So there won’t be an actual wedding? With guests?”

“I wasn’t planning on it. Why? You want one?”

“Not a big one. But what if this is the only chance I ever have to wear a white dress and have my father walk me down the aisle?”

I thought about that as I chewed. “Can it be the aisle at City Hall?”

She considered it. “I suppose I could deal with that. It might even be better because then we won’t have to lie to a priest. I was nervous about that.”

“Same,” I said, glad we agreed on something. “I think it’s best if we keep God out of this. Otherwise, one of us might be struck by lightning or something.”

She nodded. “So the story will go that we ran into each other after dinner last night and realized, lo and behold, that we’ve been wrong about each other all these years, and suddenly we’re head over heels.”

I shrugged and stuck more pasta in my mouth. “Whatever.”

“Probably we need to date for at least a month before you propose, don’t you think?” She put little air quotes around the word. “Lest our families think we’ve completely lost our minds?”

After giving it some thought, I said, “Yeah, you might be right. I don’t want my dad to pull some bullshit where he says we have to be together for a certain amount of time before he’ll give me the business. He has to believe we’re in love and this is real.” I eyeballed her critically. “You sure you’re going to be able to pull this off?”

She stared right back. “Are you?”

My spine straightened. “Yes. I’ll have you know, I’m a great actor. I played Romeo when I was a senior in high school.”

Her expression said, Fuck off, you did not. “What?”

“I’m serious. Some girl I liked at the time was all into theater and shit, and she convinced me to try out. I didn’t really think I’d get the role, but I did. And she was so psyched about it, she gave me a blowjob that very day after school.” I shrugged. “So I figured I should actually do the play.”

Bianca was shaking her head. “Of course that’s why you did the play.”

“I was good too.” I clutched at my chest and spoke in a dramatic, raspy voice. “Thus with a kiss, I die.”

She burst out laughing. “Just when I think you can’t be any more ridiculous.”

“Whatever.” I started eating again. “My point is that I know I can be convincing. I hope you’re up for the challenge.”

“I will admit that acting wildly in love with you is going to be a challenge, but I will do my best,” she said, twirling pasta on her fork. “Don’t expect any blowjobs though.”

I snorted. Bianca had probably never given a blowjob in her life. “I wouldn’t dare. So what will be allowed? We have to give them something. Hand holding?”

“Sure.”

“Can I kiss your cheek?”

“I suppose,” she said with a sigh, like it would truly be a hardship for her. “Just for show. But no kissing on the lips.”

“Agreed. But if I put my arm around you, are you going to slap me?”

“Just keep your hands where they belong, Enzo, and we’ll be fine.”

“Works for me,” I said, although I found my eyes wandering over the small curves of her breasts in the tight black sweater she wore. For a moment, I imagined sliding between the sheets with her, but even when I looked at her in my fantasy, she was wearing her glasses and had her nose stuck in a book about teenage vampires.

“What’s so funny?” she demanded.

“Nothing.” I hadn’t even realized I’d started to chuckle.

Her eyes narrowed, and I got the feeling she’d read my mind somehow and knew I was laughing at her.

“So the marriage,” she said tartly. “I’ve got some rules.”

“Hit me.”

“It’s purely for show. There is no marriage bed. There will be no consummation. Not on the wedding night or any night after.”

“Party pooper.”

“And we’ll do the insemination right away.”

“No problem. I cannot wait to inseminate you from one room away.”

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