Chapter 23

“You want butter and syrup with your hotcakes?” Marabelle called over her shoulder as the back door to the kitchen opened. She stood over Nick’s stove on Sunday morning, wearing another one of his yummy-smelling, button-down shirts and a satisfied smile.

Nick had gone for a run while she’d lounged in bed, reliving all the incredible sex from the weekend. She’d had no idea sleepovers could be so much fun…or so aerobic.

As she’d stretched her arms over her head in the middle of the bed, she’d tried to decide which was better: sofa sex, up-against-the-wall sex, Jacuzzi sex, or dreamy-barely-awake morning sex. Hmmm, such a close call. Guess she’d have to do each one again to make her final verdict.

Nick was a most generous lover, always making her feel cherished and loved. He’d taught her the art of give and take. Frankly, Marabelle thought he gave way more than he took, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Whenever they were together, he devoted 100 percent of his attention to her. That had to mean something. No one in Marabelle’s family ever acted as if she had anything interesting to contribute. But the way Nick actively listened when she spoke and encouraged her, made her believe she had more to offer.

On Saturday night, Nick had taken her out to the symphony and a romantic dinner afterward, never leaving her side the entire evening and always introducing her as his fiancée. He had Marabelle believing in the impossible…a real relationship.

And then Marabelle’s good friend, Doubt, with its wart-like head, showed up, yapping and telling her how foolish she was to believe in fairy tales. Why would Nick keep her around for the long haul when he could have his pick? How long before the novelty of dating a simple schoolteacher would wear off? Before someone way more glamorous caught his eye? How long before she saw her pictures posted all over social media with the headlines: Scandal! Plain schoolteacher jilted over SI’s bathing suit cover model.

The kitchen door closed with a loud bang. “Excuse me?” an unfamiliar feminine voice asked.

Uh-oh. That wasn’t Nick.

Marabelle whipped around, still holding a metal spatula in her hand.

A tall, glamorous woman dressed in designer jeans and pale-blue silk blouse stood in the kitchen. Holy Roger Federer. Her depressing thoughts had become reality. Dammit. Marabelle didn’t want her fantasy ending today. She wanted more time. She needed more time. She couldn’t give Nick up yet. Where the hell was Nick, and who was this beautiful woman?

Marabelle’s face grew heated. “May I ask what you’re doing?” Glamour Girl’s eyes narrowed; clearly she was not pleased.

“Making hotcakes?” Marabelle squeaked.

With a sweeping gaze, Glamour Girl assessed the domesticated mess in the kitchen. “Where is Nick? And who are you?” Her exasperation was rising.

“I…uh…Nick is out running.” Marabelle frantically scanned the kitchen for a place to hide. Maybe if she stepped inside the pantry and never came out. “Would you like a hotcake? They’re homemade.” She tried to keep the panic from clawing at her throat as she slid pancakes onto a platter.

“No, thank you.” She placed her designer handbag on a kitchen chair and stared pointedly at Marabelle. “I’m Natalie, Nick’s sister. And you are?”

What? Nick’s sister! Suddenly the resemblance was crystal clear. Same blue eyes. Same streaked blond hair. Damn. This was bad. She’d rather be dealing with one of Nick’s disgruntled ex-girlfriends. She had experience with that. But his sister? A member of the family? How should she put this? Hi, I’m Nick’s current sex partner, who just happens to be your son’s teacher. That should put Natalie’s mind at ease. Marabelle could feel a hysterical laugh coming on. She tamped it down and cursed Nick at the same time.

“Nice to meet you. I’m…um…Marabelle Fairchild. Orange juice? Freshly squeezed?” She held up a glass, staying behind the island, not wanting to expose any more of her half-naked self to Nick’s disapproving sister. Could this get any worse?

Natalie shook her head. “Fairchild? How do I know that name?” She studied Marabelle with the same piercing gaze as her brother.

Oh, I am so busted.

Bile churned in her stomach, and Marabelle swallowed the urge to vomit. “Uh, I’m Brandon’s teacher at Trinity Academy,” she mumbled, praying Natalie was hearing impaired.

Natalie recoiled. Horror registered on her face, and she covered her mouth with a shaky hand. “You teach Brandon?” she whispered. “And you’re standing in Nick’s kitchen in nothing but a…a shirt?” She sank down onto a kitchen chair as if she’d lost the strength to stand.

Crap. Natalie had perfect hearing.

“It’s not exactly what you’re thinking.” Yeah, right. She taught her kid by day and had sex with her brother by night. “I know this looks bad, but there’s a perfectly logical explanation… I just can’t think of what it is at the moment.” Marabelle wiped her hands clean with a dishcloth. “How ’bout I just grab my things and be on my way?”

Natalie continued to sit as if paralyzed, blinking up at her.

“Do you need to breathe into a paper bag or something?”

* * *

“What smells great, Tinker Bell?” Nick strolled into the kitchen, wiping his sweaty face with his T-shirt, when he stopped short. “What the fu… Natalie?” He looked from his sister’s stricken expression to Marabelle’s embarrassed one, and knew he’d just stepped into a steaming pile of buffalo shit.

“Hey, Nat, when did you get back?” He leaned down and gave his sister a peck on the cheek, careful not to drip sweat on her silk blouse. No one spoke through the thick, tension-filled pause. In his peripheral vision, Nick caught Marabelle sidling away from the kitchen island. Great. Panic mode. Then Natalie cranked up snobby mode, glaring at Marabelle as she spoke.

“I got home last night. I wanted to talk with you, so I headed over this morning.” Natalie glanced at her watch. “It’s almost afternoon,” she said absently. Nick grabbed a water bottle and picked at a hot pancake sitting on a platter. Marabelle continued to do the side step toward the exit.

“I would’ve called, but I wanted to surprise you.”

Great surprise.

“I’m home for good,” Natalie said as Nick watched Marabelle slip from the room. Another pause, more painful than the last. Nick rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. He should’ve stopped Marabelle from disappearing, but he needed to deal with his sister and all the jumping to conclusions running through her mind. “What happened here?” He pinned Natalie with his fiercest scowl.

She glowered right back. “You tell me. I’m not welcome in my own brother’s home? What are you doing screwing Brandon’s teacher?” she hissed.

Nick’s eyebrows arched. “Is that what she told you?”

“She told me who she was. I managed to fill in the blanks on my own.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking. So just stop it.”

“Why don’t you explain it to me? I think I have the right to know, since she’s Brandon’s teacher.”

Nick rolled his eyes and snorted at the same time. “That’s lame, even for you. The truth is that Marabelle has taken really good care of Brandon while you’ve been off ‘trying to find yourself.’” He made air quotes with his fingers. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

Natalie winced at his accusation. “I guess I deserve that.”

“You’re damn right you do!” he almost yelled. “You should be thanking her instead of maligning her.” He pointed an accusing finger at Natalie. “And before you continue to put her down, you should know we’re engaged, and I’m going to marry her.”

Natalie’s eyes bugged out. “What? You’re…getting married? When did all this happen? Does Mom know?” she sputtered.

He picked up a fork and dug into the pancakes, wishing he were sharing them with Marabelle instead of arguing with his sister. “I haven’t told Mom and Dad yet. It’s complicated. And after today, I’m going to have a lot of ground to make up,” he said with a sneer.

Natalie approached him with her arms outstretched. “Nick, I had no idea. She didn’t mention any engagement. I’m sorry. It’s just…what do you mean it’s complicated? What ground do you have to make up?” she asked.

He tossed his fork into the sink, having lost his appetite, and crossed his arms, propping his hip against the countertop. “Marabelle’s kinda in denial. She doesn’t believe we’re getting married.”

Natalie stepped around the island. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s a long story. In the beginning, we were trying to help each other out, and now it’s the real thing. I’m not clear on how it all happened.” Nick shrugged. “I’m not clear on anything. But all I have to do is convince Marabelle. Piece of cake, right?” he added derisively.

“Absolutely.” Natalie eyes flashed. “How could she not want to marry you? You’re wonderful. Do you want me to talk to her?”

Nick gave a humorless chuckle at Natalie’s immediate change of heart. Still, it was nice to know she supported him, no matter what. “Nah. Let’s drop it for now.” He pushed away from the counter. “I’m glad you’re home. How’s Brandon?”

Natalie’s face lit with pleasure. “Wonderful, and I’m so happy to be back. I just came by to thank you for all you did. Dan and I are going to try to work it out…thanks to you.” A pretty blush colored Natalie’s cheeks.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nick lied.

“Mmm, whatever.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m going. Don’t worry about Dan and me. It’s going to take some work, but we’re meeting with a therapist, starting this week. I think we have a real chance this time.” She squeezed his arm and then scooped up her handbag, stopping when she reached the door.

“Nick, if Marabelle is the one you want, don’t let anyone or anything stand in your way. Go get her.”

Nick smiled for the first time since entering the kitchen. “Nat, next time…send a text.”

* * *

“Idiot. Moron. Stupid. Idiot!” Marabelle shoved her clothes in her overnight bag. How embarrassing.

Marabelle had rushed upstairs after literally escaping the heat in the kitchen, and took the world’s fastest shower before she started packing up her clothes. She needed to get out of here. She needed to be alone. She needed shock therapy.

What had she been thinking? Cinderella was way past her curfew. Time to pack up her glass slippers and go home. She did not belong in the castle with the gorgeous prince and his evil sister.

“Come on.” She tugged a pink bra out from under the bed, threw it in her bag, and zipped it shut. Then she turned and froze. Her heart leapt into her throat.

“Don’t go.”

Nick stood in the doorway with a look of pure anguish on his face, as if his best friend, best dog, and best friend’s dog had died. Marabelle had never witnessed visible pain on him like that. Ever. She wanted to wrap him in her arms and cover him with kisses, to assure him everything would be okay.

“Hey,” she whispered, afraid to say more.

His gaze locked on the packed bag in her hand. He plowed his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Don’t go…like this.”

Her heart pounded so hard against her chest wall, she was certain he could hear it from across the room. “Nick, I’m sorry. I had no idea she was your sister. I didn’t threaten to beat her up or anything. I swear.” The bag slipped from her stiff fingers, hitting the carpet with a thud. “But God knows what she thinks of me. I’ll never forget her look of utter disgust when she realized who I was. I’ll probably have nightmares and need years of therapy. I just think—”

“Don’t think,” he said hoarsely. Marabelle blinked, and suddenly he stood within inches of her. He cupped his large hands on her shoulders. “Stay with me.”

Marabelle searched his face for clues. The strain around his eyes and the tension bracketing his mouth nearly unglued her. This was so unlike her fearless, cocky, tough-as-beef-jerky Nick. Marabelle’s stomach tightened in a knot, and her heart flipped like one of her hotcakes on the griddle.

“It’s good. We’re good,” Nick murmured, lips hovering above hers as he pulled her into his body. His damp shirt soaked the front of her cotton blouse, and the combined scent of sweat and outdoors filled her nose. Steamy heat sent shivers from her breasts down to her knees as she relaxed against him.

They still had issues. Insurmountable issues. But when Marabelle examined the tanned face and steel-blue eyes she loved, none of those problems mattered.

Nick brushed her lips with the gentlest of kisses. “Please,” he whispered.

And that one word melted Marabelle’s heart and sent her rude friend, Doubt, packing. Throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed him with everything she had. Nick was hers for another day.

Nick hoisted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist. His mouth moved over hers with a hard restlessness, as if the idea of losing her had rocked him to the core.

“Where’re we going?” she gasped as they started to move.

“Shower,” he growled.

She drew back. “I’ve already showered.”

His grin turned mischievous. “Then you can just stand there and watch.”

“It’s gonna cost you,” she said in a sly voice.

“How so?” he asked, reaching inside the massive shower and turning the lever.

“Oh, I think a little striptease is in order,” she suggested in a teasing tone.

His brows arched. “I’ll get naked, but I’m not stripping.”

Marabelle laughed at the indignant look on his face. “I’m not asking for a pole dance. I just want to watch. I love your body,” she murmured as she nipped his bottom lip.

She could feel his hard erection jump, and a smile curved her lips. He quickly released her and stepped back. First he toed his shoes off and kicked them aside. Next went his socks and then his sweaty T-shirt.

Her mouth dried up as she watched the fantastic display of rippling muscles. She wanted to grab him right then and rub up against him like a big, fat, happy mama cat.

He was hot.

Very hot and hard.

His fingers slipped inside the waistband of his jogging shorts, causing them to ride low…way low. He pushed his shorts past his hips and kicked them on top of his sneakers. Thank you, Lord. Marabelle had found religion.

“Now what?” he asked, holding his arms wide.

“I pay you right back,” she said, slowly unbuttoning her blouse.

* * *

Marabelle felt restless as she wiped down the clean kitchen countertops for the second time that night. The gala was just around the corner, and her volunteer job would soon be over. She had worked harder than anyone for the school, putting together an incredible group of athletes and celebrities for the live auction and tournaments. If it all went as planned, the school would rake in more money this year than ever before. And yet she didn’t feel any more secure about her promotion than she had before it had started.

She poured herself a glass of iced tea and stared out her kitchen window. Recently, Mrs. Crow had become very evasive every time Marabelle mentioned the teaching position. And the committee members, all busy with last-minute details, barely acknowledged her or what she’d accomplished. The Blondie Twins had given her a wide berth, still resenting her engagement to Nick. Like they had a chance with him. No one had a chance with him. Not even Marabelle.

Nothing had been resolved. Especially her situation with Nick. Marabelle was in love with a great guy, and it was making her sick. Yep. She’d fallen head over heels for Nick Frasier, and it was making her sick to her stomach.

Talk about stupid. She grimaced into her glass of tea.

And for the life of her, she couldn’t come up with a single plausible way to get out of it without looking like a fool. She was setting herself up for the biggest, most humiliating breakup since Blake Shelton and Miranda Lambert.

She was going down. Knocked out cold.

She tossed her iced tea down the drain. “Face it, you’re too weak to walk away first,” she mumbled.

She started scrubbing her clean kitchen sink. For the record, she knew Nick had feelings for her. He desired her and made love with a ferocity that stunned her, but…he never talked about anything long-term except when he nagged her about being pregnant. But that was responsibility talking. Marabelle didn’t want Nick to feel responsible. She wanted him to need her above anything else.

She wanted him to love her.

She poured herself another glass of iced tea and then absently put it back in the refrigerator. If he loved her, shouldn’t he be pushing for a wedding date? At the very least, shouldn’t he be begging her to move in with him? But the topic never came up. Unless there was an audience—then he made a big production of introducing her as his fiancée. If that wasn’t fake, then she didn’t know what was.

The ringing of her cell interrupted her mental tough-love lecture. Maybe it was Nick. She scrambled for her phone inside her handbag. Could she be any more pitiful?

After Nick had dropped her at home early Monday morning before work, he’d left town to visit his parents in Jacksonville and wasn’t returning until Thursday. He’d still managed to call as he’d sat at the gate waiting for his flight. To declare his love? Nah. But he did say he missed her, which she lapped up like chocolate syrup.

Stunned, Marabelle disconnected the call. Somehow her prayers had been answered. Fate or karma or good ole faith had come through. She’d been given the most perfect solution to her problem. A solution that was flawless and pure genius in its simplicity. Trinity Academy’s sister school in Birmingham had invited her to fly out for an interview as soon as possible. They had an opening that would be just right for her. A full-time—with benefits—teaching position. And coaching tennis was on the table too.

What an opportunity. This could solve all her problems.

Right?

She’d interview for a new teaching job with a really great school. She’d get the job and presto! She’d leave her current shaky situation and her fake fiancé with her head held high.

Marabelle paced back and forth in her small living room. This setup had potential. She would neither be the dumpee nor the dumper. Everyone understood how careers got in the way of relationships. It happened all the time. This could save her from being a pathetic loser. She was driven by her career. She’d be a fool to pass this opportunity up.

Yes! She stopped pacing.

And she’d be doing Nick a huge favor, too. This way he could save face and not look like a schmuck when he dumped her. Social media would have a hard time slanting this any other way. This would allow Marabelle to slink away, lick her wounds, and glue her broken heart back together without an audience. It might take a lifetime to get over Nick, but by physically removing herself from the situation, at least she had a fighting chance.

The plan wasn’t foolproof. At close examination, it was probably shot full of holes. But she couldn’t worry about it anymore. Besides, she had a more urgent problem needing her attention at the moment. Marabelle scooped up her car keys and headed out the door. She needed to make a stop at the all-night pharmacy.

She needed to buy a pregnancy test kit.

* * *

“You’re what? You can’t be. I don’t believe it,” Paula said, glaring at Marabelle from behind her horn-rimmed glasses.

Marabelle ladled homemade spaghetti into bowls, trying to remain calm, as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb.

“I’m sorry, but I think you have truly cracked,” Paula said.

Beau Quinton leaned against the counter, staring at Marabelle as if she’d sprouted fangs. “I’m with Paula on this one. You can’t be serious.”

Marabelle placed the bowls of spaghetti and tossed salad on the table. “What’s the big deal? People do it all the time,” she responded with a conviction she didn’t feel.

“Um, just taking a wild stab here, but I’m assuming you haven’t told Coach.” Beau pulled out Marabelle and Paula’s chairs.

“No. I don’t tell him everything. He doesn’t own me, you know,” Marabelle snapped, resenting Beau’s implication.

Beau groaned and rubbed his stomach as if it ached. Paula shook her head in disgust.

“And you better keep your big trap shut on this one. I still haven’t forgiven you for tattling last time. You’re worse than my five-year-olds.” Marabelle frowned in Beau’s direction.

“Beau has already apologized, and besides he only did what you should’ve done yourself.” Paula pointed her fork at Marabelle. “Tell Nick! He’s your fiancé and has the right to know,” Paula insisted.

Dammit. Their shocked reactions were unnerving her more than she cared to admit. Marabelle pretended to concentrate on the plate of spaghetti in front of her. “It’s no big deal. Look, I may not get the job. Why borrow trouble?” she said, twirling pasta into a perfect coil on her fork. “Besides, he’s not my real fiancé.”

“Try telling him that,” Beau mumbled around a mouthful of spaghetti.

Marabelle noticed Paula hadn’t touched her food. “Let me get this straight. You’re going to move to Birmingham to teach at another school, leave this great house you struggled to buy, great friends, and wonderful fiancé, who happens to be the hottest guy in the state of North Carolina—”

“Present company excluded, of course,” Beau added with a smirk.

“Because this is the most logical thing you came up with to protect your fragile heart?” Paula asked, reading the guilt written all over Marabelle’s face.

Marabelle lowered her head and fiddled with the napkin in her lap. “No. That’s stupid. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

No one spoke for several strained moments until Paula couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “The rational side of you has to know that you and Nick are not your parents. You can have a successful relationship and marriage. You love and respect each other…that’s a huge foundation to build on.” Paula covered Marabelle’s hand with her own. “You need to stop running.”

The seriousness in her friend’s voice scared her. Marabelle didn’t know what to think. Was there any truth in what Paula had said? Could she and Nick really make it? Could they live happily ever after?

Doubt tapped her on the shoulder and shook its nasty head, reminding Marabelle that fairy tales were nothing more than pretty lies. Big lies. In the real world, love sucked. Fabulous guys like Nick didn’t end up with ordinary girls like her.

Paula smacked her palm flat on the table, making Marabelle jump and Beau stop eating. “You know what you need? You need an exorcism to get rid of all your childhood angst. But mostly you need to tell Nick you love him.”

Marabelle squirmed in her seat. Her gaze shifted from Paula to Beau and back to Paula.

“I can’t,” she whispered, dropping her head.

Paula pushed back from the table, standing. “Well, I’m tired of your wishy-washy self. Go to Birmingham and ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to you. I don’t want any part of it.” She took her plate of uneaten spaghetti to the sink. “I’m leaving. Q, you coming?”

“I’m gonna finish up here first.”

“Suit yourself.” Paula turned to go.

“Paula—”

“I’ll let myself out. See you around.” Paula left without a backward glance. Acid churned inside Marabelle’s stomach, and she felt like the worst friend ever.

The mood was heavy in her tiny kitchen. With Beau’s help, Marabelle put away the leftover dinner. They hadn’t spoken much since Paula’s sudden departure. Why was this so hard?

Finally, Beau broke the silence. “When do you leave for Birmingham? I mean for the interview?”

She swiped a dishcloth over the clean kitchen table for the third time. “This Thursday through Saturday. The gala’s next weekend, and I have to be here.”

He moved between the table and the door. “Coach returns on Thursday. You going to be talking to him?”

“Probably. He calls or texts every day.” She tossed the dishcloth in the sink and rounded on him. “Promise me you won’t tell him. Why bring it up when it could be nothing?” Marabelle reached out, squeezing her hand around his forearm, her voice deepening. “Don’t you see that I have to do this?”

* * *

What Beau saw was a girl afraid of love. And afraid of taking that leap of faith. He shook his head. “You’re in serious denial, sweetheart. I think you should tell Coach how you feel. You may be surprised at the outcome.” She pressed her lips together, jaw tightening.

He shrugged and tapped her nose. “It’s your decision. But I think you’re wrong. He’s going to be royally pissed off, and he’s going to take it out on us. If you don’t do it for yourself, then think of the guys…Ty, Ricky, Rocker, me.” He rubbed his forehead. “Jesus. Training is gonna be a friggin’ nightmare.”

Marabelle wrapped her arms around her waist. “Not true. Nick would never take it out on you guys.”

Beau snorted. “That goes to show what you know. I need to use the john, and then I’m out of here.”

Marabelle might as well strap dynamite to Coach’s Porsche and light a match…that was how bad this was gonna blow. When the shit hit the turbo fan, Beau didn’t want to be within striking distance of Coach Frasier’s foul mood.

He washed up and started to dry his hands on a linen towel, when he spied a home pregnancy kit, sitting next to some bottles of lotion on the countertop. Beau had no qualms about picking it up. Only one test remained.

He whistled softly. “What is Mary-bell up to now?” He replaced the kit back where he’d found it.

“Another shit storm. Here we go again.”