“Bob!”Mom hisses, eyes widening in horror.
Dad looks confused.“What?”
“They’retogether,” she emphasizes, giving him a meaningful look.“They’re dating.Seriously dating.”
I feel my face flame.“Mom!We don’t—I mean?—”
“We’d be happy with whatever arrangements you’re comfortable with,” Alexander interjects smoothly, saving me from spontaneously combusting on the spot.“But I’d be glad to have your help with the luggage, Mr.Hartley.”
“Bob,” my father corrects, looking slightly mollified.“Call me Bob.And sure, let’s get your things inside.”
I watch as my boss—my fake boyfriend—and my father head out to the BMW, walking side by side like they’ve known each other for years instead of minutes.Alexander says something I can’t hear, and my father gives a full-hearted laugh.
“He’s good at this,” I mutter under my breath as I follow my mother into the kitchen.
“What was that, honey?”Mom asks, already pulling ingredients from the cabinet.“I’m making hot cocoa.Alexander looks like a man who appreciates good hot cocoa.”
“Nothing,” I say quickly.“Just...surprised how well they’re getting along.”
Mom gives me a knowing look.“Your father always respects a man who treats his daughter well.”She lowers her voice conspiratorially.“And he is so handsome, Olivia!Those eyes!Why didn’t you tell us your boss was the boyfriend you were bringing?I would have prepared better.”
Outside, I can see my father gesturing to the BMW, clearly impressed.Alexander is saying something, pointing to various features of the car.
“Let’s go see what they’re talking about,” Mom says, already heading for the door.I follow her onto the porch, just in time to hear Alexander’s words.
“—already taken care of.The paperwork’s in the glove compartment with your name on it, Bob.”
“My name?”Dad looks stunned.“What are you talking about?”
“The car is yours,” Alexander says matter-of-factly.“Consider it a gift.”
“WHAT?”I choke out, hurrying down the steps with Mom right behind me.“Alexander, you can’t?—”
“It’s a custom in my family,” Alexander says calmly, as if he isn’t casually giving away a hundred-thousand-dollar vehicle, “to present potential in-laws with a meaningful gift.I made sure this car was equipped with everything to handle snow.”
“We can’t accept this,” Dad begins to decline, shaking his head.
“Bob!”Mom hisses, grabbing her husband’s arm.“He said ‘potential in-laws.’He wants to marry Olivia.”The gleam in my father’s eyes changes, and I groan internally.This is getting out of hand fast.Alexander is playing his part a little too well, and my parents are eating it up like Christmas cookies.
“I would be very hurt if you rejected my gift,” Alexander says graciously, his tone leaving no room for further argument.
Mom fidgets with her apron, clearly torn.“It’s just...It’s too generous, Alexander.We don’t feel comfortable taking something so expensive from you, even though I understand the gesture behind it.”
Alexander’s expression softens as he looks at my mother.“Mrs.Hartley, you and your husband have trusted me with your precious daughter.”His voice drops lower, tender and sincere.“Nothing I could ever do would compare to that gift.”
Even my heart flutters at his words.They’re fake—I know they’re fake—but when his eyes find mine, something warm and unfamiliar spreads through my chest, and for a moment, I hesitate.It is fake...right?
Before I can think too deeply about it, Dad clears his throat.His eyes are suspiciously wet when he turns to me.“Looks like you’ve chosen a good man this time, Livie-girl.”
Mom notices his emotional state and wraps an arm around his waist.“Come on, Bob.You need to get ready for Mrs.Henderson.”She helps him toward the house, leaving Alexander and me standing alone in the driveway.
The moment they’re inside, I turn and hit him lightly in the chest.“What are you doing?”I hiss.“This wasn’t part of the plan.You’re supposed to make them like you, not make yourself their son-in-law!”
Alexander catches the hand I’m hitting him with, bringing it smoothly to his lips.He presses a kiss to my knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine.My cheeks burn.
“You can’t be mad at me for being charming,” he says, pulling me against his side.“It’s part of my genetic makeup.”
“You’re overdoing it,” I mutter, trying to ignore how perfectly I seem to fit against him.
