Page 20 of Fate In Fiction

Showtime!

Since my phone update glitch, it took a few days to figure out what went wrong. I enjoy the fact that my horrible grammar bugs the hell out of him, though, so it’ll stay. Just for him.

Not a moment later, a car pulls up, circling around the large fountain in our front yard. I stay by the small window and peer out, watching Emmett step out of the car. Whatever he says to Hanson has him tossing his head back with laugher. Something I’ve only been able to do with Hanson. A moment later, Emmett’s cradling two bouquets in his arms as he walks up the steps. Finally, we can get this dinner over with and I’ll soon be on my way to Stella’s.

I make it to the door before our greeter, opening before he can even knock. The charm radiates off him as his smile widens. Gosh, that smile has probably stopped many hearts. My eyes travel from his black fitted polo down to his beige slacks. How many tattoos is he hiding under there? I can’t stop thinking about it.

The clack of heels comes from behind me, then an overdramatic squeal—my mother’s signature sound. So endearing, but fake, if people knew the real her.

Emmett steps forward, guiding me backward, since I was too entranced by him to invite him in. He leans over, placing a kiss on my head, and hands me a bouquet of wildflowers, my favorite. Must have been a lucky guess since it wasn’t one of the questions we went over last night.

“Nice to see you again, Carol.” Emmett gives her a kiss on each cheek. “These are for you.” He hands over the bouquet of yellow roses. “I remember during last our last dinner, you explained your love for yellow accents.” Holy crap, he’s good.

“My dear,” she stammers, taken aback by his charm. “You have quite the memory for detail.” She smiles and gives me a side-eye. “Josephine is a lucky girl.”

“I’d say I’m the lucky one.” Reaching over, he gives my nose a playful pinch. Thank goodness he didn’t snort.

Leaving me speechless, I’m saved, or not, as my younger sister comes running over. She’ll either love him or hate him––and let him know right away. Her smile is wide as she twirls the end of one of her French braids I did for her this morning. The red in her hair brings out the blush on her cheeks as she looks up at Emmett. A glint hits her eyes with the lights, and I know she is trying to hide a crush like most ten-year-olds do. He’s different from the other guys at the many previous dinner parties, and she’s picked up on that as well.

“Hi,” my sister greets and glances my way. I can’t deny I’m a bit smitten by him as well, even though I am well aware this is for show.

“Hey, little lady.” Emmett holds his charming smile and reaches into his pocket. My sister turns to take in our flowers. “I figured flowers would probably bore you at this age.” He hands over a little velvet box.

“Wow.” She beams, smiling down at the dainty gold necklace with a daisy charm. “Thank you… Emmett. Mr. Wheaton,” she quickly corrects herself.

“Emmett is much preferred.” He smiles, shooting her a wink.

“I’m Julianne.” She smiles, proud. “After Julianne Hough. Jo picked my name since she was obsessed with dance, and Julianne.”

“You know…” Emmett carries the story, casually fishing for more information. “Your sister has told me almost everything except about being a dancer. She did have her swing dance down at the market.”

“Bummer. She was so good at it too.” Julianne’s voice deflates, matching my sinking heart. “She stopped dancing last year because my father told her to grow up.” Out of the corner of my eye, Emmett’s expression relaxes, but his eyes scan mine with a look I can’t quite read. Is it a mix of sorrow and deeper questions?

Julianne continues to rant on. “But she still takes me to my dance practice and keeps her flexibility up with yoga.”

“Okay,” I cut her off, so Emmett’s expression doesn’t change to reflect dirty thoughts with his sexually deprived self. “Why don’t we go find a vase for these flowers.” Linking arms with Emmett, I pull him toward the small office to the side where most of my father’s clients and him talk business.

“Your mother probably suspects we are up to something else.” He smirks. “She watched us enter and shot me a wink. There is no way this is where the vases are kept.”

I set the flowers on the leather Cardiff chair and sigh out my nerves. My eyes venture to the crystal scotch display, desperate for a taste to calm the nerves. The strands of what ifs and doubt flutter through my mind of if I will end up being the one who cannot pull this off. I need Emmett to keep most of the focus on himself, or interview my father, who loves to talk about himself. The less talking I have to do, the better. Trying to lie to your entire family while being confined at a table sends my stomach to my throat.

“Josephine,” Emmett says in a soft whisper, and I lose my breath. Not good. I swallow, lifting my head up as his gentle grasp on my chin brings my eyes to his. “You’re a little badass, you know that?” Confidence spikes his voice. “You came up with this game plan and pitched me a promising story. I know you can pull this off. We can pull this off.” I feel my cheeks light up with my smile. “Now, let’s go give your parents the show they are wanting to see, and bring us one step closer to our goals.” If this were a book, his eyes would darken and walk me backward until I was flush against the wall. Or at least his eyes would flick to my lips, but they don’t. Because we meant for greater things in life than to be each other’s prize helper.

Just once, it would be nice to experience the same things my characters do. Even though I have an innocent face and soft features, I would still like to be desired enough to be manhandled. Even if Emmett tried something like that, I couldn’t act on it. For him, it would be nothing more than another name on his list of women. Maybe that’s why fiction is so popular. We want what we can’t have. Shaking my shoulders and the feelings away, a wide smile forces its way across my lips.

“It’s showtime!” My veins pump with adrenaline from his little pep talk. Wordlessly, his hand meets the small of my back, and we head to my family’s non-formal dining room.

“There’s the man of the hour,” my father boasts, walking over to Emmett with two amber-colored drinks.

“Mayor Callahan.” Emmett nods, shaking my father’s hand, and accepts the short, weighted glass. “Thank you for inviting me to dinner.”

“I’ve been eager to see you two lovebirds together again.” My father still hasn’t acknowledged me. A sign he is wrapped up in his own plans. “You two barely locked eyes a while back and look at you now. The perfect couple.” It’s been about a month, Dad. Chill.

“Well, we are still in the early stages of our relationship, and given our ages, we weren’t sure how thrilled you’d be.” Emmett drops his tone and maturely speaks. “We were not sure how you’d take the age gap news.”

“Nonsense,” he says, waving his glass about. “My friend in the senate has a son, who I thought would be perfect for Josephine, and he’s thirty-two.”

I stifle my eye roll as my front teeth bite the tip of my tongue. We would only be perfect for each other because my father aims to up his political career. I’m nothing more than a pawn in the game to him. I push forward a smile and soften my eyes. I have every intention to break free from this household, and in order to do that, this needs to be believable. My hand wraps around Emmett’s upper arm and gives his firm muscle a squeeze. Feeling his eyes on me, my eyes remain forward on my father.