Abby Gaines – The Wedding Plan (страница 9)

“Dad’s worried about me being alone after he— In the future,” she said. “He asked me to get married.”

Patrick froze, wineglass halfway to his mouth. “I thought your dad didn’t like me. Now he wants me for a son-in-law?”

Merry noticed he wasn’t cheering at the prospect of matrimony. “Actually,” she admitted, “he asked me to marry Lucas.”

“Why would your father want you to marry a guy you’ve always said is a creep?” Patrick swigged his merlot. “Hasn’t he heard you go on about how Lucas doesn’t know the first thing about relationships?”

She wanted to dispute always and go on, and she was pretty sure she’d never said creep…but now wasn’t the time to split hairs. She managed a shrug. “It’s a family friend thing, that’s all.”

“You always say Lucas doesn’t like New London,” Patrick accused. “How come he’s even here?”

Could he stop with the always? “He came back to see his family.” Merry squeezed Patrick’s fingers. “Of course I’m not going to marry Lucas.” Now would be a good time to say “I love you.” “I’m not going to marry anyone at all, not right now. But if you truly want to help me…would you mind pretending to be engaged?”

Patrick’s fingers jerked; she tightened her grasp.

“Not for long,” she said quickly. “Just until Dad… Just for a few days.”

Patrick took another drink of his wine and swallowed hard before setting down his glass. “How would that help, when it’s Lucas he wants for you?”

“He might have a preference for Lucas, but his main concern is seeing me happy,” she assured him. “If we tell Dad we’re getting married, and I convince him I’m blissfully happy, I’m sure he’ll be delighted.”

She just couldn’t ask Lucas, not after Baltimore. If she asked him, and he turned her down again…or worse, if he thought she still wanted him… Ugh. She could make this work with Patrick, even if he wasn’t Dad’s number one choice. Her father was the ultimate romantic, if she convinced him she adored Patrick, he would be satisfied. Maybe she could persuade Patrick to say something nice about the navy.

“But we’d be lying,” Patrick said. “Getting engaged isn’t a game, Merry. You can’t devalue marriage like that.”

“You said you love me,” she snapped. She drew a calming breath. “Sorry, I’m under a bit of stress here. We won’t make a public announcement,” she promised. She might have to tell Dad they’d put a notice in the Day, but that would be a minor lie compared with the “we’re engaged” one. “It’ll be just between us and Dad, for a few days, maybe a week. Or so.”

That was another advantage Patrick had over Lucas. Lucas’s family would have to be lied to; Patrick’s parents in Colorado would know nothing about it.

Patrick was looking at her as if she was some kind of monster. She was starting to feel like a monster.

“Patrick, I know it’s not honest—” she reminded herself she liked his idealism “—but it’s for a good cause. The…the best cause.” Her voice cracked. She pushed the peanuts toward him as if they might serve as an incentive to get engaged to her.

Reflexively, he grabbed a handful of nuts and tipped them into his mouth. Which gave her more time to talk, to persuade him.

“It’s not as if you and I don’t care for each other a lot,” she said. “Maybe we could look at this as a trial run for a real engagement.” When he didn’t argue, she figured she was making progress. “Do you remember, on our very first date, you said you knew for sure I was going to be important in your life? And I said I felt the same? Maybe this is—” She stopped.

Patrick’s color had deepened. His hand was pressed to his throat; his eyes bulged.

“Uh, Patrick…are you choking?”

Stupid question. Of course he was.

Merry jumped to her feet, knocking over her chair. “Help!” she called. “He’s choking.” She dashed around the table. Heimlich maneuver. She’d seen it performed in countless movies.

For a moment it seemed no one had heard her over the happy hour hubbub. Then Merline rushed up. “What can I do?” Now other people turned to look, started to move, but in what seemed like slow motion.

“Just help me shift him....” Merry had her arms around Patrick from behind, but the high seat back made it impossible to get a grip. Dammit, this didn’t happen in the movies. “If we get him off the chair…”

Next moment, the chair was gone, Merry had been shoved aside and Lucas—where did he come from?—had his arms around Patrick, hands positioned beneath his rib cage. Two sharp heaves, and a nut flew from Patrick’s mouth, landing in his wine.

Patrick sucked in great gasps of air, his color quickly returning to normal.

“Are you okay?” Merry asked, as the other drinkers applauded.

He nodded, rubbing his throat. “Yeah.” It came out as a croak. He glanced around. “I thought it was all over. Who…?”

Lucas stepped forward, hand outstretched, as relaxed as if he regularly performed the Heimlich maneuver ten times before breakfast. “You must be Patrick. I’m Lucas Calder.”

Patrick’s handshake looked disappointingly limp, but, heck, the guy had almost died. Lucas saved his life.

“What are you doing here?” Merry asked Lucas.

“You said you were here. I was worried you might be drowning your sorrows alone.” His gaze flicked over Patrick. “I should have known better.”

Patrick was looking him up and down, suspicion blooming on his face. Maybe Lucas didn’t seem quite like the creep Merry had apparently called him. In fact, even in worn jeans and a plain, long-sleeved dark T-shirt, he looked…gorgeous.

If you liked that kind of thing.

Merry realized Patrick was pocketing the wallet and keys he’d left on the table. “Patrick, wait, we haven’t finished our conversation.” I need a fake fiancé.

“I think we have,” he said, his voice still croaky. “If it takes desperation for you to suggest we take our relationship to the next level, Merry, I don’t think we have much going for us. I’ve suspected for a while that only one of us was actually committed to this relationship.”

She pressed a hand to her chest. “You’re breaking up with me?”

“Hey, buddy,” Lucas said. “What kind of guy dumps a woman when her dad’s in the hospital?”

Patrick flushed. “You’d better ask Merry that question.”

“Don’t go,” Merry pleaded. “We can work this out.”

“You…” Patrick stopped, mouth open, an arrested expression on his face.

“One thing you ought to know, Merry,” Lucas said.

Patrick leaned forward and barfed. All over her.

“The Heimlich maneuver can cause vomiting,” Lucas said helpfully.

* * *

AS THE BUSSER CLEANED UP the floor, Lucas stood aside, then ordered a fresh glass of wine for Merry, plus a beer for himself. Just as the drinks arrived, along with a fresh bowl of nuts, Merry emerged from the bathroom wearing a red-white-and-blue Pete’s Burger Shack polo. Merline’s, going by its generous sizing. The rolled-up black pants weren’t her own, either. Lucas guessed her clothes were in the plastic grocery bag she set under the table.

“I ordered you a chardonnay,” he said. “Thought I’d save you the hassle of having to show Merline your ID again.”

“A ritual for which I have you to thank.” Merry sat down with a little whoosh of breath. She dug into the bowl of peanuts on the table and crammed a handful into her mouth.

“Careful,” Lucas murmured.

“I’m sure you’ll save my life if I choke,” she said around the nuts. She waited until she’d swallowed before continuing. “Besides, I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“I stopped by the hospital again this afternoon,” Lucas told her, “but they still wouldn’t let me see your dad.”

“Thanks for trying,” Merry said. “And thanks again for what you did at the boatyard. You’re not bad in a crisis.”

“You should see me in a war.” He took a swig from his longneck. “So, how’s he doing?”

“Nothing’s changed from what the doctor said when you were there.” She wrapped her fingers tightly around the stem of her wineglass. “He’s dying.”

From the sudden widening of her eyes, Lucas guessed she hadn’t truly admitted it to herself before. Saying the word—dying—left her opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish.

“Take a drink,” Lucas said.

She glugged too big a mouthful and coughed.

“I’m sorry, Merry,” Lucas said. “Maybe he’ll get a donor kidney.”

“Maybe.” Blinking hard, she took a more moderate sip of her wine.

A waitress, one-third Merline’s age and three times prettier, struck a pose next to their table—hip cocked, shoulders thrown back to accentuate her breasts in her low-cut T-shirt. “You guys, like, need anything else?” She batted her eyelashes at Lucas.

“Gosh, yes, thanks so much,” Merry gushed. “Some privacy would be wonderful.”

The girl scowled, dropped the pose and walked off.

Lucas laughed.

“Okay, that was rude of me,” Merry admitted. “But I’m not in the mood.” She propped her chin on one hand, the picture of moroseness. Was that only about her dad? Or…