Jennifer Crusie - Faking It

“Yes,” Tilda said. “God, this is such a relief. But you can’t tell anybody. Not even Simon. Promise.”

“I promise,” he said. “Why?”

She thought of the Scarlets and the shame and the disaster of being found out, and the glow slipped away.

Davy held her tighter. “ Never mind , forget I asked, don’t look like that, Jesus .”

He pulled her back down and kissed her hard, and she said, “ Just don’t tell ,” and he said, “Never,” and kissed her again and again until she relaxed beside him.

“It’s okay.” She pushed herself up again. “I’m okay.”

“You’re better than okay,” he said, following her up, not letting go. “You’re…”

“What?” she said, and realized he was looking past her, at the Scarlets lined up along the wall. “ What ?”

“They’re you,” he told her, still holding on to her as he stared at them. “All that color and light and anger and sex. They’re all you.”

She looked at the paintings, trying to see them the way he did, without guilt and pain, and they were beautiful, full of laughter and passion and joy.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said, still looking at the paintings.

“Oh,” Tilda said and felt something give way inside.

He turned back to her and smiled into her eyes. “Scarlet,” he said, savoring her name as if he were tasting it. He bent close to her. “Matilda Scarlet Goodnight. Her work.” He kissed her gently.

I love you , she thought and kissed him back, naked and unashamed.

T HE NEXT MORNING, Tilda met eve over muffins in the office.

“My God,” Eve said when Tilda smiled at her, practically bouncing on her heels. “What happened to you?”

“Me?” Tilda tried to tone down her beam. “Davy got the last Scarlet back. I’m free.”

“And what did he do after that?” Eve said.

Tilda got the juice out and poured. “Oh, we talked some. He figured out I’m Scarlet.”

“Really.” Eve’s smile faded. “Was he upset?”

“Not so’s you’d notice,” Tilda said. “It turned him on.”

“Everything about you turns Davy on,” Eve said. “This is not news.”

Tilda choked on her juice, surprised. “Davy? No.”

“Yes,” Eve said. “He’s blind with it, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.”

“Well, last night he figured it out,” Tilda said, grinning again in spite of herself.

“Really,” Eve said. “That good?”

“Really that good,” Tilda said, looking out the door to the gallery. It was still full of her furniture, but it was also bright and clean and full of light, and she thought, I love this place. Thank you, Davy .

“He wasn’t mad,” Eve said.

Tilda put her glass down. “Tell Simon you’re Louise.”

“No.” Eve got up and put her own glass in the sink so Tilda couldn’t see her face.

“It was a real turn-on for me, too, Eve,” Tilda said. “I didn’t have to be afraid anymore once he knew it all.”

“That’s when I’d start to be afraid,” Eve said.

“No,” Tilda said, leaning closer. “That’s when you’re free. When there’s one person you can tell anything to, and it won’t matter because he understands you.”

Eve took a step back and shook her head. “I think you may be overreacting here.”

“I don’t think so,” Tilda said. “I think-”

“That this is it?” Eve rolled her eyes. “You’ve known this guy two weeks and this is it? The real thing?”

“I don’t know about that,” Tilda said, a little taken aback by how cold Eve was. “I don’t know if it’s true love forever. He’s definitely not a fairy-tale prince. But I trust him. I know him.”

“No you don’t.” Eve turned away from her again. “You never know anybody. You just guess.”

“All right,” Tilda said, more worried than insulted. “Are you coming to the opening tonight?”

“I think Simon is expecting Louise,” Eve said, sounding a little tired. “She told him she was getting off early because she wanted to catch the last of the opening.”

“That doesn’t sound like Louise.”

“I want to catch the last of the opening,” Eve said.

“Well, give Louise the night off, then,” Tilda said. “Come as you are.”

Eve shook her head. “She’s got a really nice dress.”

She straightened a little. “You know, she’s got a dress that would be good for you, too.”

“Like I could get into Louise’s stuff,” Tilda said. “The only reason I can wear yours is that you buy everything two sizes too big.”

“This one’s loose,” Eve said. “Sort of drapey.”

“Drapey?”

“Well, it doesn’t have a back.”

Tilda thought of Clea Lewis. “What color?”

“Blue,” Eve said. “Midnight-blue like the Scarlet skies.”

“I’m in,” Tilda said and started to follow her out the door, only to stop when they met Gwennie, very pale, carrying the bank bag.

“What’s wrong?” Tilda said.

“The mortgage.” Gwen dropped the bank bag on the desk and sat down on the couch. “I tried to put the money from last night on the principal, and they wouldn’t let me.”

“Why not?” Tilda said. “Nobody could buy that mortgage, we’ve been making the payments.”

“It’s been paid off,” Gwen said, looking like death.

“Paid off?” Tilda said.

“Really?” Eve said, cautiously delighted. “Really, it’s gone?”

Gwen looked at her and shook her head.

“Who?” Tilda said.

“Mason,” Gwen said. “It has to be Mason. He’s the only person we know with six hundred thousand dollars and a yen to run an art gallery. It has to be him. And I think he wants to marry me.”

“Oh,” Eve said, sitting down beside her. “Well, we’ll just give the money back. Unless you like him.”

“He’s nice,” Gwen said.

“Nice.” Tilda sat on her other side. “Gwennie, you cannot marry for nice. Or for six hundred thousand dollars. Tell me you’re not thinking about doing this in some insane bid to save the plantation. Because it’s not necessary. We can give the money back. We’ll be out of debt in-”

“About forty years,” Gwen said. “But no, that’s not why I’m thinking about doing it. Mason is sweet.”

“Sweet is good,” Tilda said doubtfully. “I mean, definitely when I decide to settle down, I’m doing the muffin thing.” She thought about Davy. If she stretched the definition of “muffin”…

“That’s Mason,” Gwen said. “All muffin.”

“I’m just saying, maybe not this muffin.” Tilda took her hand. “He’s just a little… bland for you. He’s bran, you’re orange-pineapple.”

“Muffins are bland,” Gwen said. “If they’re not bland, they’re just doughnuts without holes.”

“Well, take him for a trial run first,” Eve said. “Even for six hundred thousand dollars, you shouldn’t have to be bored in bed.”

“Right,” Tilda said, looking at her sister in disbelief. “Good advice, Louise.”

“We’ll be just fine,” Gwen said, standing up. “Uh, how exactly do I ask him if he paid the mortgage?”

“He’ll tell you,” Eve said, still channeling Louise. “Guys love to tell you stuff like that.”

UPSTAIRS IN Simon’s apartment, Davy said, “What would you think if I paid off the mortgage on this place? Don’t tell Tilda.”

“I’d think you were insane,” Simon said. “Why would I tell Tilda?”

“You told Louise we worked for the Feds,” Davy said.

“It seemed like a good idea,” Simon said. “You’re not serious about that mortgage?”