Seven Day Fiance: A Love and Games Novel (Entangled Bliss) (12 page)

Meaning Brady had never been invited.

That wasn’t what Cane should focus on, but damn if he could help it. Oh, the guilt over the hoax was still there—in fact, he got an extra dose with the older man’s request. But it also brought a ridiculous sense of triumph.

They were already in the thick of it. He might as well keep it up, especially since it was getting Angelle what she wanted. He was curious about this
Ragin’ Cajun
life he’d gotten to see, and he wanted to know more. Besides, he couldn’t very well say no. With a grateful smile, he replied, “It’d be an honor.”

Smiling, the old man clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome to the family, son. You keep my little girl safe and happy, you hear?”

Safe and happy.

Cane looked at the woman beside him, her green eyes still conflicted over this latest development. But happiness was also there. Affection, too. And as her gaze slid across his face, Cane thought he saw a glimmer of hope. Of wanting more than he could ever give. That was enough to douse any sense of victory or satisfaction.

“You have my word,” he promised. He’d keep her safe, all right.

Even from himself.

Chapter Eleven

Eating crow.

That’s what the good people of Bon Terre were doing as Angelle and Cane strolled through Les Acadiens Park that morning. Word had spread like wildfire about the city boy Papa Noel, and the mayor bestowing his seal of approval on the match. That’d been enough to transform the cold, aloof acquaintances from the
boucherie
into sweet-smiling friends issuing invites to dinner.

The abrupt change had
almost
made Angelle laugh.

What kept her from doing so had been the lingering blanket of guilt for deceiving her family. All she’d hoped to prove was that they didn’t need to worry about her. That she was doing just fine on her own and had moved on from Brady. Well, mission accomplished, message received. The problem was, now she had to deal with the fallout of her lie. But honestly, she didn’t know which was worse: letting her loved ones needlessly worry, or harmlessly pretending a romance to spare their feelings.

Especially when said romance
wasn’t
completely pretend. At least not anymore.

Angie’s poor heart was in a galactic game of tug-of-war. The man her family was beginning to care for was the same man who’d been shocking the heck out of her since they’d arrived. Brain-scrambling kisses aside, Cane Robicheaux was a child-whispering, factoid-spouting, sister-protecting, amazing-smelling (a trait that cannot be left out) hunk of swoon-worthy material. Every instinct she had screamed that she’d pegged him all wrong, and that she needed to latch on, good and tight, before another woman swooped in and snagged him.

“What you all smiling about?” Lacey asked, coming up behind her to fluff Angie’s hair. “No tears for passing over your crown today?”

Angie snorted. “Are you kidding me? Though it’s been an honor, I’m happy to hand over my reign as Queen of Fried Pig Fat. Let someone else gain ten pounds today.”

Lacey made a face at the brown paper bag in her hand. Tilting her head, she pursed her lips as if pondering, then shrugged, shoved her hand inside, and drew out two thick pieces, popping them in her mouth with a wink. “As happy as you sound,” she said through a startlingly full mouth, “something tells me that smile still had more to do with a certain leather-wearing hottie than your cracklin title.”

Lacey swung her gaze over to the Ragin’ Cajun Prejean Mafia pop-up tent. It stood at the end of a long line of similar ones, only theirs was deep red with gold flames and had a boiling pig in the center. It was bright, bold, and to tell the truth, an eyesore. But in some crazed, whacked-out way, it represented her family.

Cane was easy to spot inside the tent. The leather jacket was gone. So were the sneakers. But he still stood out. Maybe because he was taller than any of the men in her family, or it was the air of confidence he exuded. Maybe her body was simply attuned to his. But whatever the reason, the moment her gaze fell on his strong profile clenched in effort, the sounds around her seemed to mute.

Soft black cotton strained as Cane stirred the contents of a cast iron pot with a long metal pole. Troy and Ryan stood to the side, beers in hand, talking animatedly. Cane nodded and laughed, and her pulse went wonky.

He’d actually done it. Somewhere between being so good with Sadie, stepping up as Papa Noel, earning Daddy’s acceptance, and cooking out today, Cane had won over her impossibly overbearing big brother. Watching Troy slap Cane on the shoulder toppled any remaining barriers Angelle might’ve had. And when her fake fiancé’s face lit up in a returning smile, that wonky pulse of hers skipped a beat.

This was no game. In this moment, she knew Cane wasn’t acting. He was being real, being
him
, and fitting into her life, her family, so easily it was like he was meant to be there. When they’d left that morning, Angelle could tell Cane felt honored to be included. And he should. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said it had only ever been family. Brady had never
quite
made it to that status. It’d been a long-standing joke for years, that he’d have to bide his time in his own family’s second-place tent until their engagement became
official
. That day never came.

Perhaps reading her thoughts, Lacey said, “You know, Red, I love Brady. He’s a great guy, and a good friend. But I never really saw the two of you lasting.”

Color Angelle surprised. She’d figured the whole town, at the very least her entire family, had been waving the Brady and Angelle Golden Couple banner for years. “You didn’t?”

“Nope. There was no heat. No spark.” Lacey scuffed her boot along the ground, looking thoughtful. “You two were sweet, and I could tell you cared a lot about him. But you know how they say one person in a relationship is always the reacher? That they care a little more, hope a little harder?”

Angie made a face, knowing where this was going. She’d never felt quite good enough for the “good doctor,” but she certainly didn’t need her own blood confirming it. Still, she said, “Yeah?”

Lacey shrugged. “That was Brady.”

Eyes wide, Angelle propped her hip on a folding table and sputtered, “Say what?”

“I speak the God’s truth,” her cousin declared. “He was gone a lot with school, and maybe that’s why. But whenever he
was
home, it was obvious your heart wasn’t in it. At least to me.” She hitched her thumb over her shoulder, back in the direction of the Ragin Cajun tent. “But with
that
man over there? Opposites must attract because there’s so much sparkage, you two should walk around with a warning label.
Caution: Couple may burst into flame at a moment’s notice.
”

Angelle rolled her eyes and ducked her head, pretending to adjust her Cracklin Queen sash over her simple blouse and jeans. Warmth flooded her cheeks, but inwardly she was pleased as pie. It hadn’t just been her imagination or wishful thinking. She and Cane had heat. Serious heat. And he genuinely seemed to care about her.

Lacey pushed up on the table and slid her arm around Angie’s shoulders. “From where I sit, y’all seem evenly matched. I’m happy for you, Little Red. And a bit jealous.”

Giddiness bloomed at her cousin’s confirmation.

Then Lacey added, “Fake engagement or not, you two are perfect for each other.”

Giddiness that turned to shock. “Wh-
what
?”

Lacey chuckled. “C’mon, Red. Did you honestly think you could pull a fast one on the town sneak? I know you too well. Plus, those blushes and stammers are dead giveaways.”

Angelle’s gaze darted back to the pop-up tent, straining to see her family’s expressions. Was this all a set-up? Were they about to be busted, in front of the whole of Bon Terre?

“Don’t worry,” Lacey said, reading her thoughts. “Your secret’s safe with me. No one else suspects from what I can tell. I just wanted you to know that
I
know, and that I’m on your side.”

It was like old times, the two of them with a secret. Many a scrape had been caused
and
avoided by them pairing up—the only difference was now
petite fille
was in the driver’s seat.

Pressing a kiss on top of Angelle’s head, Lacey swung her foot. “Magnolia Springs has done you good, girl. You’re finally going after what you want, taking control. Taking chances,” she added, wrapping her finger and thumb around Angie’s wrist. “I don’t know what game you thought you were running coming here, but I can tell you what’s happening. You’ve got this town talking. Seeing you different. You’re confident and strong, and I’m proud as hell. As for the yummy man-candy, you’ve convinced the family he’s yours. Now it’s time he knew, too.”

As Lacey squeezed her tighter, the bottle cap dug into her thigh. It hadn’t left her pocket since her babysitting jaunt with Cane. She’d unfortunately misplaced the second one, which made this cap even more special. It was a memento of the night she’d bared her soul to a playboy and received more love and understanding
and desire
than she could’ve ever imagined.

The night, she may as well admit now, she’d begun falling in love with her fake fiancé.

…

After a long and very interesting morning, Cane could proudly claim he’d graduated from a cracklin novice. He was no expert, but he’d learned the difference between pork rinds and a true cracklin (the first is just fat, as opposed to chunks of pork fat, skin, and meat), and he’d held his own during the frying. In fact, the only stumble Cane had all morning didn’t even come until the judges had stopped by for a sample.

Standing around, waiting to see who’d won the amateur category, Angelle’s dad greeted him with a beer. “Got a second to talk, son?”

Cane was no chump, but the man intimidated him. Years of being in government had clearly given him a low bullshit tolerance, and while Cane hated bullshit…well, he sure was selling a lot of it this week.

Accepting the beer, having a feeling he was going to need it, he said, “Sure, Mr. Prejean.”

“Call me David.” The man took a pull of his beer, eyes trained on the passing crowd. “I realize things may be different in the city, but down here, a man asks a father’s permission to marry his daughter.”

Shit.
Cane popped the top on his beer and chugged. Honestly, contrary to popular belief, things weren’t that different where he grew up. If Cane were ever to propose for real—though that would never happen—he would definitely ask the woman’s father first. It was tradition and showed respect. But this
wasn’t
real. The words
will you marry me
never left his mouth once. Nor would they ever, to anyone.

But Cane couldn’t tell her father that. Not without pulling the plug on the whole deal. Which meant he had to stand there and take his lumps, apologizing for the one crime out of the entire hoax he hadn’t actually committed. Awesome.

With a chokehold of guilt cutting off his air supply, Cane inhaled a breath, preparing to lie solo. To the man who’d opened his home and family to him, no less. Neck muscles straining, he turned to David and said, “You’re right. It was disrespectful. And I have no excuse other than we got caught up in the moment.”

Over her father’s shoulder, Cane locked eyes with Angelle across the crowded field. Looking at her somehow made the deceit easier. “Your daughter is a remarkable woman. I’m sure you know that. She’s beautiful and strong. Has a heart bigger than anyone I’ve ever met, and is hilarious without even trying to be. She’s a total klutz and makes a drunkard look graceful, but she’s adorable and kind and perfect.” Even though she couldn’t hear their conversation, Angelle’s face pulled into a wide, dazzling smile, and as the force of it hit him in the chest, Cane said, “It’s impossible not to want to be near her as much as possible. To keep that smile pointed at you. Forever if you could.”

Every word he’d said was the truth. And that scared the shit out of him.

The line had shifted. The green eyes drilling into his now spoke of more than just a game. More than an affair. Emotions that, if he wasn’t careful, could lead to love. Looking away from the woman burrowing deep inside his head, Cane looked at David. The man’s smile, while not as wide or as dazzling, spoke volumes. He’d been forgiven for not following protocol. That forgiveness probably wouldn’t extend to his real sins, though.

A screech of feedback preceded a man’s voice calling for the contestants in the amateur’s division. Angelle’s father lifted his chin and said, “I’m glad we had this talk. Now, what do you say we go get that trophy?”

Cane nodded and followed the man to the stage, chugging his beer along the way. It was Friday. Just three more days and then they’d leave for home. Cane was glad he’d come, he’d enjoyed getting to know this town and these people, and he’d never regret spending time with Angelle. But he was getting in too deep. It was starting to become all too real. And that was dangerous.

The three former Cracklin Queens—Sadie, Angelle, and a woman with gray hair piled high on her head and a beer in one hand—stood near the microphone, ready to give the awards. The announcer, a man who’d introduced himself as T-Bob, consulted his clipboard before saying, “Today’s contest was a good one. The judges informed me it was the closest they’d seen in years.”

Great.
The one year Cane joined the Mafia, other teams decided to step up their game. If they lost today, even though he’d done very little of the work, it would appear to be his fault. As if by joining the team, he’d cursed them with—what had the guys called it the other night when they were playing cards? Cane grinned as the word came to him. The
gris gris.

Brady stood with his father and brother just a few feet away, and the men locked eyes. His smile faded.

“In third place, with a
very
respectable showing and tasty treat…the Verret family!”

The crowd cheered as one of the few family teams that included children stepped forward. Along with the trophy, the elder queen bestowed a foam pig crown on each of their heads. The young girl who reminded Cane of Emma made a face and quickly took hers off.

“First place and second place had a very slim margin, and that’s why it took longer than normal to reach a decision. Nevertheless, we’ve reached consensus, and our second place winners should be very proud of themselves. Come on up here…Doucet family!”

Cane exhaled, relieved, as Brady and his dad stepped forward. Before walking to the stage, they sauntered over to the Mafia. “One day, my boys and I are gonna get you, David. Mark my words now.”

He stood stone-faced for a second before bursting into deep laughter. All the men joined in, shaking hands, clearly taking the contest in stride. And then Brady stopped in front of Cane.

“Good job out there,” he said, pumping his hand once. He looked as uncomfortable as Cane felt.

“Yeah, you, too,” Cane replied, not knowing if that was remotely true. He hadn’t sampled the other team’s offerings nor watched them work. He hadn’t wanted to seem as though he was gloating over being on the Mafia, though secretly he kind of was.

The men received their trophy, and then Sadie tapped a plump finger against her mouth as she looked at the tall men. Glancing at the crowns before her, she requested in a loud voice, “Put me on the table!” From her now considerable height, she was able to put the crowns on their heads, giggling as Brady tweaked her nose. The reminder of his closeness to Angelle’s family rattled. But the jealousy annoyed even more.
Three more days.