Seven Day Fiance: A Love and Games Novel (Entangled Bliss) (11 page)

Chapter Ten

The sound of female voices roused Cane from his sleep. He’d been dreaming of Angelle, his subconscious filling in what could have happened had Troy and Eva not come home so early. It was probably for the best. Sadie had been sleeping down the hall, and their first time was not gonna be a rush job on the floor of her brother’s house. No, Cane planned to take his time. To explore and appreciate and
memorize
every inch of Angelle’s creamy white skin. After that, then they’d have time for fast and furious on the carpet.

That thought was enough to wake his ass up for good.

Thanksgiving Day in the Robicheaux family usually involved his dad deep-frying a turkey, Sherry bringing a pathetic looking yet delicious apple pie, and Cane making most of the sides. He’d inherited the job when his mom died, but with Colby back, maybe she’d take over that load. After throwing on a pair of jeans and a button-down, he texted Sherry about the mirliton casserole he’d left in the freezer. Then, with Angelle’s suggestion for him to sleep late fresh in his mind, and the lack of any male voices from down the hall, Cane cracked open his dog-eared copy of
Freakonomics
.

Halfway through a chapter on what makes a perfect parent—clearly not his own—the scent of strong brewed coffee and sweet homemade bread beckoned from the kitchen. Clearly, it was time to join the land of the living.

“Now the whole parade is in jeopardy,” Angelle’s mom was saying as he entered the crowded room. The women had gathered around the large island, Mrs. Prejean, Angelle, Lacey, Eva, and Ryan’s wife, Tonya. His hostess’s back was to him as she leaned over to check the ham in the oven. “It’s not Bubba’s fault he has appendicitis, of course, but I don’t know what we’re gonna do.”

Lacey and Eva smiled in greeting when they saw him at the door, and Tonya nodded. It appeared she was still a Brady holdout. Nodding back with the grin that usually won him favors, Cane stopped by the coffee pot that had been calling his name. Winning over family required his morning jolt of caffeine.

Angelle strolled over, an adorable wrinkle on her forehead. Her fingertips brushed the side of her face before reaching inside the cabinet, and Cane remembered his reading glasses.

“Guess the cat’s out of the bag,” he said, peering at her from beneath his wire frames. “I’m a closet nerd.”

“I think it’s rather sexy,” she replied, her sultry voice lowered to a whisper. Her shy smile and the pink in her cheeks implied her declaration surprised her as much as it had him. Handing over a mug emblazoned with a turkey wearing overalls, she smiled at the ground and said, “Good morning.”

He grinned as his hand enveloped hers around the ceramic. “It is now.”

It was a cliché, but damn if it wasn’t the truth. She was adorable, and in her festive green skirt, white blouse, and flour-dusted apron, the woman looked good enough to eat. His arms twitched to hold her again, and a sudden surge of want shot through him. Want, backed by an emotion that sent his pulse racing.

Cane took a quick step back, breaking the contact.

Turning from her questioning gaze, he took his mug and filled it to the brim.
It’s just a lingering memory of the dream.
Between that and this whole hoax they had going, his mind and body were getting jumbled. Not about wanting her—that was a given. But whatever this was between them, it could only ever be physical. There was no room for confusion on that point.

When he turned back, a frown line marred the soft skin between her eyebrows. Needing a distraction, Cane palmed his mug and blew over the top. “What’s in jeopardy?”

As distractions went, it was a good one. Or a bad one, depending on your viewpoint. Every female eye in the room zeroed in on him, and they all began talking at once. Sipping his coffee, Cane listened, mildly overwhelmed, as they explained the annual Christmas parade, how important it was to the town, and how their
Papa Noel
had just been carted to the hospital.

When they finished, Cane glanced down at Angelle. “Papa Noel? Is this another
country
Cajun thing?”

The look of hurt and uncertainty long gone, erased by worry over her beloved parade, she explained. “Santa Claus. He rides in the last float, waves and
ho-ho-ho
s, and tosses treats to all the kids. It’s the highlight of the whole thing, and Papa and Daddy already have roles. So do Troy and Ryan. Everyone does. This parade is planned like a year in advance, and right now we’re short one jolly fat guy.”

Cane couldn’t believe where his thoughts were going or the words tickling his tongue. But staring into Angelle’s sad green eyes turned him into a puddle of sap. Her mouth was meant for smiling, and that’s what prompted him to say, “I take it there’s a suit I could borrow?”

It took about a second longer than he thought, but then there it was. Perfection. The smile built slowly until it nearly took over her face, and it was like taking a sucker punch to the gut in one of his classes at the gym. For a smile like that, Cane was willing to do just about anything. And apparently, he was about to prove it.

…

A soft chuckle pulled Cane’s attention away from his plate. Thanksgiving dinner was half over. He’d lost count of the number of people there, but it had to be pushing fifty. Tables were shoved together throughout the wide living room and kitchen, where every Cajun dish he could think of was present. The huge ham that’d been tempting him all morning was joined by a pork
and
beef roast, both smothered with gravy, candied yams, jambalaya, rice and gravy, gumbo, and a dish Cane had never heard of, corn maque choux. He didn’t know what it was, but it was freaking delicious.

As one of Angelle’s many cousins said while filling his plate, “If you leave here hungry, it’s your own damn fault.”

Glancing over at his giggling fiancée, he wiped his mouth on a napkin and asked, “What’s so funny?”

“You only eat one thing at a time.” She pointed her fork at what was left of his meal, green eyes dancing with amusement. “You did it last night, too. Is there a method to your culinary madness, or are you just in the food zone?”

Cane leaned back in his metal chair, thoughts of finishing his jambalaya abandoned. Confident and teasing were definitely his two favorite hellcat traits. “I’ll have you know that some believe eating this way is better for the body,” he informed her, fully aware that his nerd flag was flying and not giving a damn. “Foods break down differently, and eating one thing at a time can ease digestion. It’s also said that people who do it are more task-oriented.”

“More like inflexible and stubborn,” Angelle muttered with a smirk. “And what about people who mix it up and inhale their food, like yours truly? Got an answer for that?”

She batted her eyelashes, clearly believing she’d stumped him, which made it all the more gratifying when he replied, “Fast eating is linked with putting others first. As for mixing it up, they
say
it implies you’re great at handling responsibility.” He grinned and added, “Personally, I think it means you eat weird.”

Angelle shook her head and narrowed her inquisitive eyes, looking as if she’d never seen him before. And in a way, she hadn’t. After a moment of shocked silence, she recovered and asked, “Do you, like, memorize Wikipedia for fun?”

More like Discovery Channel
. Cane shrugged. “I like to be informed.”

She smiled, a soft natural smile seemingly meant for him and not for show. Even as euphoria hit his blood, seeing that directed at him instead of the fearful looks she used to give him, anxiety knotted his stomach. She was getting attached.

Close friendship was good. Or so he thought, having never had that before. Seeing another man take her home and make her smile would kill him—but it would be for the best. And at least those honest smiles, that feisty spunk, and the scent of sunflowers would remain in his life. But she had to know it could never be anything more.

“Speaking of informed.” Her cousin Lacey’s voice broke from across the table, snapping both their heads forward. Suspicion lit her hazel eyes and had her tapping a painted nail on the tabletop. “How does one’s fiancée not notice that kind of food quirk before?”

Nails bit into the denim on his thigh. The art of lying—on the spot or otherwise—was not one of Angelle’s gifts. Cane hated dishonesty, too, but a life of smoke and mirrors had unfortunately honed a talent. Taking her small hand in his, he shrugged again, this time in a confident display of nonchalance.
Never let them see you sweat
was rule one.

“I’ve been this way all my life,” he said, leaning back and leisurely lifting his mouth in a grin.
Distraction by charm
was rule two. “But you’d be surprised how long it takes some people to notice. Your cousin must’ve been too busy staring at this sexy mug of mine to notice my eating habits.”

The double eye-roll from both women was almost audible—but the trick worked. Only a trace of doubt lingered in Lacey’s voice as she replied, “Good Lord, it’s a miracle that head of yours fits through the door,” and Angelle slumped beside him.

Another disaster averted.

His fiancée for the week resumed eating as the
ding
of silver on crystal filled the room. Mrs. Prejean stood from her position of honor near the head of the table and gazed over her gathered friends and family. Raising her wineglass, her mouth curved in a smile much like her daughter’s. “It’s about that time,” she said, smile widening as playful groans erupted. Talking over them she said, “Y’all hush now. This is my favorite part. I have a lot to be thankful for this year. My family is together again, we’re adding to our numbers, and talented hands helped prepare a delicious supper. Ladies, you outdid yourselves.”

Cane joined the chorus of
hear hear
s
.
The food was phenomenal. The new hole in his belt proved he’d be hitting the gym hard when they got back, but it had been worth every bite.

“I have one final gratitude today, a surprising one born from a sad circumstance.” Whispers sprang up among the folding tables covered with red plastic, and Mrs. Prejean caught his eye and winked. “As you all know, poor Bubba’s appendicitis left our parade in a real bind. The children need a Santa Claus. But I’m very happy to say my future son-in-law has stepped up to fill his shoes. Bon Terre, meet this year’s Papa Noel!”

Whispers turned to applause as the attention shifted in Cane’s direction. Guarded glances transformed into approval for the first time since he’d arrived. Technically, he knew it shouldn’t matter. But as he glanced at the generations gathered around, Cane couldn’t deny a sense of satisfaction.

The only person he’d done it for was sitting beside him. But accepting him meant accepting Angelle’s choices. More than that, he genuinely liked these people. He had his sisters, whom he loved more than life, and he had Jason and Emma…but that was it. Most families in New Orleans were huge. The product of only children, he was the last to carry on the Robicheaux name. He’d never known what it was like to have a big family. Now that he’d gotten a glimpse, he saw what he’d been missing. Angelle squeezed his thigh, and he sent her a wink. This was nice.

Then, her dad stood up. “If I may say a few words.” All those good feelings obliterated.

Hearing about the circumstances around Amber’s death put a lot of things in perspective. Cane thought it was small-minded to judge a man based on tattoos, piercings, or any of the exterior things—but then, he’d used some of those very things to
keep
people at a distance. Knowing people would judge him, just as Angelle’s father had done. And with what the man had gone through, Cane couldn’t blame him.

It didn’t make listening to whatever he was about to say any easier.

The older man inhaled deeply as he looked about the room. “Thanksgiving is a time we remember family,” he said, voice strong and clear. Every bit a town mayor. “Loved ones. People we have lost and those who’ve recently come into our acquaintance. Amber is with us today, and though her time on earth was short, I’m grateful for the years we did have her, and I feel good knowing she’s now a guardian angel, looking out for us.”

Angelle exhaled a broken breath and Cane slid his arm behind her chair. Her father’s eyes shifted and came to rest on Cane. “This year, the good Lord brought my daughter’s fiancé into our lives. A city boy from
Nawlins
,” he teased with a smile, making the entire room, Cane included, chuckle. “At first, I didn’t much know how to take him. To be honest, he didn’t seem right for my little girl. But I’ve been watching. Him stepping up for the parade speaks to his character. So does the tenderness he shows my daughter. And the fact that she lights up like a Christmas Eve bonfire whenever he enters a room proves he makes her happy.”

Guilt walloped Cane in the chest. The stiffening of Angelle’s shoulders said she felt the same thing. She closed her eyes as her teeth sank into her lip, and Cane glanced back to see the mayor walk over and hold out his hand. “As long as you keep making her happy, you two have my blessing.”

Cane stared at the outstretched hand. This was what they’d wanted. Her family believed their story. But getting her father’s blessing, knowing it was hard earned and sincere, hit harder than Cane would’ve ever expected. With the room watching, and as Angelle wiped at the tear falling down her cheek, he shook the man’s hand and spoke around a slightly thickened throat. “Thank you.”

Still clutching his hand, her father turned to address the room again. “Now, tomorrow’s the big Cracklin Cook-Off. I’m thinking we teach my city boy future son-in-law how it’s really done. Should we let Cane join the Ragin’ Cajun Prejean Mafia?”

Cheers and
whoop
s met the question, and Cane looked to Angelle for help. Closing her shocked open mouth, she cleared her throat and explained, “The Mafia is Daddy’s cooking team. It’s a big deal; they’ve won the last four years counting.” She licked her lips and gave him a pained smile. “It’s always
only
been family. Daddy, Ryan, and Troy.”