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“Everyday china?” He’d never heard the term.

“It’s a thing.” Her normal smile teased her lips. “I’m sure your mom or auntscould fill you in.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Filed under topics that could divert a conversational disaster at brunch.

“We don’t have to stand around.” She waved an arm toward the seating area. “Make yourself comfortable.”

A deep leather couch was placed across from the television and he had a vision of her curled up watching movies. Several throw pillows in those vibrant hues were scattered across the couch and on two low-slung barrel chairs. “You have these in the lobby,” he said. “Near the bar.”

“Good eye.” She smiled at him as she tucked herself into one end of the couch. “They’re so chic and cozy at the same time.”

He considered the opposite end of the couch and chose the barrel chair closer to her spot instead. “Are you going to fill me in?”

Her mouth twisted to the side and she traced the condensation beading on her water glass. “I owe you an explanation.”

“No, you don’t.” He eased forward when her head snapped up and her gaze locked with his. “Share or don’t, I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

“I’m really not comfortable talking about it,” she admitted. “Bachelor Number Three has a name, Luca Gallo. We grew up in the same general neighborhood. Until university. Then I went to the program in France. My parents think the world of him.”

“You don’t.” Gallo frightened her, that was obvious.

Her lips flatlined and she shook her head. “He’s not a terrible person.” Her voice seemed to shrink, contradicting the claim. “Just not the man I want to marry.”

“Telling your parents isn’t an option?” He wasn’t suggesting she tell them she didn’t want a husband right now. He was referring to whatever Gallo had done.

Because he’d done something.

“I’ve tried.”

He was certain she meant she’d tried to call off the parade of would-be grooms. “What can I do?”

“Honestly?” He nodded. “Help me find a husband.” Her gaze fell to her hands. “It’s the only solution I can think of.”

He sat back. “A preemptive strike?” The idea had merit.

“Yes.” She uncurled from the couch and color came back into her cheeks. “In name only. I don’t need it to be real. Or permanent.” She nibbled on her full lower lip. “Can you think of anyone willing to do something so strange?”

He had good friends who would gladly step up as a fake husband to help her out. For a few days, maybe a couple of months. And suddenly he hated them all. They’d be spending time with her and getting to know her better. They’d get her smiles and wacky humor. And he’d be left on the sidelines, watching her.

“Whoever helps me,” she continued, “we could make up a story about eloping or going to the courthouse. I’ve been private enough here that the staff wouldn’t contradict a secret-romance story. No one would ask to see the paperwork.”

“You’re wrong about that,” he said.

She tilted her head. “Which part?”

“The paperwork for starters,” he replied. “Everyone we know would want evidence, especially your parents.”

“You have a point…” Her voice trailed off. “Hold on. We?”

“Yes.” He eased back in the chair, doing his best to appear relaxed, almost careless. “You and me. Why don’t I step into the role?”

“But—”

“Our dads are friends, we’ve crossed paths growing up.” He was warming to the idea. “You landed here. Marrying me will make more sense than you suddenly marrying someone they’ve never heard of. Besides, the Cove has a reputation for perfect weddings, no matter how big or small.”

“That’s all true, I guess.” She shivered. “Harper is envious of your wedding planner.”

“As she should be. Are you cold?”