Alexa squirmed in her seat as the s

Alexa squirmed in her seat as the silence in the black BMW stretched between them. Her husband-to-be seemed just as uncomfortable, and chose to focus his energy into his MP3 player. She tried not to wince when he finally settled on Mozart. He actually enjoyed music without words. She almost shuddered again when she thought of sharing the same residence with him.
For. An. Entire. Year.
“Do you have any Black Eyed Peas?”
He looked puzzled by the question. “To eat?”
She held back a groan. “I’ll even settle for some of the old classics. Sinatra, Bennett, Martin.”
He remained silent.
“Eagles? Beatles? Just yell if any of these names sound familiar.”
His shoulders stiffened. “I know who they are. Would you prefer Beethoven?”
“Forget it.”
They veered back to silence with a piano background. Alexa knew they were both nervous as the miles to her parents’ house shortened. Playing the loving couple wouldn’t be easy when they couldn’t even carry on a two-minute conversation. She decided to try again.
“Maggie says you have a fish.”
That remark rewarded her with a chilling look. “Yes.”
“What’s his name?”
“Fish.”
She blinked. “You didn’t even give it a name?”
“Did I commit a crime?”
“Don’t you know animals have feelings just like people?”
“I don’t like animals,” he said.
“Why? Are you afraid of them?”
“Of course not.”
“You were afraid of that snake we found in the woods. Remember how you wouldn’t get close, and you made some excuse to leave?”
The air in the car seemed to drop a few degrees. “I wasn’t afraid, I just didn’t care. I told you I don’t like animals.”
She gave a snort, then settled back to silence. Cross another quality from her list. Earth Mother sucked. Alexa decided not to tell her future husband about the humane animal shelters. When they were overbooked, she always took the extra animals into her house until new spots opened up. Something told her Nick would have a fit. If he ever got up enough emotion to lose control.
The possibility intrigued her.
“What are you smiling about?” he asked.
“Nothing. Do you remember everything we discussed?”
He gave a suffering sigh. “Yes. We went over all your family members in detail. I know names and general backgrounds. For God’s sakes, Alexa, I used to play at your house when we were younger.”
She snorted. “You only wanted my mother’s chocolate chip cookies. And you loved torturing me and your sister. Besides, that was years ago. You’ve had nothing to do with them over the past decade.” She tried hard to bite back the bitterness, but the ease with which Nick had shed his past without a glance back left her a bit pissed off. “Speaking of which, you never mention your parents. Have you seen your father lately?”
She wondered if it was possible to get frostbite from the chill he emanated. “No.”
She waited for more but nothing came. “How about your mom? Did she remarry?”
“No. I don’t want to talk about my parents. There’s no point.”
“Wonderful. What are we supposed to tell my family about them? They’ll ask.”
His words were clipped. “Tell them my father’s lounging in Mexico and my mother is off somewhere with her new boyfriend. Tell them whatever you want. They won’t be at the wedding anyway.”
She opened her mouth but his warning glare told her this conversation was over. Great. She just adored his chattiness.
Alexa pointed toward the upcoming street sign. “Here’s the turn for my parents’.”
Nick pulled into the circular driveway and cut the engine. They both studied the white Victorian house. Even from outside, the structure radiated friendly warmth from each classic pillar to the graceful wraparound porch. Weeping willow trees surrounded the edges of the sloping lawn almost as in protection. Large picture windows with black shutters dotted the front. Darkness now veiled the symptoms of neglect due to financial difficulties. It hid the peeling white paint on the columns, the cracked step at the top of the patio, the worn roof. She gave a deep sigh as the home of her childhood settled around her like a comforting blanket.
“Are we ready?” he asked.
She glanced at him. His face was shuttered, his eyes distant. He looked hip and casual in his khaki Dockers, white Calvin Klein T-shirt, and leather boat shoes. His sun-bleached hair was neatly tamed except for one stubborn curl over his brow. His chest filled the shirt out nicely. A little too nicely for her taste. Obviously, he lifted weights. She wondered if he had a washboard stomach, but the thought did bad things to her own tummy so she pushed away the idea and concentrated on their immediate problem.
“You look like you stepped in a pile of dog doo.”
His neutral expression slipped. The corner of his mouth kicked up an inch. “Hmmm, Maggie said you wrote poetry.”
“We’re supposed to be madly in love. If they suspect otherwise, I can’t marry you, and my mother would make my life a living hell. So put on a good act. Oh, and don’t be afraid to touch me. I promise I don’t have cooties.”
“I’m not afraid to—”