Framed by a Forgery Read online

  Frank looked touched. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

  “It’s no imposition at all,” Lacey assured him. “I’d love to show you my home. And my town. And introduce you to all my friends.”

  “Well… as long as you’re sure…” Frank said.

  “I’m certain,” Lacey said. “So how about we start now? Town tour?” She looped her arm through his.

  “I’d like that a lot,” Frank said, choking up. He looked at Gina. “Nice to meet you,” he said. Then he waved at the poor, stunned Finnbar still watching on in frozen astonishment behind the register. “And you, Finnbar!”

  Finnbar managed to wave in return.

  Chester trotted alongside them as Lacey guided her father to the door and pulled it open. She cast a look back over her shoulder at Gina, who was grinning with encouragement, and mouthed, “Thank you.”

  It was time to introduce her long-lost father to her life.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Father and daughter had not made it two paces from the store when Lacey heard the unwelcome, shrill voice of Taryn calling her from behind.

  “Lacey!” her nemesis trilled, using her fake-friendly voice. “Oh, Lacey!”

  Icicles ran up Lacey’s spine. The last person she wanted to introduce her father to was Taryn, so she hunkered down and attempted to quicken her pace.

  “Lacey?” Taryn tried again.

  “I think someone’s calling you,” Frank said, halting.

  Since their arms were looped, Lacey had no choice but to halt as well. Now there was no avoiding it.

  With a shudder, she untangled herself from her father’s arm and turned on the spot to face Taryn.

  The rail-thin woman waved a skinny arm over her head as she tottered across the uneven cobblestones in her shiny black stilettos and minidress, an outfit wholly inappropriate for the frigid, early-winter weather. She had a very fake smile plastered to her face.

  “Lacey!” she said again, closing the rest of the gap between them. Chester went back on his haunches and emitted a low growl, as he always did when he saw his personal Cruella de Vil, and Taryn took a step away, grimacing at him. She looked back at Lacey. “I need to talk to you about your dress.”

  Lacey felt her hackles immediately rise. As soon as Taryn had learned of the engagement, she’d drafted up a proposal for a handmade boutique wedding dress—which was actually very beautiful, and surprisingly more to Lacey’s taste than anything else she had seen so far—but was also a very obvious attempt to cash in, because the eye-wateringly expensive sum she proposed for it was far outside of Lacey’s budget. Lacey knew she would have to turn her down eventually, but while the possibility of making money dangled in front of her eyes, Taryn was actually behaving cordially for once. So Lacey was inclined to hold off telling her for now.

  “I saw Gina this morning,” Taryn continued, launching immediately into an explanation. “She was flaunting a dress around, utterly convinced you’d think it was ‘The One.’ Does that mean you’re turning me down?”

  “I’ve not made a decision yet,” Lacey said.

  “Oh good,” Taryn said, sighing with relief. “Because, as your fashion advisor, I feel compelled to tell you that dress would be a mistake. I understand you like that whole antique, shabby, threadbare, moth-ball aesthetic thing, but that dress either belongs on a pantomime witch or on a bonfire. Tulle and chicken feather? I simply cannot bear the thought of you walking down the aisle in it!”

  Lacey raised her eyebrows. There was so much in Taryn’s statement to unpack she didn’t even know where to begin.

  “You have a fashion advisor?” Frank queried from beside her.

  “Uh, no…” Lacey began.

  But she was cut off by Taryn, whose gaze had transferred from her over to Frank, and was now roving from his head to his toes and back again with curious scrutiny. “Does Tom know you’re spending time with another man?”

  “This is my dad,” Lacey said, quickly.

  Taryn’s over-plucked eyebrows rose. “Your dad? I always thought he was dead.”

  Lacey stiffened. Trust Taryn to put her stilettoed foot right in it. This was precisely why she hadn’t wanted the two to meet. Taryn had no filter.

  But beside her, her father chuckled, seemingly taking her comment in good spirits.

  “Last time I checked, the old girl was still beating,” he said, patting his hand on his chest. He grinned. “Yup. There she goes. Ticking away.” He moved his hand in a heart-beat motion.

  Taryn let out a laugh of delight and grasped his arm. “Lacey, you never told me your father was such a hoot! Where have you been hiding him all this time?”

  Lacey didn’t quite know how to process this strange little introduction. Words failed her. On the other hand, it seemed her father had no trouble at all making conversation in the most bizarre and awkward of circumstances.

  “I’m a hermit,” he told Taryn. “I live in a field with cows for company.”

  Taryn giggled. “And do you have a name?” she asked.

  “Francis,” he said, offering his hand to her. “Frank to my friends.”

  Taryn slipped her thin, skeletal hand into his, accompanying the gesture with a strange little curtsey. “I’m Taryn,” she said, blushing.

  She’d gone all giggly and over-exaggerated in a way that made Lacey’s toes curl. Was she… flirting?

  “Right, well, if we’ve resolved the whole wedding dress situation for now, Dad and I really had better go,” Lacey interjected, grasping her dad by the upper arms in an attempt to steer him away from the simpering woman before she got her fangs into him.

  “Introducing the two main men in your life to one another?” Taryn asked loudly, forcing Lacey to abandon her attempt to leave. “Tom’s a wonderful man, but we all know what dads are like. No one’s ever good enough for their little girl! And you’ll want to be even more cautious about giving your blessing this time, I imagine, since the last one turned out to be such a dud. How is David, Lacey? Has his new wife given birth yet?”

  Lacey set her jaw firm. “I wouldn’t know,” she said between her teeth. “We’re not in contact anymore.”

  “Your ex is having a child?” Frank exclaimed with surprise.

  Taryn laughed and patted his arm with her bony skeleton hand. “Of course, you’re a hermit, you don’t know about poor Lacey being replaced by a younger model because she didn’t want children! She’s the heiress to a greeting card company or something, isn’t she?”

  Lacey could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. This whole thing was mortifying, and she desperately wanted to extract her father from the conversation before Taryn blabbed about all her misfortunes.

  “Yes, that’s right,” she said dismissively, looping her arm through her dad’s once more and tugging him, this time with enough force to make him stagger.

  “Oh, it appears we’re in something of a hurry,” he noted aloud. “It was nice to meet you, Taryn!”

  “The pleasure was all mine…” Taryn replied, flashing him a simpering smile. “… Frank.”

  With Chester in tow, Lacey hastened her pace, desperate to get her father away from Taryn as quickly as possible. Frank quick-stepped to keep up.

  “Is it me,” he said, his eyes darting over his shoulder at the skinny woman as she tottered back toward the boutique, “or does Chester have something against your friend?”

  “Taryn’s not a friend,” Lacey quickly amended. “She’s just an acquaintance. And even that term I’d use in the loosest possible way. And you’re right, Chester hates her. Now come on, let’s get something to eat.”

  “Well, maybe we should invite her?” Frank said. “She looks hungry. Like a strong gust of wind would break her.”

  “No, no, Taryn’s clearly busy. Come on, Dad.”

  She tugged on his arm, attempting to steer him away from the patisserie. But as she saw the new display in all its glory, she tensed. The gingerbread haunted house that had adorned the window for Halloween was go
ne, and in its place was a winter wonderland scene—an enormous three-tiered white cake with the bottom layer depicting a miniature Victorian-era ice-skating rink, the middle a snow-covered forest with a family of adorable marzipan bears, and the top a beautiful winter palace made entirely out of sugar glass. Twinkling string-lights completed the scene.

  “Would you take a look at that?” Frank said, unwinding his arm from hers and pacing over to the window like a moth to a flame.

  Lacey hurried after him, with Chester at her heel.

  “Isn’t it fantastic?” Frank exclaimed, pressing his face to the window.

  “Yes, yes, very pretty,” Lacey said in a stilted voice.

  “Let’s go in here for tea!” Frank cried.

  Lacey balked. Yes, she’d taken Gina’s advice and decided to let her father collide with her world, but introducing him to Tom was one step too far! At the very least she wanted to give Tom a heads-up; it seemed unfair to drop such a big bombshell on him. Although on the other hand, she had been introduced to Tom’s mom, Heidi, in less than complimentary circumstances—arrested at the local police station on suspicion of murder—and had been scrabbling ever since to rewrite the first impression. This could be a good way to pay him back…

  But no. Lacey would never do that to him.

  “Well, I’m really not all that hungry,” Lacey said. “How about we go to the beach for a nice walk? Build up an appetite?”

  “But it looks so lovely,” Frank replied. “And they have crazy teapots. Didn’t you say you love crockery?”

  “Uh-huh,” Lacey murmured, hunkering down in her winter jacket. Her whole teacup collection had actually been inspired by Tom’s kooky teapot one in the first place. “But they only serve pastries. And I’d much prefer to save up my appetite for lunch. I’d love to take you to this amazing sushi place up the road. Or we could go to The Cod Father if you’d prefer a proper British fish and chips. Or if you want to go really authentic, we could have a pub lunch at the Coach House?”

  “Lacey!” Frank exclaimed, turning to her. He put his hands on her shoulders. “I know what’s going on.”

  “You do?” Lacey asked.

  “You’re trying to impress me,” Frank said, barking entirely up the wrong tree. “Well, I’m a simple man. I’d take a cup of English breakfast and a crumpet over sushi any day.” He rubbed her arms. “You don’t need to try so hard. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

  Just then, a hand appeared in the window, setting down a sugar-glass carriage in front of the winter palace, with marzipan white horses pulling it. The hand belonged to Tom.

  Lacey flinched back from the window with shock.

  Through the glass, their gazes met. For a brief moment, Tom’s green eyes lit up—they always did when he spotted Lacey; it was one of the things she loved the most about him—but then his gaze slid to Frank, and his expression went through a thousand little changes in an instance: dawning realization, followed quickly by astonishment, before finally settling on what appeared to be a perfect blend between confusion and suspicion.

  Chester immediately barked. He was so excited to see his buddy Tom, he started pawing at the window and wagging his tail.

  Frank turned his face sharply to Lacey. She could tell she was blushing, because her cheeks were hot. Add to that the fact she’d already told him Tom was a pastry chef, and along with Chester’s reaction, Tom’s curious expression, and her beet-red blush, it didn’t take a genius to work out what was going on.

  “This is Tom?” Frank asked, sounding astonished.

  “Uh-huh,” Lacey replied, stuffing her hands deeply into her pockets.

  “Were you just going to… didn’t you want me to… “ Frank stumbled over his words, evidently confused by the whole situation.

  “I just wanted to introduce you properly,” Lacey murmured. “Or at the very least give Tom a minute to prepare himself.”

  Frank looked hurt. “Lacey, are you ashamed of me?”

  “No!” Lacey exclaimed. “I just wanted it to be special when I introduced you. Dinner. Wine. That sort of thing.”

  “I already told you I don’t need you to put on airs and graces for me.”

  “I know, I’m being silly. I’m sorry, it will be fine. Of course it will be fine. Let’s go inside.”

  Frank shook his head. “No, no, if you’re not comfortable—”

  “I’m comfortable!” Lacey assured him, though she felt anything but. Still, she couldn’t exactly back out of it now. “It’s about time you two met.”

  She took him by the shoulders and steered him toward the door. Out the corner of her eye, she saw Tom’s expression change once again. Now, he looked panicked.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It was warm inside the patisserie, warm enough for there to be condensation on the windows. Lacey tugged at her collar, feeling suddenly like it was too stuffy. It smelled sickly sweet, too, of caramel mixed with butter. The nauseating smell only added to Lacey’s discomfort. Music was playing in the background, a jazzy instrumental version of a famous Christmas song, but it was almost drowned out by the sound of customers chatting, and the coffee machine hissing steam, and the clink of utensils on crockery. It was a busy, stressful environment, so far from the one Lacey imagined in her many daydreams about the moment she introduced her father and fiancé to one another…

  “Dad,” she said, resting a hand on his arm. “This is Tom, my fiancé. Tom, this is my father, Frank.”

  Tom looked flustered, the usual golden undertone to his skin hidden beneath a bright red blush. He wiped his hands on the front of his flour-flecked apron, then offered one to Frank. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” he said, in a strange, fusty voice, suddenly sounding about ten times posher than he actually was. “After all this time.”

  Frank took his hand and shook, but it was devoid of any warmth, Lacey noted. In fact, he appeared suddenly hesitant, and Lacey worried it was because of Tom’s innocent but ill-advised mention of time.

  “Nice to meet you, too, Thomas,” Frank replied.

  “Oh, Tom is fine,” Tom said, attempting a friendly smile. “The only person who calls me Thomas is my mum when she’s really mad at me.”

  Tom chuckled. But Frank did not return the gesture.

  Lacey gulped. She flashed an uncomfortable look between Tom and her dad. She’d worried about this moment more times than she could count, and now that it was here, it was going even worse than she’d anticipated. Her dad seemed entirely despondent, and the usually charming, personable Tom was left floundering in a very uncharacteristic way. Now that Frank was walking her down the aisle, it would be a lot easier if he liked the groom.

  “Dad drove here to visit me,” she said, attempting to break through the tension. “He’s going to stay at the cottage with me for a couple of days.”

  “How wonderful,” Tom said. “I look forward to getting to know you.”

  Frank added nothing. He was busy glancing about him, as if silently inspecting—and judging—every nook and cranny of the patisserie.

  Tom flashed Lacey appealing eyes.

  “I’m just giving him the town tour,” she added. “I figured what better place to start than here?”

  She attempted a laugh, but it sounded as fake as one of Taryn’s. The awkward silence returned, and swelled between them.

  “Nice place you’ve got here,” Frank said, finally.

  “Thank you,” Tom replied, sounding relieved. “I’ve been here for a few years now. Toured all around the world before then, learning how to bake.”

  “Tom spent some time living in France,” Lacey added, proudly. “And India.”

  Frank’s expression didn’t change. “The restless type, are you?”

  “Oh, no no,” Tom said, shaking his head. “My wandering days are over. I’m very much firmly planted here now, in Wilfordshire.”

  “Tom’s actually a local,” Lacey interjected, trying to salvage the conversation. “He grew up in Exeter, before all the traveli
ng.”

  “There’s nowhere quite like home,” Tom said with a grin.

  Frank’s expression immediately soured. Lacey felt her toes curl. Of all the accidentally loaded things Tom could’ve said, that must’ve been the worst, because Frank had, of course, abandoned his home in New York City, leaving his family behind.

  Poor Tom must’ve realized his mistake immediately, because he looked flustered and apologetic. His blush went all the way up to his ears. He scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry, Frank, I—uh—I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “Let’s have some tea!” Lacey exclaimed, before he had the chance to finish his sentence. “Dad was admiring your teapot collection.”

  “Oh,” Tom said. “Great. Thank you. It’s… a hobby.”

  Lacey’s heart sank for her poor fiancé. She could see him second-guessing himself, worrying whether he might trigger something with an innocent statement, and fumbling over his words so as not to put his foot in it once again. And Lacey couldn’t help but feel frustrated with her father for making him squirm so much. He’d been perfectly pleasant to Taryn, even though she’d implied far worse—that he was dead, to be precise—so why was he putting Tom under pressure when he’d given Taryn a free pass?

  “What tea would you like?” Tom asked Frank.

  “English breakfast,” Frank replied, simply.

  Tom merely nodded. Lacey knew if he’d been feeling like himself, he would’ve made further conversation about Frank’s choice, but he was clearly on edge and doubting himself. She touched his arm lightly, for comfort, and as a gesture of apology.

  Tom nodded his gratitude, then turned and headed off toward the kitchen to make the tea.

  Lacey gestured to a bistro table. “Shall we?”

  Frank nodded and took a seat. Lacey slid into the one opposite him and Chester slunk down at her feet beneath the table.

  “Is everything okay, Dad?” Lacey asked, cautiously.

  “Oh yes, everything’s fine,” Frank replied.

  To Lacey’s surprise, he was immediately back to the jovial version of himself he’d been before the meeting with Tom. “Oh,” she said. “It’s just, you seemed like maybe…”