Santana

She was supposed to be going through the financial section of the newspaper like she always did on Sunday mornings. It was an old-school habit, but it prepared her for the week. Instead, she was on the patio, scrolling through breathless texts from her mother. Most of the messages were demanding to be introduced to her date before the wedding.

Irritated, Santana stood to head back into the house. This whole setup was supposed to be easy.

What she wanted to do was go to the wedding with Quinn for appearances. While her father was distracted by that, Santana would focus on getting more established corporations to invest in LIG. Maybe even go to one of those insipid upper-class events for show. Let her father think she was turning into what he wanted while she did the actual hard work of getting new corporations to invest in the company. By the time that happened, he would be too pleased to care if she had a girlfriend or knew what Italian wine to pair with what meal.

Unfortunately, her father meddled her mother into this, and that meant none of this was going to be easy.

Out of the corner of her eye, Santana caught sight of a flash of gold. Quinn, and her glorious head of hair. She turned to face her. Quinn was so stunning Santana already lost her train of thought.

"Good morning." Those glossy pink lips curved up into a smile.

"I didn't see you at breakfast today," Santana said.

"I asked one of the maids to deliver breakfast to the guesthouse. I wanted to work while I ate breakfast. I hope that's okay."

"It's perfectly okay," Santana reassured. "It's just, I haven't seen you since yesterday morning." After Quinn agreed to be her date, Santana had gone to help Oscar create a menu for his wedding reception. She hadn't seen her since. Which shouldn't have mattered as much as it did, but that hadn't stopped Santana from missing her. "I wanted to make sure you were still okay with our arrangement. I don't want you to feel any pressure, so if you want to back out at any time—"

"I'm still okay with it," Quinn interrupted. "After everything you've done for me, I'm happy to help."

"Don't think you have to do this as some kind of payment. Seriously, Quinn, I never want you to feel like you're obligated to me in any way."

"I want to help," Quinn said firmly. "Trust me on this—I know what it's like to face pressure from my own dad."

"Really? What kind of pressure has your father put on you?" Santana asked.

"Never mind that." Quinn waved her hands dismissively. "Anyway, I'm on my way out, so if you'll excuse me…"

"Right." Santana paused. "Where are you headed? I'll drive you."

"I'm on my way to the fabric store. I got an e-mail about a special discount they're offering me, so I thought I'd take advantage and get the fabric for your gown."

"That's great. I can come with you and help you choose the fabric."

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "You want to spend your day looking at luxury fabrics?"

Truthfully Santana wanted to spend her day looking at Quinn. Talking to her. Just being around her. Santana couldn't go back to focusing on work now. Not dropping everything to get closer to Quinn. "If we're going to pretend to be a couple, it's a good idea for us to get each other better."

"That makes sense." Quinn chewed her lip and then nodded. "Okay. Let's go then."

Ten minutes later Santana was driving out of the estate, heading for downtown San Diego.

"My mother wants to meet you," Santana told Quinn, keeping her eyes on the road.

Quinn shifted in her seat. "Why does she want to do that?"

"Don't worry. She wanted to meet my new girlfriend before the wedding, but I won't let that happen. It wasn't part of our arrangement. Not to mention, my mother can be…"

"Difficult?"

Santana chuckled. "Let's just say that she can be a lot. If you stick by me during the wedding you'll be safe from her."

"She sounds like a handful. Kind of like my own mother." Quinn sighed.

Quinn hadn't given Santana many clues about her family. She was obviously having financial trouble, but her family remained a mystery. Maybe they were estranged. It sounded like her parents were a tough subject to her. "I'm sorry if you've been having issues with your parents. That can't be easy on top of what you dealt with your landlord," Santana said.

"Thanks. I guess it's been hard these past few years."

Silence fell. Quinn's demeanor changed, and she seemed to withdraw from Santana. It was the same quick change Santana saw when she brought up Russell Fabray. Maybe the Fabrays had stolen money from Quinn's family. That would certainly explain a few things. Like Quinn's family troubles, her financial woes, and why Santana felt like she knew her from somewhere.

"Quinn, you can talk to me about it," Santana urged gently. "We don't know each other well, but I've been there. My family had financial problems when I was a kid, as hard as it is to imagine. I know the strain it can put on families."

"It's just… our financial problems mean that my father can't get a job. My brother can't keep a job. And my mother is too drunk to do anything but stay at seedy motels. I haven't seen her in weeks and I know she's probably facedown drunk somewhere." Quinn let out another sigh, only this time it was agonized. Weary and full of unspoken pain.

"So, they expect you to solve everything," Santana said.

"They do. Not that I'm complaining. It's just a lot to deal with sometimes."

Santana looked into the mirror and caught a glimpse of Quinn staring down at her hands. The air of fragility that had clung to Quinn the day they met was back. Making her look fragile. The urge to protect her now was so overwhelming and Santana had to force herself to concentrate on driving.

"The burden is all on you. You're the responsible one they're all leaning on. That's why you came in for the loan, didn't you?"

"Opening a store is my dream, but…"

"But you also want to be financially independent to help your family," Santana finished.

"Yes," Quinn said in surprise. "Am I that easy to read?"

"It's not that," Santana said. "I just know how it feels. When I was a kid I worked every odd job I could and gave every cent to my mother. I started working when I was ten. Right through college. When the other kids were out having fun, I'd be babysitting or working shifts at diners. Anything to help my family survive."

"I didn't know that," Quinn said quietly. "I mean, I'm an adult. At my age, I can handle the pressure. I can't imagine having to work that hard as a child."

"My parents started in the basement of the Fabrays' bank before we ended up owning it and making it into our own," Santana explained. "They started off handling mail and dealing with old archive files. Then they worked their way up for almost fifteen years. As tough as it was, my parents aren't struggling anymore. I guess what I'm saying is if we can make it, anyone can. If you refuse to let anyone stand in your way, you'll become successful."

"I'll remember that."

Santana glanced in the mirror again to get another glimpse of her. Quinn was smiling, only this time Santana realized the warmth of her smile didn't reach the depths of her stormy hazel eyes.

Quinn

Walking into the luxury fabric store was like walking into heaven. Quinn inhaled as she stepped inside, enjoying that new fabric smell. Rolls of fabrics were piled high on the shelves. There was everything from crisp cotton to the finest cashmere.

She waved at the sales rep, who flashed her a warm smile. Visits to the store were frequent enough for Quinn to recognize the staff on sight.

"So, where do we start?" Santana asked.

"We're going to start with silk," Quinn said, heading deeper into the store.

Santana followed her. "You're making my gown out of silk?"

"I'm lining the inside of your jacket with silk," Quinn explained. Though Santana would probably only wear the gown once, she wanted it to be absolutely perfect. It might be part of her ruse to gain her trust, but Quinn refused to attach her name to something of inferior quality. She had a reputation to uphold. Only the best for her clients. Even if they were Lopezes. "Besides, I have to get the fabric to make my dress too."

Santana stopped dead in her tracks. "Damn, I didn't even think about the fact that you'd need a dress for the wedding. Let me buy you a dress so you won't have to stress yourself out making one.

Quinn gave her a hard look. "I don't buy dresses for special occasions. If I'm going to an event, I make sure it's something I've made myself. What kind of designer would I be if I didn't wear my own designs? I have to show that I believe in myself."

"But, won't that be even more trouble?" Santana furrowed her brow, her eyes darkening with worry. "You'll be exhausted from making everything."

"I'm used to hard work," Quinn insisted. "Plus, I'm going to keep my dress very simple."

"If you're going to make a dress, I'll buy the fabric for you," Santana said. "I'll buy all the materials you need. I'm the one who asked you to be my date, and paying for the material is the least I can do."

Quinn opened her mouth to argue, but Santana shot her a stern look.

There was no debating Santana when she insisted on getting her way. Which Quinn was starting to learn was something that happened often. Somehow Santana had wrangled her way into letting her stay at her home for free, commissioned a gown, and was now paying for Quinn's dress. She was asking a lot of her to be her fake girlfriend, but still.

Santana's confident, assured sort of kindness was unnerving. Trusting her would be folly. The fastest way to ruin Quinn's father's redemption. But Santana was being so generous. Likely because she had gone through hardship as a kid. Quinn always knew the Lopezes hadn't been well-off, but she hadn't known the extent of their financial difficulties. The thought of a little Santana working to support her family made Quinn's heart squeeze.

As the surge of sympathy hit her, she turned her attention to the fabric on the shelves. Work would distract her from her feelings. Helping Santana with this wedding was one thing. Entertaining anything that prevented her from completing her mission was another.

Quinn lifted her hand to gently touch the dark blue silk overhead. Dark blue silk for Santana's gown and light blue silk for her own dress would be perfect. They'd match the wedding color scheme and each other.

Suddenly, Santana raised her hand to touch the silk. Her fingertips brushed against the back of Quinn's hand. For a second Quinn thought she would pull her hand back. She didn't. Instead, Santana covered Quinn's hand with her own, her intense eyes meeting Quinn's.

"You have a hard time accepting help." Santana's words weren't a question. A statement. A fact. Said as if she knew Quinn so well no further questions were necessary. "Even when you ask for it," she added.

Years had gone by without Quinn accepting help from anyone. While she had drowned in student debt, she had sewn and designed for everything from high school theater productions to businessmen climbing the corporate ladder. Nobody had helped her. Her brother had been dealing with his own issues. Her mother was a drunk. And her ex-roommate who she considered the closest thing to a friend had turned out to be a two-faced bitch. Now, here was Santana offering her more than she could ever dream of and all she was guilt.

A relentless guilt that was eating away at her. Santana was helping her and Quinn was plotting to pay her back with ice-cold revenge.

"You don't know anything about me," Quinn hissed.

Santana pulled her hand back. "I'm not trying to push you. But it's obvious something is going on with you. Something you're too ashamed to tell me."

"I barely know you," Quinn snapped. "I don't owe you an explanation."

Picking a fight was the only way to force the gnawing guilt back down. If Santana was angry with her, she'd take back her kindness. Prove what Quinn had always known. That, deep down, Santana was like everyone else. Out to get her cut even if she had to fake being generous to get it. Quinn needed to see her true colors.

"You're right, you don't." Santana kept her voice even, her eyes studying Quinn like she was refusing to be baited into an argument. "That isn't going to stop me from being concerned about you."

Infuriated, Quinn took a step back. "I'm not worth your concern. One day you'll realize that."

Santana reached out, her fingers curling around Quinn's arm. Her presence seemed to make everything else seem smaller. "Don't talk like that. You're worth the concern. I know more about you than you think."

Quinn's jaw slacked and tightened quickly. "What are you talking about? What do you know?"

"I know that you feel humiliated over your financial problems. And I'm guessing it has something to do with Russell Fabray."

Panic sent Quinn reeling. Desperate to get out of Santana's grip before the accusation came, she pulled free of her. "Please—"

"Your family lost money to his fraud." Santana's gaze met hers. Those dark eyes so piercing Quinn felt frozen in place. Like she couldn't run or hide from Santana if she wanted to. As Santana looked down into her soul, she never felt so exposed. "I should have figured it out sooner. I've met so many people over the years who were left with nothing because he stole from them. Life savings gone. People declaring bankruptcy. That's why you're struggling, aren't you? You lost everything to the Fabrays."

Quinn's guilt started to dissipate. Fury and resentment replacing it. Her father was innocent. There was no way he could have stolen from people. Nobody ever established a motive. Unlike the Lopezes, who had plenty of motive to seize her father's company, steal billions, and then frame him for their crimes. "Fine. we lost everything. Are you happy now?"

"I'm so sorry—"

"Save it." She cut Santana off sharply. "I just wanted to come here to buy fabric. Not talk about my family's downfall." Quinn's breath hitched as her muscles tightened. She had to pick a fight to get rid of the guilt. And yet the argument hadn't felt like a ruse at all. It felt way too real.

Her body was shaking with anger. Regret tugged painfully at her insides. Santana hadn't lost her temper with her. Instead, she pitied Quinn. Sympathized with her. Maybe Quinn couldn't tell her who she really was, but for a moment Santana saw her pain. Seen it and hadn't walked away. Why was Santana making this so difficult?

Flooded with emotions, Quinn turned away.

"Quinn, wait," Santana said firmly. "Talk to me."

Hot tears pricked Quinn's eyes and she refused to let Santana see. Ignoring her plea, she started to head up in the aisle. The best way to get through this ordeal now was to pretend that nothing had happened. Even if fighting with Santana hurt more than she could have ever imagined.