by Stella Gray
I swallow hard and clutch the door as his cologne hits me like catnip.
“Hi,” I finally manage. “What are you doing here?”
He’s not looking at me. Not at my face anyway. He’s feasting on my body, working his gaze by increments from my legs to my lips. His hands twitch inside his pockets, and his arms tense as if he’s holding back from reaching for me. Finally, he meets my eyes.
“I may have been a little forward yesterday,” he admits. “It’s no excuse, but I guess I’m still learning how to deal with women in a context outside of the bedroom.”
I put one hand on my hip and open the door wider. “It shows. Come in.”
He wanders into the apartment and I lead him to the living room. He’s on my turf this time—it gives me a sense of power. I gesture for him to sit on the sofa and he does.
“Before you say anything else,” I tell him, “I’ve given it some thought, and you were right—I wasn’t asking for enough. There are a few more things I’d need.”
I sit in a chair across from him, glad to have space between us. There won’t be any accidental touching, any possibility of me letting my guard down again.
“I’m happy to hear your requests,” he says, sounding sincere. “And I apologize our negotiations got off on the wrong foot.”
“Apology accepted,” I say. “So first off, there needs to be mutual respect between us if this is going to work out. We have to act like adults and be considerate of each other’s goals.”
He nods. “Agreed.”
Bolstered by his encouragement, I go on, “If this is going to be a marriage of convenience, it needs to be convenient for both of us.”
He’s watching me intently, but he hasn’t opened his mouth to protest, and I decide to just lay it all out there while I’m on a roll.
“Also, if we’re going to have a physical relationship at all, we have to agree that it will not get in the way of our goals.” I feel my face heating at my boldness, but I push on. “I want my modeling career to have the best possible outcome. You want your image squeaky clean. Nothing can compromise those things.”
I can’t believe I just put the sex clause out there like that, but the truth is, I’m still into him, and there’s no reason why we shouldn’t be intimate with each other if we’re married. Plus, I know from experience that we’d have an amazing time in bed.
Luka nods, his eyes unfocused as he seems to mull this over. I wish he didn’t have such a poker face right now, though, because I’m dying to know what he thinks of my demands.
Suddenly his head snaps up and he bolts to his feet. I swivel in my chair to see Mateo wandering out of the bathroom, his ripped, muscular body glistening, a towel wrapped loosely around his hips.
“Oh. This is—” I start to say
“Who the fuck are you?” Luka barks at Mateo, completely ignoring me.
“Would you like to find out?” Mateo smiles, completely unperturbed by the verbal aggression and lazily eyeing Luka as if he’s lunch.
I’ve never heard that throaty tone in Luka’s voice before. It’s raw and dark and possessive. My middle clenches even as my panties go suddenly damp. Damn, it’s hot to see him so alpha—but I can’t have him going off on Mateo like this.
“Who’s he?” Luka asks, turning back to me now.
Shit. I can see how this must look to him. My hair isn’t dry yet and I’m not wearing any makeup—it’s obvious I just had a shower, and here’s a man walking around my apartment in a towel. It makes sense Luka would jump to conclusions. Still, I’m surprised he’s acting like a protective alpha—if I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s jealous.
It strikes me that I can take advantage of this. Especially since I need every advantage I can get with this guy.
“It’s none of your business who he is,” I snap, being purposefully vague. “This is exactly what I meant about respect. How dare you walk into my home and act like you have any right to decide who gets to be in my life and what I can or can’t do with them. I can’t be married to someone who treats me like that.”
I can see Mateo hanging back in the hallway, taking in our fight with wide eyes, but I don’t begrudge him for eavesdropping on the drama going down.
Luka’s eyes blaze. “Well I can’t be married to someone who’s fucking other men. It’ll ruin the whole ‘clean image’ goal, so if there’s something going on between you two, it needs to end right now.”
I shoot to my feet. “And I won’t be married to someone who’s fucking around, either! This isn’t just about your image. It’s about mine, too. I won’t be the laughingstock of the modeling world just because you can’t keep it in your pants.”
I don’t realize that we’ve moved closer to each other until I find him a breath away from me, both of us tense and glaring. He’s either going to kiss me or walk away—I can’t tell
“So, we’re doing this, then?” he asks.
I cross my arms to keep from touching him. “Are you asking me to fake-marry you?”
His face breaks into a smirk. “Yes. Officially.”
“Well then,” I say. “I guess we are.”
Brooklyn
Chapter 10
I picked out my dream ring and it’s almost too heavy for my finger, but I don’t care. It’s a four-carat radiant infinity diamond set in a diamond-studded rose gold band and I’m wearing this bitch everywhere. I’ve been dying to show it off on my Insta page, but we haven’t made an official announcement of our engagement yet, so my e-ring hasn’t made its social media debut. It’s been six weeks since we decided to do this thing, and it’s been a whirlwind ever since.
Luka’s family seemed pleased that he’d decided to go through with it.
They also seemed neutral that he’d chosen me. I’d gotten a call from Luka’s sister-in-law Tori, who was warm and personable, but she’d explained that she was going into finals week at UChicago and so I wasn’t surprised that we hadn’t spoken again after that. Nobody else had bothered to reach out.
While it wasn’t an outright rejection by any means, it seemed obvious that the rest of Luka’s family weren’t exactly overjoyed about the new addition to the Zoric clan.
Meh, not that it matters. This is a temporary arrangement, and at the end of it, Luka will have his clean reputation, I’ll have my modeling career, and the rest of the Zorics will have their business image healed. Everybody wins.
Luka, his brother Stefan, and their sister Mara—who everyone calls Emzee—are huddled together discussing our engagement photos. We’re inside the grand hall of the Chicago Cultural Center so Emzee can photograph us against the backdrop of the historic building. Stefan thought it would help our image even more to showcase our love along with our love of the city’s history, and to make a large donation to the Center in our name.
The more ostentatious philanthropy, the better. I could honestly get behind more of that.
The room has been reserved for our sole use for the next four hours and Team Zoric has been making a tour of the space, debating the best angles and how Luka and I should be posed. I’d love to tell them that the eastern wall is the best spot to catch the light coming in from the Tiffany-stained-glass dome, but the brothers are arguing now, and I don’t dare interject.
Maybe I could offer my suggestion to Emzee. Luka introduced her as a photographer, so I’m sure she’d be open to discussing the best way to position us, but what I really want is for the pictures to capture the exhilaration of the moment, the brightness of the light hinting at the brightness of our future. I want these photos to have a vibe.
I hesitate to approach her, though. For some reason, she’s done nothing this whole time but stare into space with the most impressive resting bitch face I’ve ever seen, and I get the feeling she wouldn’t appreciate my input. She’s stunning and vaguely rock ‘n roll chic with her pale skin, striking black hair, and gray eyes. Stunning, and frankly, a little terrifying.
“Listen up.” Stefan’s stern voice echoes in
the large, arched room. I snap to attention, following Luka’s lead. “I want to remind you two why we’re doing this and what’s at stake.”
“We know. We’re saving Danica Rose,” Luka says, sounding impatient. “Our legacy.”
I’m not sure what was said between the brothers to bring this lecture on. Nor do I want to find out.
Stefan nods, but he’s still tense. “We need to repair the Zoric image and turn the public’s opinion back in our favor.” He glances down at my left hand, where the diamond sparkles obscenely in the light, and then gazes at me. “I know it looks like a fairy tale to your social media followers—and to the rest of the world as well, thanks to our PR rep—but at the end of the day it’s a business deal. One that will require your very careful attention to succeed.”
“I understand,” I say seriously.
“And you.” He turns to Luka. “The time for fuckery is over. You need to be committed and responsible.”
“Sure,” Luka says.
“Luka,” Stefan growls, his voice a deadly warning.
“Okay, yes, I get it—committed and responsible. We’ve been over this a million times,” Luka says. “I told you, I’m in.”
Stefan takes a breath, and finally seems to relax. I’ve already signed my modeling contract with Danica Rose, and I’m in this to fulfill my end of the agreement, but I can’t help worrying that Luka may have said or done something to make Stefan think he’s not going to keep up his end of the bargain. I hope I’m wrong.
Seeing Stefan up close, I suddenly realize that what sounded like condescension a moment ago is probably just the verbalized anxiety of someone who’s under an extreme amount of stress and pressure. Luka had mentioned that Stefan was the one who turned their father in to the feds, and it’s obvious by the speech we just heard that the man has a lot of weight on his shoulders. Trying to repair the reputation of a company brought to its knees by such a huge scandal is no small feat.
Still, even though Stefan seems nice enough, I don’t totally trust him. He’s too eager to cover up his father’s corruption, sweep it under the rug, and make it all go away. He doesn’t seem like as much of an asshole as my future husband, but he’s definitely cold. I think back to my phone call with Tori, and I shudder to think about what it’s like for her to be married to Stefan.
“We’re both all in,” I reiterate, hoping to keep things smooth between the brothers. “Whatever it takes to turn things around for the agency, we’re here to help. Just tell us what you need.”
Stefan smiles, and it seems genuine. In fact, it transforms his chiseled features so completely that I almost think Luka could have some serious competition in the hottie department.
“I appreciate that,” he says. “And as it happens, I’ve got a list of places I’d like you two to appear after your engagement is announced,” he says.
“I can’t wait,” I say. I mean it, but I still catch Emzee rolling her eyes.
Stefan continues, “You’re going to get a lot of celebrity press, which is what we want, but we need to curate that and make sure the engagement is nothing but positive if we want to shift focus from the scandal. So going forward, don’t ever let yourselves be seen out in public together without huge smiles and lots of PDA.”
Emzee groans sarcastically and mimes sticking her finger down her throat. Stefan gives her the side-eye, his voice hard. “Something you’d like to add, Emzee?”
“I think it’s pathetic that you dragged me down here and made me cancel a gig with Chicago Reader to shoot engagement photos for a fake wedding. Why are we doing this again? Oh, right. Instead of pimping our models out as prostitutes, we’re pimping them out as wives. Fantastic.”
Ah. That explained the attitude. She obviously didn’t approve of the fake marriage. And despite her harsh, flippant comments about the prostitution, I’d bet anything that finding out about her father’s criminal behavior had been a bombshell that had probably destroyed her. No wonder she seemed so angry and aggressive.
“Ignore her,” Luka murmurs to me under his breath. I just shrug, even though I’m stung.
“Mara.” Stefan’s voice is edged with warning.
“Leave her be,” Luka interjects. “Let’s just get on with this.”
“Excuse me. I’m going to run to the restroom.” I don’t wait for their permission before I dart from the hall and find the closest ladies’ room.
The tension is through the roof, not at all how I used to daydream my engagement photos would go one day. None of this is the way I imagined it. Yes, I’m getting hitched to a super-hot, uber-wealthy celebrity type. But what we’re going to show to the world is an illusion. Someday, I tell myself, I’ll do it right. Have the love, the fairy tale, the dream. All of it.
Next time will be perfect, I tell myself as I check my lipstick in the mirror. Next time.
I arrange my curled hair over my left shoulder and mentally replay the moment I signed my modeling contract, which helps me to smile like my life is about to change irrevocably and for the better—which is exactly what I want Emzee to capture.
Then my brow furrows as I realize that my new sister-in-law probably hates me. Which is extra disappointing, since I was hoping we’d get along. As an only child, I always thought it would be fun to have a sister. It could have been a nice perk to this relationship, one that didn’t require the marriage to actually be real. I’d have a built-in buddy to help me navigate this crazy new world—someone to open up to, to have girls’ nights with, to support and be supported by.
Clearly that’s not going to happen now.
I take a deep breath and nod confidently at my reflection. Okay. I can do this. A couple of months from now, when I’m getting calls for assignments and my face starts popping up in national advertisements, I’ll know that getting through this was worth it. My goals are set and all I have to do is keep moving forward to reach them.
Feeling a little more settled, I go back into the hall and find Emzee has set up her tripod and is adjusting the settings on her camera. Luka waits by one of the arches. A beautiful cream-colored velvet curtain is draped inside the arch, which makes a perfect backdrop to my lace dress and Luka’s dark silver Armani suit, his hair perfectly combed to the side. His profile is masculine perfection and I swear I can see him in black and white, modeling that suit on a magazine page.
He’s barely spoken to me since we got here. I’m sure he’s nervous, maybe second-guessing things a little. It’s natural. I mean, we’re going to be tied together in a fake marriage. Of course we’re nervous. His gaze moves over me as I walk toward him. The sides of his mouth twitch as if he wants to say something, or smile, but he doesn’t.
“Face each other,” Emzee orders.
I move to do as she asks and Luka’s hands grip my hips, his fingers pressing into my hip bones and pulling me into him so our pelvises touch. His breath pulls in hard and slow as he drinks me in, and for a moment, I forget that Stefan and Emzee are even here.
“Not that close,” Emzee scolds. “This is for a PG-13 audience.”
I try to take a little step back, but Luka holds me tight. “No, this close. I want people to believe that I can’t keep my hands off her.”
“Whatever. At least you’ve got the ‘staring deeply into each other’s eyes’ part right.”
Emzee snaps some pictures and I panic a bit because I wasn’t ready. I’m not smiling because I can’t stop thinking about what Luka said, about not keeping his hands off me. The way he’s holding me so tightly, his breathing notched up, his eyes shaded with that veil of desire suggests that he wants to put his hands a lot more places than my hips.
His palms move up to my waist, his fingers drumming lightly over my lower back. I bring a hand to cup the back of his neck as my breath stalls.
“Smile, Brooklyn,” Emzee says. “Like you mean it this time.”
“Smile like you love me,” Luka whispers with a cocky grin, and then spins me so my back is against his chest. Heat pulses between my legs
as his arms come around my body, his hands clasping mine across my middle. My skin feels lit up, every nerve hyperaware of him and the feel of his hard, warm body against mine.
“Time to kiss.”
“What?” The word blurts from my lips.
Emzee doesn’t look impressed. “You need to kiss my brother, as horrible as that probably sounds for you.”
We face each other again, our eyes locking as Luka’s sister explains how he’s going to dip me low over his arm and kiss the hell out of me while she gets the perfect shot. Smile like you love me. What the hell was that for?
I don’t love him. And he doesn’t love me, either. He forgot me, for crying out loud. Doesn’t even remember the amazing sex we had three years ago. I’m just another hit-it-and-quit-it conquest for him. Yet here I am anyway, playing the part of happy fiancée, while holding onto a secret motive that makes me feel guiltier every second. Putting the ring on my finger has only made it harder to remember there’s another reason I’m in this fake marriage. And he’s going to do the one thing that could unravel the tightly wound resolve I walked in here with.
Luka slides his arm around the dip of my lower back, his other hand clasping mine. I let him tip me back, trusting him not to drop me, my lips parting as he leans over to press his mouth to mine.
He pauses, just a breath away.
And then his lips crash onto mine, firm and hot and hungry, his taste assaulting me. It’s intoxicating. I can’t help letting out a soft moan as my core floods with desire and longing, the pulse so strong that I press my thighs together to stop it. But I can’t. I’m at Luka’s mercy, completely defenseless in this position, with his lips locked on mine.
The room starts to spin, and I want to throw my arms around his neck and pull him on top of me, inside of me, right here on the carpet. I want his touch all over me.
He chuckles, low and intimate against my lips, as if he’s reading every dirty thought going through my mind. I don’t care if I’m smiling, or which way my hair is falling, or how well I’m positioned for the shot. I don’t care about anything but getting through this moment. Because lord help me, I want Luka Zoric more right now than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.