Skye: an enemies-to-lovers, marriage of convenience, and fake relationship stand alone romance (Signature Sweethearts)

by Kelsie Rae

  “You’re gonna have to convince me, ‘cause I’m still kinda mad at you,” I voice out loud.

  Pushing my hair over one shoulder, Liam digs his fingers into my muscles. His expert touch makes me wanna melt into a puddle on the floor, and I’ve only experienced his ministrations for maaaybe two seconds. But they’re the best two damn seconds of my life.

  A moan slips past my lips as I roll my head forward and press my chin to my chest to give him better access.

  “Ooo…,” I mumble under my breath.

  “Feel good, baby?”

  “Uh-huh,” I moan a second time, ignoring the pet name that was probably only for Gabri’s benefit. Because it sure as hell wasn’t for mine. “Fake Husband, you are way too good at that. How come you’ve never treated me to a massage before? Huh? I feel jipped.”

  And turned on. Sooo turned on.

  But I keep that part to myself.

  “I promise to give you a longer one once we get back to our place. How does that sound?” he murmurs quietly. I don’t know why, but as his hands touch me, and his deep voice rolls over me in the best way possible, the room around us disappears.

  For about two more seconds.

  “Fake husband?” Gabri interjects, bursting the little bubble Liam had enveloped us in as soon as he started touching me. The sound of Gabri’s accent doesn’t warm me the way it did a few minutes ago. With a sigh of disappointment, I open my eyes and answer him.

  “Uh-huh. He’s my fake husband. We’re in a fake marriage. With a fake ring, and fake vows, and fake promises that neither of us intends to keep. Wait, I take it back. The ring is real. It’s just gaudy and not my style at all. I mean, it’s pretty but––”

  “We should get going,” Liam cuts me off.

  “Only if you promise to keep your magic fingers on me.”

  He laughs. “Deal. Come on.”

  With Liam’s help, I stand on wobbly legs, finally understanding the whole walk the line thing that police officers do when they pull you over. Thank goodness I’m not driving. I chuckle under my breath when I finally get myself balanced, then hold my head high and walk out into the sunset and out from beneath the awning. The warm breeze feels good against my face. I close my eyes as soon as it whispers against my skin and lift my head to let the sun kiss my cheeks.

  Yes. Being drunk is nice.

  “Come on, Skye.” Liam’s hand presses against my lower back, nudging me toward the car.

  With my eyes still tightly shut, I admit, “I don’t want to go back to our place yet.”

  “Well, I think you’ve had enough wine for one day. Pretty sure Gabri poured two bottles into your glass. It’s called wine tasting, not wine guzzling.”

  “I’m fine, Liam. Weren’t you the one who told me that getting wasted was an experience that shouldn’t be missed? How are my inhibitions right now? And those insecurities, eh? ‘Cause I’m still feeling pretty pissed at you, so I think I need another bottle. And why aren’t you all wobbly walking, huh? Didn’t you have any of Gabri’s Rooster? I mean, I know he had the hots for me, but he seemed like a pretty generous guy. I’m sure he gave you a lil’ bit too, right?” I laugh before turning on my heel and whispering in a loud voice, “Did you like Gabri’s Black Rooster, Liam? Did it make you feel all warm inside like it did for me? Is that why you asked me to fake marry you? ‘Cause you like roosters more than hens?”

  Ha! I’m so funny.

  Giggling, I stumble toward the car, supremely pleased with myself only to find the door locked.

  “Blast,” I curse.

  “Come on, babe. Let’s get you home.”

  There’s that word again. Babe. Like I mean something to him. Unable to restrain myself any longer, I turn on my heel to face him.

  “Don’t act like you care about me,” I spit, my earlier amusement evaporating.

  Liam’s gaze darts around the area before leaning forward and whispering, “I do care about you. You’re my wife.”

  “Your fake wife, remember?”

  He flinches back as if I’ve slapped him with a simple four-letter word.

  Fake.

  We’ve both said that word more times than we can count on this little ruse of a honeymoon. I’m not sure why it surprises him that I’ve said it another time. I also don’t know why my entire chest feels like there’s a boa constrictor squeezing the life out of me.

  Is it hot in here?

  Maybe that’s another symptom from the alcohol. Regardless, I don’t like it.

  “Yeah. Fake. It started out that way, but despite how much of a pain in the ass you’re being today, that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about an alternate universe where I could do this all over again and make it real.”

  I open my mouth to argue when his forefinger brushes against my lips. When did he get so close? And why am I not backing away?

  “And before you argue with me, blaming it on some bullshit liquid courage excuse, I barely even had one glass, okay? Gabri was a stingy bastard to everyone else in that room except you. So let me ask you this.” Removing his finger from my mouth, he tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear then cups the side of my face. “What if this was real?” The question hangs in the air, shocking me to my core while making the alcohol that was flooding my veins evaporate into thin air. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this sober in my entire life.

  Still, I bite my tongue.

  It feels real, I want to say. It feels so damn real I don’t even know what to do with myself. But it’s not. It can’t be real because it didn’t start out that way. Not for you. And not for me, either.

  He can see my answer even though I don’t voice it out loud, and I can see the determination spark behind his eyes.

  “What if I want this to be real?” he murmurs, his voice laced with determination. “What if I want the real deal with you? What if I want to give this a real shot? What if I want to be your real husband instead of this fake shit we’ve been fooling ourselves with? You keep bringing him up like he’s this elusive god or some shit, but what if you gave me a real chance, instead?”

  “That was a lot of what-ifs,” I point out.

  “Yeah. It was. But it’s true.”

  My breathing is shallow as I actually consider giving him a shot. A real one. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, and I’m not delusional enough to say I haven’t considered pursuing something real with him…if we were somehow in a different universe where second chances were an actual possibility. Or maybe it’s not a second chance I’m wanting, but a do-over. Is that too much to ask? An opportunity to meet him like a normal girl and have him fall for me the same way Anthony fell for my sister? Squaring my shoulders, I peek up at him and ask, “Do you think you can give those to me? Those what-ifs?”

  He lets my questions sink in for a solid three seconds before murmuring, “Yeah. I think I can give you those what-ifs…if you’re willing to let me. But maybe you should answer that when you’re a little more sober.”

  “Then maybe you should’ve brought it up when I was,” I counter, popping out my hip.

  He laughs. “Touché. Let’s get you in the car. We need to stop by a pharmacy for some water and painkillers, and then we’ll get you some rest, okay?”

  “Is this you trying to take care of me?”

  “I guess it is.”

  “Sounds like a foreign concept for a guy like you.”

  Chuckling, he opens the door for me. Apparently, it wasn’t locked, just drunk-proof.

  “It is,” he agrees with a smile as I stumble into the car. “But maybe I was just waiting for the right girl to come along. Ever think of that?”

  “Then why did it take you so long to figure it out?”

  “Because I was scared of what the truth could mean. Not a single person on this Earth has ever given me a real shot. And neither have I. Not before this exact moment. So tell me, Skye. Do you think I’m a dumbass who’s lost his only shot with his fake wife whom he’d like to pursue something real with?”
<
br />   I chew my lower lip as I consider the question. “Yes, you’re a dumbass. But, no. You haven’t lost your shot. Now, take me home because this car is spinning faster than those rides at the carnival.” My face scrunches up in disgust before I squeeze my eyes shut. A warm body presses against my side. Resting my head against his shoulder, I concentrate on my breathing and pray that I’ll make it back to our Airbnb before I lose my cookies all over the leather seats.

  Although let’s be honest, I might be fighting a losing battle.

  Minutes later, I learn I’m right. I totally lost. And I lost hard.

  Damn Black Rooster.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Liam

  The pungent smell of vomit clings to her hair as I hold it back in my fist. Skye’s tiny body heaves on the bathroom floor as she expels another round of wine from her stomach.

  “This is all your fault,” she groans after a few minutes.

  A breath of laughter escapes me as I reach for a wet washcloth and wipe her face. At least we’ve made it back to our place so I can have a little more control over everything.

  “How the hell is this my fault? If you’re looking to blame someone, maybe you should yell at Gabri for giving you so much Chianti in the first place.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Nope. I blame you. You’re the one who pissed me off.”

  “Never drink when you’re angry, babe. I believe the term you used was…substance abuse?” When her gaze narrows, I add, “I’m kidding! Blame me all you want. I was an ass, and I’m sorry for the hell I put you through, including the fact that I kind of encouraged you to drink too much, which led to puking your guts out for the last fifteen minutes.”

  She groans. “Don’t remind me.”

  I take in the smudged mascara beneath her eyes and her pale, heated skin. Even though she looks like a mess, my chest still swells with affection. She just agreed to be my mess. And she’s still the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen. “Will you forgive me?” I ask in a quiet voice.

  Grudgingly, she gives me a single nod. “Fiiine.”

  “Thank you. Now let’s get you some rest. Hopefully, you’ll remember our conversation tomorrow so that I don’t have to pour my heart out a second time, yeah?”

  Her pouty little mouth tugs into a smile. “I dunno. I think it might be cute to see you do it a second time.”

  Dragging her into my arms, I guide her to the bed then tuck the covers around her. “You find way too much enjoyment from that, Wife. Get some rest.”

  “Just wife?” she asks with hopeful eyes.

  Tilting my head, I silently ask what the hell she’s talking about. She reads me like a book and clarifies, “You didn’t say, ‘fake wife.’”

  “That’s because I want the real deal. As long as it’s with you. Goodnight, Skye.” Brushing my lips against her forehead, I let her drift off to sleep while praying I don’t screw this up the same way I’ve screwed up my entire life.

  The chances are pretty slim, but I’ll give it my best shot, regardless.

  I wake up beside a tiny lump on the mattress. Curiously, I push onto my elbows to get a better look and see a disheveled mess of beauty. Her blonde hair is tangled across the pillow, her eyes are still caked in yesterday’s makeup, and her pouty mouth is barely open as she releases a slow, steady breath.

  The girl is out cold, and I have no idea how long she’ll stay that way. Hopping in the shower, I wash my hair then rinse off yesterday’s grime. Once I’m dressed, I grab my wallet and keys, locking the apartment door behind me. Coffee and a croissant will help soak up a bit of the alcohol in Skye’s stomach, but first, I have a stop to make.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Skye

  Like a baby Greyhound, the smell of coffee pulls me from my crappy rest.

  “Hey, sleepyhead,” a deep voice rumbles.

  I slept like shit. I don’t care what other people say. Alcohol does not lull me to sleep like a little baby.

  How disappointing.

  I’ve also decided that getting bombed is not all it’s cracked up to be. I tossed and turned the entire night, my stomach rolling the whole time as I searched for a comfortable position that didn’t make me want to hurl. I don’t think I really fell asleep until early this morning. Still, the familiar smell of caffeine, combined with the husky voice beside my ear, is enough to rouse me from a restless slumber.

  Cautiously, I peek one eye open to see a superhero hiding in a dark T-shirt and worn jeans that hang low on his hips.

  “Hello, Husband,” I greet him with a soft smile.

  He grins back at me. “Hello, Wife. How are you feeling?”

  “Much better now that I see a cappuccino in my future. Why is the coffee so much better here?”

  Shrugging, Liam gently sits down on the edge of the mattress, balancing two cups of coffee and a brown sack that I assume holds the rest of my breakfast.

  “I dunno why the coffee is so much better here, but you should take advantage while you can because you’ll never be able to enjoy it the same way once we get home.”

  Home.

  The word sounds foreign when he says it like that. I can’t decide if it’s because I’m imagining things, and he’s only innocently mentioning the United States of America, our home country, or if he might mean something else. Something that might hint at a future together. A real future together.

  Hesitantly, I sit up and rest my back against the headboard behind me. Liam offers the paper cup to me, and I take it. It’s warm against my hands. Lifting the coffee to my nose, I breathe deep before taking a sip and smiling when the creamy liquid melts in my mouth.

  “Mmm…,” I sigh as I clutch the cup to my chest and look at Liam. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it. Here. Take these.” He hands me a couple of white pills that I assume are the same as the ones he shoved down my throat before I passed out last night. With another smile, I pop them into my mouth and swallow. Dr. Liam is a helpful little guy, that’s for sure.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks again while assessing me with a concerned expression after I’ve followed his initial orders. I’m sure I look like a train wreck, but there’s no use stressing over it. He’s already seen me at my worst when I was puking my guts out.

  Raising one shoulder, I admit, “Pretty sure I got most of it out of my system last night. Sorry about that, by the way.”

  “Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  “Uh, yeah, I do,” I laugh in an attempt to hide my awkwardness. “No one likes cleaning up someone else’s puke, and I’m pretty sure I missed the toilet that first time.” My nose wrinkles as the memories slowly start to resurface. “Oh. My. Hell. Did I really say I wanted to taste more of Gabri’s Rooster?”

  His deep laughter is all I hear in response as he slaps his knee in amusement. I’m pretty sure I’m going to die from embarrassment, but it would be worth it to see the carefree man in front of me. The laugh lines clearly etched on his face are such a stark contrast to his usual brooding, asshole expression that I’m speechless.

  Yep. Happiness looks good on him.

  “I forgot about that part,” he admits through bouts of laughter. “Not gonna lie. I was pretty pissed at you when it all happened. But looking back, that was funny as hell.”

  “I’m glad you’re amused.” I sulk before taking another sip of delicious coffee.

  “Aww, come on, Skye. It was hilarious. You probably made that guy’s week. Not sure he’s used to women begging for his Rooster.”

  Smirking, I quip, “Bet you’d be surprised. Gabri was a babe. An Italian babe.”

  His laughter stops, and he narrows his gaze. “Careful, Wife. You might make me jealous again.”

  “You? Jealous?” I tease. “Nah. Not possible.”

  “I didn’t think it was, either. Then I experienced it firsthand last night.” He shudders. “I wasn’t impressed.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Uh-huh
. Tell me, Skye. You obviously remember Gabri and puking your guts out last night. Do you recall anything else?”

  The hope in his eyes is the most flattering thing I’ve ever seen. It’s warm. And hesitant. Like a little kid who’s expecting coal on Christmas morning, yet can’t help but pray for presents, anyway. And it kind of makes me wanna hug him. Yesterday’s memories are like a watercolor painting. There are definitely blurry moments, but I still remember the highlights, and I assume that’s what he’s referring to right now.

  “You mean a little somethin’ somethin’ about dropping the whole fake thing?” I mention casually before taking another drink of coffee.

  “Yeah.” His attention drops down to my mouth as I lick my bottom lip. “That.”

  “Uh-huh. I think I remember a thing or two about that particular piece of the evening.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Mmmhmmm,” I hum.

  “And what are your thoughts on that particular piece of the evening?” he prods.

  “I think that drunk Skye and I are pretty much on the same page.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Mmmhmmm,” I repeat, enjoying the way it makes the man beside me lean a little closer every time I do it.

  “So, you’d be open to dropping the whole fake part?” Reaching for my cup, he sets both coffees on the bedside table along with the brown sack.

  Barely able to contain my smile, I nod. “Yeah. I think we could try that and see what happens.”

  Crowding me on the bed, he cages me against the headboard with his strong arms on either side of my face. “Good answer.”

  Then he kisses me. Or tries to. Instinct and self-preservation kick in, giving me no choice but to turn my head so that his delectable mouth misses its target and lands on my cheek.

  With a distressed chuckle, a confused Liam rests his forehead against the headboard then mutters, “What the hell?”