by Nadia Lee
“Any gossipy news creates a circus, but the fact that it’s me is adding the fuel to the fire. I’m surprised Elizabeth and Mom aren’t calling.” My sister might be busy with one of her feed the poor campaigns, but Mom… Oh, that’s riiiight… I sort of “forgot” to text her my new digits after I changed my number—again—this summer.
As Paige gathers her things, I open the door for her. She steps out. I don’t move, so she’s only an inch away, her body heat so sweet and alluring. All I have to do is dip my head a fraction, and her full, soft lips are mine to taste again.
Her throat works, and I can see the pulse throbbing on the side of her neck.
So she isn’t immune to me. I can—
“We should elope. Tomorrow. I can make all the arrangements.” She looks at me, then drops her gaze, mock-shy. “And you know, I always dreamed of a Vegas wedding.”
“And I always dreamed of a sauerkraut wedding cake.”
That elicits a low chuckle from her.
“What brought that on?” I ask.
“I just want to make my preferences known before you do anything else,” she says. “You didn’t warn me before you went ahead with the ring and proposal.”
“It’s called a surprise.” I put a finger under her chin and turn her head so she looks me in the eyes. “I want a ridiculously big wedding with all the trappings. The kind of wedding that will make every other woman in the world green with envy.”
She sobers. “Do you really want to spend that kind of money on a fake marriage?”
“I want it to look as real as possible until it’s over. And an elopement wouldn’t look real.”
“Didn’t your cousin elope?”
Wh—? Oh that’s right. Vanessa. “Yeah, but I heard she was trying to keep things quiet. We aren’t.”
Lines bracket her mouth, and worry darkens her eyes. Maybe it’s the money. Traditionally the bride’s father pays, but for fuck’s sake, I’m not having her—or her family—pay for a Hollywood wedding.
“I’ll pay for everything. And I’m getting an army of planners to handle every detail.” I smile. That ought to reassure her. “All you have to do is show up and look pretty.”
Chapter Fourteen
Paige
Just show up and look pretty.
It’s so easy, so tempting to believe.
“Paige.” Ryder reaches for my hand. “I promise, you won’t have anything to worry about while we’re together. I would never do anything to diminish you. Everyone will know you’re treasured above everyone—everything—else as my wife.”
His reassurance only makes me feel worse, and I can’t articulate why. He’s saying all the right things, the words I always dreamed of somebody saying to me. But they feel hollow and insubstantial. Maybe it’s because I know they’re all based on gratitude and him trying to be nice…nothing more.
Right now every sweet word feels like a piece of broken glass digging into my flesh. Nobody’s ever said those things to me when they really meant them, when they felt something genuine and lasting for me.
Stop overthinking and focus on what you need to do.
My head’s been a mess ever since the kiss, and I haven’t been able to process everything, not while I was in the same car with him, not while my panties are still wet.
I dig through my purse for my keys. The press got their little thrill. It’s time I get some space.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“I should go home.”
“How?”
I pause to give him a look. Is this a trick question? “Through the back gate? Just, you know…in reverse?”
“Okay, but do you have a secret entrance to your apartment? I guarantee there’ll be reporters at your place as well.”
There will? “How would they know where I live?”
“It won’t take them long to figure out who you are. Despite what you may think, you aren’t a total unknown in the city. Finding your address won’t be anything.”
My right hand flies to my mouth. “Oh no. Renni.”
“What?”
“My roommate. They’ll try to get to her too, to see what they can squeeze out of her.”
I can’t remember Renni’s schedule, but she’s probably working at the bar today. I text her, my fingers flying on the keyboard. Call me ASAP. Do NOT go to apt. Stay with Gary.
“If you want, I can have her picked up and stashed at a hotel,” Ryder says.
“It’s all right. She’ll be more comfortable with her brother.” Gary doesn’t have a roommate or girlfriend as far as I know. “I should take the service gate and go to Bethany’s place.”
Ryder shakes his head. “No fiancée of mine is hiding out on her own.” He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. His bare skin feels good and warm, and I shiver despite myself. My hormones stir again, demanding that I pick up where we left off on the terrace.
Except that was a terrible idea.
I told Ryder we’d keep our “marriage” situation professional. And it is imperative that we do so.
I’ve always been able to treat Ryder professionally because I never considered him someone I could really have. Some might call that a self-esteem issue, but I call it being realistic. He’s the kind of person who plows through women—in more ways than one—and discards them left and right. Everyone knows this, but women still throw themselves at him, as though they possess some kind of magical vagina that can turn him into a one-woman man.
Not me.
People don’t change. And I don’t expect Ryder to change for me. This is a year of show on his part so he can claim his grandfather’s painting, which I’ve come to see means more to him than anything else. And I’m going to save my parents the disappointment and embarrassment of having a failure for a daughter. We’re both a means to an end, and I’m not about to confuse his acting with what’s really real.
* * *
Ryder
Paige remains stiffer than a corpse as I lead her up to the third level of the house. It bothers the crap out of me. Maybe when she mentioned keeping things professional, she meant we shouldn’t even touch. Doesn’t she know that would look weird? Married couples are affectionate, right?
Really? What the hell do you know about married couples?
Dad and his wives are no role models, and Mom is hopelessly stiff. Uncle Salazar is anything but affectionate with his wife. Of course, they’re getting divorced.
Everything I know about married couples, I learned from Hollywood. To be more specific, movie scripts and shows that featured ideal couples.
I know Paige and I aren’t ideal. Our beginning is a mess, and it bothers me much more than it should.
Now I wish I hadn’t gone to anyone’s wedding.
The staff is scarce up here. They don’t need to be on this floor unless there’s cleaning to be done or something, and I only allow my most trusted and long-term employees at this level.
People think I’m indiscriminate and let the media get whatever they want on me. Truth is, I only drop crumbs of publicity when I want some…or don’t give a damn.
“Your bedroom.” I gesture, stopping before the double doors.
“Thanks.”
“Mine’s next door.”
“Okay.”
“In case you need anything.”
“Got it.” Paige rests a hand on the door handle. “Well…good night.”
I hesitate. I hate to end the evening like this. We’re engaged for god’s sake, even if it’s fake, but I don’t know what else to do with her if we can’t seem to talk without feeling awkward and we can’t have sex. After all, that is what women want to do when they get me alone, and that is exactly how I prefer things.
Still, unable to stop myself, I lower my mouth toward hers, only to have her change the angle, so my lips land on her forehead.
Her cheeks flush. The muscles in her neck tighten as she swallows, her gaze on my mouth.
Unless I’m reading her wrong, she wants me.
If it were another woman, I’d assume she was playing coy, but Paige has never been anything but straight with me. On the other hand, maybe she acts differently when it comes to sex.
For fuck’s sake, get a grip. I don’t care what the deal is. I don’t need to play any kind of game.
Maybe I’m just off because I never thought I’d get married. Not since Lauren.
Damn it. Don’t think about her.
All this mental masturbation is ridiculous. I smile like nothing’s wrong, say, “Good night, Paige,” and disappear into my suite…before I do something stupid like shove her against the wall and ravish her.
Chapter Fifteen
Paige
I stare at the closed doors, then slowly lean against the wall behind me for support. My legs are shaking too much for me to go into my room.
Avoiding the kiss was maybe the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. The heat in my blood makes me almost light-headed. I feel like there’s an inferno raging inside.
If you have him, maybe you can snuff it out.
I give myself a good slap mentally. I can’t afford to buy into a temporary fantasy. Ryder is an actor, and he probably just got carried away. We aren’t in public anymore, and there’s no reason for us to continue the charade.
Taking in a deep breath, I go into the…suite. It’s sumptuously appointed with hardwood flooring and multiple fans hanging from the extra-high ceiling. A couple of abstract paintings in shades of purple hang on the walls covered with pale blue and gold wallpaper. The wooden four-poster bed is a California king, way bigger than the humble twin back in my apartment.
A vase full of fresh pink roses sits on the low, glass-top table in the living room. I take one and put it to my nose, hoping the flower’s sweet scent will erase Ryder’s from my memory.
It doesn’t. In fact, it only serves to accentuate how masculine, how alluring, how irresistible he smells. I can’t even claim that it’s his cologne. He never wears much, and I have yet to encounter an artificial scent that can wet my panties or bead my nipples until they’re aching.
I stick the flower back in the vase and go to the closet. Hopefully it has something I can change into for the ni—
What the hell?
My clothes are hanging in front of me, all tidy and clean. I walk over to the bathroom, which has a double vanity and a hideously expensive toilet I remember custom ordering for Ryder from Japan. My cherry blossom-scented lotion—half-full just the way it was that morning—and my pink robe are there as well.
I explore and find more of my things. A lot more. So Ryder moved me out of my place sometime during the day. Apparently, this wasn’t something he thought important enough to mention.
Just because I agreed to marry him for a year doesn’t mean he gets to make all these decisions without talking to me about them first. I shoot to my feet, ready to battle my boss slash fiancé, but my phone starts ringing. Renni.
“Hello? Renni?” I say, girding myself for her anger.
“OhmyGOD! Paige!” She doesn’t sound upset. In fact, her voice is vibrating with excitement and energy and going two hundred miles an hour. “I just told Gary, and trust me, I almost died holding this news. I got a call from Mira Brasson. And she wants to talk!”
Wow. Mira moves fast. Guess she doesn’t want me to back out now that I’m beginning to realize the full implications of being engaged to Ryder. “Great!” I say, trying to match her elation. “I’m so happy for you!”
“I know, right? She’s one of the most powerful people in Hollywood. I couldn’t even catch everything she said because I was hyperventilating. What do I do when I see her? What if she thinks I’m an idiot for not remembering anything she says?”
“I’m sure she’s used to it.”
Mira told me once that an aspiring actor fainted in the middle of their first meeting. “I should start carrying smelling salts,” she said in a droll tone. “Least I could do, ‘cause I’m sure as hell not catching ’em when they fall.”
“Where are you?” I ask.
“At Gary’s. I stopped by after work.”
“Good. Stay there tonight if you can.”
“Why?”
“You didn’t get my text?”
“Yeah, uh…maybe. Was it something important? I can’t remember.” She sounds completely distracted.
“No, it’s okay.” She probably barely remembers how to use the phone in her excitement. I clear my throat. “I’ve, um, temporarily moved out of the apartment.”
“I know. I heard! From Mira, that is. I think it’s smart to lay low for now. You’re the number one trending keyword in social media right now.” She then goes on, her tone turning half-accusing. “Because you’re engaged to Ryder fucking Reed!”
I cringe. I guess my engagement is finally registering now that all the excitement over Mira is out of the way.
“I never even suspected you guys had anything going! And I read that thing, you know, about him doing those three chicks a couple of weeks ago? So of course I assumed he wasn’t dating anybody seriously. But I guess you can’t really believe everything you read these days. So many fake stories.” She lowers her voice. “But seriously, you have to tell me what happened. I thought you were just getting over Shaun. If I didn’t know you so well, I’d say you were seeing Ryder behind Shaun’s back.”
“Yeah…it’s a long story.” I’m not sure how much to say. I trust Renni, but no one can know about the arrangement being fake. It isn’t my secret to keep. “But I’ve been working for him for a while, and you know… Ending things with Shaun just freed me so I could move on and give in to what’s been building up between us for a while.”
“Holy cow! And you never said a word.”
“Because.” I clear my throat. I suck at lying, so half-truths are best. “I didn’t want to sound like one of those delusional women who think they have a chance with Ryder. Do you know how many crazy mails I get from people like that? Even a whiff of anything, and the press would be all over it. You know how it is with a star like him.”
“Right. Right.” Renni sighs. “Oh my god, it’s so romantic! Just like in a fairy tale. We have to meet to celebrate our good news. And Gary and I want all the scoop.”
“Okay.” I want to ask whether Pyotr’s been behaving since I saw him kissing another man in the car, but I don’t. If everything goes well with Mira, Renni won’t need to fake it with him anymore, and his indiscretion won’t be her problem.
I push all the fake stuff out of my mind. We should be celebrating her good fortune really. Renni is a great actress with an incredible work ethic. Mira can do wonders for her career, and I’m confident that the agent will keep her end of the deal.
“All right, I have to calm down and get some sleep,” Renni says.
“Good luck. You sound like you just mainlined a silo of coffee,” I tease.
“I know! But I have to! Otherwise I’ll be no good tomorrow when I see Mira.”
“Just need to be yourself. That should be enough to impress the hell out of any agent.”
Renni laughs. “Thanks, Mom.”
I hang up and toss myself on the bed. At least Renni’s finally getting what she deserves. I stare at the ceiling. I’m okay where I am. I put a hand over my belly. My baby’s going to be taken care of. That’s what matters.
Still, an odd pang reverberates through my heart, and I feel like a shitty friend and human being for not being happier.
Chapter Sixteen
Paige
Something beeps in the dark bedroom. I scowl. It’s barely six. I know this because my alarm goes off at six ten—so I can have that extra ten minutes of sleep.
I grope for my phone and finally grab the offending electronics. “Hello?” I mumble.
“Good lord, Paige, is it true?”
It’s Mom’s voice, and I rub my face. “Wha—?”
“You’re dating Ryder Reed?”
Sleep evaporates. I blink. “Oh. Uh…”
“We saw the
photos.” It’s Simon now. They must be on speaker. “Actually Mrs. Glenn called.”
The busybody of Sweet Hope. Sixty-four years old, and has nothing better to do since her retired husband’s too busy ignoring her.
I pull the covers over my head. Ugh. I thought I’d have at least the full morning to figure out a good way to tell Mom and Simon before the news hit.
“You’re a smart girl, so I’m sure you know what you’re doing. But Paige… That man seems to sleep with anything that breathes,” Mom says.
“I don’t think it has to breathe,” Simon adds. “Just warm. Reasonably shaved. Claims to be female—”
I pinch the skin between my eyes. This is not the kind of conversation I can have without coffee.
“Just what are his intentions?” Simon demands.
My alarm goes off just then, and I kill it. “Hold on.”
I swing my legs off the side of the bed and stump down to the kitchen on the first floor, my brain only half-functioning.
The kitchen’s already lit, and the chef, Jean Marco waves a paring knife at me.
I waggle my fingers. The ring catches the light and sparkles. It’s too beautiful, too special for what Ryder and I are doing. Even as a part of me fawns over it, a bigger part feels like a fraud.
“Need something?” Jean mouths.
“Coffee,” I mouth back, then shake my head. Ugh. I can’t drink coffee anymore. “Tea.”
She arches an eyebrow, but puts some water on to boil.
Mom and Simon are still talking, and I draw in a lungful of air. Coffee would’ve been better, but…
“Okay. Guys. Guys?” They finally shut up. “We’re engaged,” I say, staring as Jean dumps loose leaves into a bag.
“You’re what?” Simon’s voice booms, and I wince, pulling the phone away from my ear.
“Engaged. As in we’re going to get married.”
“Since when?” Mom asks.
“Yesterday.”
“I mean, when did this relationship start?” she asks.
“What about all those women he was seen dating?” Simon asks. “Mrs. Glenn said he destroyed a hotel suite a few weeks ago with a woman, and I’m certain it wasn’t you.”