by Melinda Minx
“My fiancée,” Liam says. “Amber Green.”
I guess James told him my last name.
There’s more silence, but then Liam strides toward me. Before I even realize what’s happening, his hand grips my waist, and he dips me down. I feel his lips pressing against mine, and my eyes widen in shock.
But then his tongue presses against my lips insisting on entrance, and his warmth and masculine scent overpowers me. My eyes start to close, and I submit willingly to his dominant kiss.
What the hell, this was not part of the plan! Or was it, and he just didn’t think it was worth telling me about it ahead of time? Asshole.
Asshole or not, though, this man can kiss. His strong hands grip my body, and even as my knees weaken, he holds me up. I press back against his tongue--I mean hell, why not?--and adrenaline jolts through every vein in my body. And then he pulls away, just as I’m craving more of him.
I try to compose myself, which is hard, because more than one hundred people are gaping at me in total silence. Some even have their mouths hanging wide open. Am I really that out of place among Liam’s social circle?
Then someone starts to clap, and more join in. Soon everyone is clapping loudly, and some people are whistling or shouting congratulations.
Liam grabs my waist and pulls me up against him. He leans in toward my ear and whispers, “You did well.”
Does he mean the kiss, or the acting?
“Do you see her?” he asks.
“Who?”
“Cynthia,” he hisses. “Did you forget everything already?”
I scan the crowd, and I see a woman staring daggers at me, even as she claps politely. Her eyes narrow when I look at her. She’s stunning and beautiful--of course--way better looking than me. She has regal cheekbones, long legs, a perfect hourglass figure, and luxuriously long black hair that shines like silk. It’s her icy cold blue eyes, though, staring me down that draws my attention and sends a chill down my spine.
I try to swallow, but it gets caught in my throat. “I see her.”
“Good,” he says. “That look she’s giving you? It means she’s for real. She’s not playing around.”
“You’ll protect me, right?” I ask.
He lets out a dry laugh. “Are you kidding? I’m paying you five million dollars to protect me.”
I glare at him. “Come on, Liam, you’re my fiance.”
He grins. “I know, and if she tried to actually hurt you, I’d protect the hell out of you. I got you into this after all. But whatever sly woman stuff she’s going to do, the best I can do is lead you along. You’ll have to defend yourself from that.”
I look at him skeptically. “Sly woman stuff? Is that really how you think of women?”
“I’m thirty and forced to pull off a fake engagement. Does it look like I was in a rush to get married?”
Fair enough.
People come up to congratulate us, but Cynthia Frost hangs back in the crowd, biding her time. She’s like a spider, spinning her web, hoping to lure me into it. Every time I look over at her, she’s watching me with those big, cold blue eyes. She’s trying to find my weakness just from watching me. I become extremely conscious of my bad posture, and I try to stand up straighter. Then I realize she’ll have noticed that, and--
“Relax,” Liam says, putting his hand on the small of my back. “I know it’s stressful, but if you overthink it, you won’t be able to swallow or blink without thinking about it.”
I remember being unable to swallow just a few minutes ago, and I force myself to blink.
“How can you stay cool in this situation?” I ask.
“I’m panicking ever so slightly,” Liam says. “I have to deal with major crises every single day. It’s part of being a CEO and being in charge of tens of thousands of people. This is just a little bit harder than usual, since it’s directly threatening my personal life.”
“My biggest hurdle on a work day is usually dealing with a drunk asshole at an event with no bouncers or security staff...weddings are the worst.”
“I’ll remember that if I ever get married,” he says.
“Remember what?”
“To hire security for my wedding,” he says. “Let’s just hope it won’t be a wedding to Cynthia Frost.”
“I thought you said you never wanted to get married,” I say. “At least you implied it.”
“Maybe when I’m fifty or sixty,” he says. “When I’m ready to settle down.”
I roll my eyes, and another of Liam’s friends--this one from the tennis club--comes up to congratulate us.
Playing the fiancée in front of so many people is building up my courage and giving me some practice, and I even start to forget about Cynthia.
Until she’s right on top of us. I didn’t see her approaching; she must have crept up when I was looking away. She really is like a spider, long legs and all.
“I can’t believe it,” she says, smiling at Liam. “Liam Lions finally tying the knot? I thought I’d never see the day!”
Liam smiles politely, dimples forming in his cheeks.
I try to mimic him, and I try to play it cool, but I realize I’m not blinking. I force myself to blink. And then to swallow.
“And to Amber here,” Cynthia says. “Totally out of nowhere! Doesn’t it just feel unreal, Amber, to be engaged?”
I finally get the saliva to go down my throat, but it hits the wrong pipe, and I cough. I cough a lot.
I wait for Liam to save me, but as soon as he tries to speak, Cynthia hits my back.
“One good cough will clear it out, sweetie,” she says. “There you go.”
I catch my breath, and I can tell my face is red now. I realize I’m off to a very bad start.
“It’s so unreal you choked!” she says, laughing. “That’s how you know you have something really special.”
“It does feel a bit unreal,” I say. I had to get some actual words out, or I’d otherwise be a mute and dumb coughing mess.
“It’s not really so sudden,” Liam says, sipping his wine. “I proposed over eight months ago, but I just didn’t want the media all over us straight away. The last thing I need is for the paparazzi to scare my fiancée off before she really gets to know me.”
Cynthia smiles. “Wow, eight months. That is a long time. There must be so much history between you two...so many fun little stories to share.”
I smile nervously. There was the time we met a few hours ago in the garden, the time Liam told me his crazy plan in the pantry and then proposed to me, and the time we kissed. Three stories to tell in just under two hours. Not bad.
“Liam,” Cynthia says, pointing to his glass. “Can you get me one of those? Amber doesn’t have a drink either, it’s no wonder she’s coughing.”
I look at him wide-eyed, trying to beg him not to leave me alone with her. He said I shouldn’t talk to her alone, but maybe it will look suspicious if he refuses?
Liam says in a calm voice, “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back.”
Damn it.
And then he’s gone, and Cynthia looks at me as if I’m prey that just landed in her web.
“So, Amber,” Cynthia says. “You’re not actually a bartender?”
I frown. “You saw me--”
“I mean,” Cynthia says, faking a sweet smile. “Not just a bartender.”
“Education,” I say. “I want to be a teacher.”
I say it with a confidence that I don’t really feel.
“Ah,” Cynthia says. “Good thing you’re marrying a billionaire then.”
I force a laugh.
“So you like kids?” Cynthia says, moving closer to me.
I feel a pressure on me as Cynthia shifts ever closer, now just inches away from me. It’s as if the physical closeness is trying to force me to share more with her than I’d otherwise be willing to. My back is pressed against a table, so there’s no room to retreat.
“I was thinking middle school or high school,” I say. “I wonder wh
at could be taking Liam so long.”
I scan anxiously around the room, but I can’t find him.
“Kids of your own?” Cynthia asks, winking. “I never thought I’d see the day that Liam Lions might settle down and have kids.”
I bite my lip. “We, uh, we’ve talked about it, but--”
“Is he still self-conscious about that silly birthmark?” Cynthia asks me.
“Uh,” I stammer. “Hah, you know.”
Shit, what birthmark? I haven’t noticed a birthmark on Liam, so it must be somewhere that I couldn’t see covered by a suit.
“I’m going to go look for Liam,” I say.
Cynthia forcefully grabs my arm, squeezing hard. “Tell me, Amber, where is the birthmark?”
Liam suddenly appears behind me, and as soon as Cynthia spots him, she lets go of my arm. Her eyes have not let go of me, and they are burning with anger, even as she fakes a smile.
“We were just talking about Amber’s studies,” Cynthia says.
No, we were just talking about Liam’s birthmark. One I’m guessing he does not actually have. No wonder he told me to keep my mouth shut; Cynthia is laying traps left and right. Still, I didn’t handle that particularly well, and even though she was probably suspicious of me anyway, she’s definitely suspicious of me at this point.
“Right,” I say. “Like I was saying, I think I can do more for students in middle school, but middle schoolers are just so difficult sometimes…”
Cynthia scowls at me. If she wants to pretend the birthmark conversation never happened, then so will I.
“I was a total asshole in middle school,” Liam says.
Cynthia laughs and puts a hand on his arm. “You are still a total asshole.”
I feel myself bristling when Cynthia touches him, but Liam takes a step away from her and wraps a hand around my waist. It feels good, especially when I see the look on Cynthia’s face.
“So you’ll invite me to the wedding?” Cynthia says. “Won’t you?”
The way she says the wedding makes it sound like she’s talking about some imaginary concept, like a fun trip to the DMV, or a clean toilet in a dive bar.
“Of course,” Liam says.
“So when is it?” she asks.
I look up at Liam, doing my best to follow the most important rule: keeping my mouth shut.
11
Liam
“We want to enjoy our engagement, so there’s no rush,” I say nonchalantly.
Cynthia stares daggers at me, which at least gives Amber a brief reprieve from her hostile gaze. She knows that I’m jerking her chain, that as long as we’re engaged I slip out of having to honor her contract. It was the one loophole I managed to iron into the contract, the one her lawyers didn’t catch. Now I’m exploiting the shit out of it.
“A nice excuse to wear this ring longer,” Amber says, laughing nervously. “It’s just so gorgeous.”
“You could afford to buy her something bigger than that,” Cynthia says, meeting my eyes. “Or did you have to make sure you found one with a return policy?”
I tighten my grip on Amber, as anger flares up from my gut. Who the fuck is Cynthia Frost to insult my fiancée? Even if this is all just an arrangement, she’s still my fiancée.
Just before I can speak, Amber says, “Any bigger and I wouldn’t be able to hold my arm up.” She laughs. “This thing is heavy, besides, I don’t want anything too gawdy, you know?”
Cynthia smiles. “Wow, you are just such a charming little fish that found her way from the sewer into the big pond.”
“Cynthia,” I warn, my voice deep and commanding. It’s the only warning I’ll give her.
She furrows her brows at me, and I can feel Amber trembling beneath my grip.
“Not even this crystal-clear water can wash that sewer stench off of you, Amber. I know what--”
Without warning, Amber sneezes, and the entire contents of her wineglass spills out onto Cynthia’s snow-white cocktail dress. Deep red stains soak into the expensive fabric, as Cynthia’s eyes widen in horror.
“Oh, God!” Amber shrieks sniffling, “I’m sooo sorry, Cynthia, I think I’m allergic to something in here.”
Cynthia’s hand trembles, and I see the wine in her glass swirling around, nearly spilling over the top. It looks like a grenade to me, the pin already pulled.
“Yeah,” Cynthia says, showing a smile that is nothing but teeth. “You’re allergic to class, you fucking bitch!”
And just before she flings her glass of wine onto Amber, I pull myself in front of her. The wine hits me squarely on the chest, drenching through my white dress shirt.
Cynthia shoots me one more furious look--she seems more pissed off that I was willing to take the hit for Amber than she is about missing her intended target--and she turns irately on her heel and stalks off.
Everyone around us has gone silent and is looking at us. Well, most people are looking at Cynthia, whose dress is stained and dripping with red wine, leaving a wet trail behind her as she stalks out of my house.
James appears out of nowhere with a towel, and I grab it from him.
“Well, that went better than expected.”
I reemerge into the receiving room several minutes later wearing a fresh change of clothes. The party is still raging on, but I’ve got more important things to worry about now. I’ll make one last appearance before calling it a night.
Amber is there waiting for me, and James is fiddling with the tea cups.
“Liam,” she says. “I’m so sorry. That was not--”
“You sneezed through your nose,” I say. “Your mouth was technically shut.”
She looks down at the floor, her face red with shame. “It was a fake sneeze, I--”
“I know it was fake, Amber,” I say. “Cynthia was way out of line.”
“Still,” she says, “I shouldn't have sunk to her level.”
I shrug. “It was worth a try, but I think she’s going after me either way. It doesn’t matter how well you behaved around her, she was going to go for my throat regardless. I thought it was worth a shot, but nothing you did messed up my plans.”
She sighs with some visible relief, as I sit down across from her.
I take a cup of freshly brewed tea and sip at it.
“What do you call this room?” she asks.
“The receiving room,” I say, realizing already that she’s going to give me some grief for having such a room.
“The receiving room.” She pauses. “Receiving what?” she asks.
“Guests,” I say. “The idea is, whenever you have guests over, you receive them in this room, so that’s why all the tea stuff is in here. If they are coming for a longer stay, you can invite them further into…”
Amber laughs. “I really am a sewer fish, aren’t I? Your whole world is crazy to me, Liam.”
I shrug. “You’ll get the hang of it.”
“So, uh,” Amber says, “I was wondering about that. How often do we see each other...to keep up appearances, I mean?”
“You need to move in,” Liam says. “Rich people may be old-fashioned, but it’s basically unheard of for someone like me to be engaged and wait until marriage to…”
She blushes, and her teacup clanks loudly onto the saucer. “God, Liam, I didn’t mean--”
“I know,” I say, grinning. “But it’s about what other people see. It’s all about perception. If you remain living at your own place and doing your own thing, it is going to scream ‘fake’ to everyone.”
“So which one of the twenty bedrooms can I stay in?” she asks, wringing her hands.
“There are plenty of spares in the east wing--”
“The east wing,” she says, scoffing. “Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds-”
“I know,” I say. “I’m just obscenely rich--you’ve made that clear--but as I was saying...the east wing is a ghost town, so you’d probably get scared.”
She rolls her eyes. “You think I’m afraid of the dark?�
�
I shrug. “I barely know you, honestly. Maybe you are afraid of the dark. Could be cute if you were.”
She bites her lip. “I’m not,” she says defiantly.
I narrow my eyes at her. Is she lying? “Well, there’s an empty bedroom near mine.”
“What wing is that in?” she asks sarcastically.
“The west wing.”
“Like the President,” she laughs.
“Sure. Would you prefer that one?”
“I’m not afraid of the dark, Liam,” she says. “But I don’t want to be in some empty wing by myself. That is scary even if it’s not dark. I don’t like big empty spaces.”
“Fair enough,” I say.
She definitely wants to be closer to me. I haven’t decided if I want to sleep with her yet. I mean, her body is hot, and she’s cute in general, but in some ways, I’d be back to mixing business with pleasure. Hell, she might not even want to sleep with me. Then I smirk to myself. She probably does, since what woman doesn’t want to, given the chance?
If she gets lonely, she can walk right down the hall and knock on my door. It would be hard to keep my hands off her at that point.
I wouldn’t want this to get too serious, though. My lawyers just need time to find a way out of the contract--probably some kind of settlement with Cynthia so I don’t have to stay perpetually engaged. Then I’m home free. If I sleep with my fake fiancée, then things would start to feel dangerously committed. Dangerously real.
And Liam Lions does not commit to one woman. It’s not my style.
“I’ll move in next weekend,” she says.
“You need that long to pack?” I ask.
“Yeah, I mean, I have to sort through--”
“I’ll handle it,” I say. “I’ll get James to send a guy over to your place.”
“You can’t even send a guy yourself,” she says, frowning. “You have to ‘get James’ just to ‘send a guy.’”
I sigh. “I don’t know the guy, James does. I pay him to not have to deal with shit like this.”
“Must be nice,” she says.
“You’re about to become a millionaire, Amber. You will get a feel for it soon.”