by Box Set
Also, “Don’t kick that damned football in my damned house.” But that mantra didn’t really apply here, and Nik had never listened to it anyway.
So, he pushed down his disquiet and decided to go with Aria’s insinuations, to let the conversation take the path she seemed to expect. “When people are especially determined, they struggle to take accept refusals. Which usually means I have to be unkind. I hate to be unkind, but especially to women. Hence last night’s fiasco.”
She cocked her head. “Especially to women?”
“Well, men are brutes. But all my life, women have been so sweet to me. And they are delicate.”
Aria gave a derisive snort, flicking a few stray, platinum hairs out of her eyes. There were ink stains all over her fingers. “You do realise that’s incredibly reductionist, right?”
He had no idea what that meant. She was, apparently, smarter than him. He was not surprised. “It’s what?”
She rolled her eyes, speaking slowly for his benefit. “Do I look delicate to you?”
Nik studied the little curve of flesh that spilled out between her arm and the strap of her vest. Then he eyed the dip in the bridge of her nose, the tilt at the edge of her lips, the way she angled her head just an inch to the right. “Yes.”
Aria coughed. Coughed some more. Grabbed a glass of water and choked it down. “Oh. Right. Okay.”
“To be frank, I cannot make a woman cry.”
“I highly doubt that any woman would cry because you refused to have sex with her.” He didn’t say anything, but something must have shown in his face, because a second later she spluttered, “Oh my God. Seriously? Are you serious? Women cry because you won’t have sex with them?”
“Not all the time.”
“What the hell have you got down there, fucking Excalibur?”
“I don’t believe size matters,” he said.
Aria stared. “I don’t believe you’re serious.”
“About size?”
“About anything.”
Well. In all fairness, that wasn’t generally inaccurate.
“However, this is an interesting problem you claim to have.” She brought a little bunch of grapes to her lips. He watched, every muscle in his body tensing, as she sucked a grape from its stem with a pop. Fuck. “Sounds more like you need a 24/7 bodyguard.”
What he needed was a position Aria could fill that kept her by his side at all times, or at least long enough for him to have a chance with her. For a moment, reality seemed suspended, as if he’d found himself at a crossroads.
Are you really about to do this? Because it doesn’t seem wise.
I want her.
She doesn’t want you. Let her turn you away. Better than lying, isn’t it?
He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure.
Give up, the voice whispered.
He didn’t know where that voice was coming from, but it had just said the wrong fucking thing. Nikolas Christou did not give up. Ever. He certainly wasn’t going to start by giving up on her.
Time restarted, life and sound blooming around him. Aria watched him expectantly, that ever-playful gleam in her dark eyes. He still didn’t know if she was laughing with him or at him. Did it matter, when the sight of her satisfaction felt like a reward in itself?
“In six weeks, my friend Alvaro is hosting a seven-day house party in Marbella,” he said. “It’s an annual thing, with my team.” His old team. He’d attend Varo’s blowout party one last time. And then he’d be done. Ready to face the next stage of his life, whatever it may be. “I want to go, but I can’t be bothered with everyone I’ve ever slept with expecting a repeat performance. So…” The words flowed easily, as if a devil were speaking through him. “So, I need you to pose as my girlfriend. To help, the way you did last night.”
Did it count as a lie if he kind of meant it, the moment he said it? No. Obviously not.
This isn’t why you came here. You’re misleading her.
Shut up.
Aria narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “And you don’t want to sleep with anyone because…”
Because I know you, and now the thought of touching someone else is making me feel slightly sick. “It’s complicated. I just retired—”
“From slutdom?”
Nik choked back a laugh. “From football.” He paused to see if that interested her at all. Nope; she was still focused on her pastry. Strange, for an Englishwoman. “I’ve decided to take this opportunity to overhaul my life. I’m turning over a new leaf, choosing a more mature path, not shagging everything with a pulse, etcetera. Which is where you come in.”
She stared, and he had the oddest feeling that she could see directly into his head. Nerves skated along his spine, a sensation he’d only ever felt before a match. This odd attachment he’d formed was fucking stressful, and it’d barely been twenty-four hours. Maybe if he just ignored it, if he left her alone and tried to forget they’d ever met, these tumultuous, indescribable feelings would pass.
But something inside him snarled violently at the idea. Hm. That was out of the question, then.
Finally, she opened her mouth to speak. Which, of course, was when the waiter came.
Chapter 4
Aria had breakfast to eat, a flight to catch, and exactly 0.00 grams of patience to spare for I get too much sex sob stories. It was a shame that such a disarmingly sexy man—a man so sexy she’d spent all night thinking about a goddamn kiss like a bloody teenager—was so utterly full of shit. But also, entirely expected.
She was just about to tell Nik he could go fuck himself when a waiter appeared, holding an enormous silver tray. The waiter nodded politely at Aria and murmured, “Madam,” before giving Nik a huge smile. Then he started unloading even more food onto the little table, taking Aria’s empty plates as he went.
“Efcharistó, fíle,” Nik said, grinning back at the waiter like they were old friends. He dug into a bowl of cornflakes while the guy backed away.
“Did you order that?” she asked, while sitting in a hotel breakfast buffet where no-one could order anything.
“No.” Nik bit into a slice of toast.
“Do you… come here a lot?”
He looked up at her, as if in surprise. “My mother owns the hotel.” He pointed to himself. “Nik Christou. Did I mention that? I thought I mentioned that.”
She stared.
He ate some fried tomatoes.
“You… are… a hotel owner,” she said finally.
“No. I’m a footballer. I’m a retired footballer.”
“Well, Jesus, pick a wealth source. That’s just greedy.”
He blinked. “The hotel isn’t mine. I don’t—”
“Oh, for God’s sake, never mind. Look, I don’t know what you want from me—”
“But I told you. I want you to be my scary fake girlfriend during a week-long party at Alvaro’s house in Marbella.” He grimaced. “I’m not good with social situations, to be honest. If it weren’t for my position and my…” He waved a hand in the air, probably to indicate his excellent body, beautiful face, and general sex appeal. “Truthfully, I’d never get anyone into bed. I don’t know how to speak to people. All I do is kick balls around and make bad decisions. I certainly have no idea how to let people down gently.”
He managed to say all this in a manner that sounded slightly self-deprecating, mostly amused, and somehow appealing. Or maybe that last part was more related to his smile, with those full lips and that strong, square jaw, and the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners. Whatever.
“If I’m honest,” he said, leaning forward in a way that made his broad shoulders seem like a brick fucking wall, “I have lived a charmed life. It has made me quite thoughtless, I think. I would sit back, and sex would fall into my lap. So, I took it. But really, that’s no way for a grown man to behave, now, is it?”
As if hypnotised, Aria found herself shaking her head slowly. “No,” she murmured, while her brain shouted, Why are you agreeing with him like any
of this makes sense? He is everything you should be wary of in this world, and he is feeding you the biggest crock of shit you’ve ever been fed!
Well. Except for the crock of shit Simon had fed her. Because nothing, Aria thought, could ever be so terrible as finding out that her boyfriend was actually a murderous stalker. So maybe she shouldn’t be too hard on Nik right now.
“So, you agree!” he said. “You understand!”
Of course she didn’t bloody understand. How could anyone possibly be so bad at saying No that they needed a fake fucking girlfriend to protect them from sex?
But then she remembered the panicked look on his face when she’d first seen him last night. And the way that soft, smiling mouth had turned grim when he’d thought he’d have to speak to whatsherface—Melissa. And, come to think of it, the way Melissa had chased him down, despite the fact that he was quite literally running away.
Maybe there were some downsides to being rich and gorgeous. And, Aria realised, potentially famous. She had no idea. She wasn’t into football.
“I kind of see where you’re coming from,” she admitted. “But ‘understand’ might be a strong word.”
He smiled. “Fair enough.” For a moment his expression turned oddly serious. It transformed his face from sweet and gentle to painfully intense. She didn’t like intensity. Except, apparently, on him. “It’s just that this party is important. I want to see my teammates again and pretend my life hasn’t turned on its head. That’s all. I don’t need the complications.”
Now, that she could understand. Aria was astonished to realise that she was starting to take him seriously, starting to actually consider this proposal. Which was absurd. And ill-advised. She shook her head irritably. “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m not running off to Marbella with some random footballer.”
“I’m not random,” he said hotly. “I’ve never missed the World Cup squad.”
She pursed her lips to hide a smile. “That’s great. Well done, sugar. I still have no fucking clue who you are, and ‘double-wealthy playboy beloved by all’ is not the greatest character reference.”
Surprisingly, he seemed enthused by that rather than offended. “Get to know me, then. We have six weeks. Spend them with me.”
Spend six weeks with a guy who’d gotten her wet with a single fucking kiss? And then spend another week as his fake girlfriend at some millionaire party in Spain? Aria had a history of making poor decisions—very poor decisions—but she wasn’t completely lacking in brain cells. “No.”
His face fell. “No?”
He looked so adorably disappointed, it almost hurt her heart. In fact, it did, like a tiny little arrow digging into vital flesh. Which was odd, since she didn’t actually think she had a heart. Just a gaping hole in her chest that was always ravenous and eternally empty, no matter how hard she tried to fill it.
See, this was why she embraced the whole princess of darkness thing. Sometimes, her brain came out with shit so depressing, it was almost poetic.
Still, the look on Nik’s face was unsettling enough that she found herself trying to fix it. “Maybe we could… email?” she offered. That was safe, right? Because, sure, when she looked at him, her pulse hummed with a rhythm that sounded a lot like Mine—but if he wasn’t actually there, that pesky beat would stop.
“Email,” he agreed. “Yes. Yes. Let’s do that. You’re smart.”
Aria had been fawned over by many men, but never one quite so handsome as him. Definitely not one who radiated raw sexuality like it was fucking cologne. The experience almost distracted her from the question she’d finally thought to ask.
“I’m assuming this… position would be paid.” She knew it would be paid. It better be paid. Because he was clearly loaded and slightly soft, and she had bills to deal with. So, so many bills.
“Of course,” he said. “I’ve never really done this before, but I was thinking £100,000.”
She shoved a forkful of eggs into her mouth to hide the fact that her jaw had dropped. Then she thought about the fact that, since Jen had moved out of their shared flat—and since a murderous stalker had covered their walls with blood—Aria was now living with her parents. Her Bible-bashing parents who quoted Leviticus every time she got a new tattoo, along with her teenage sisters, who were, at best, shrill. Then she thought about the tattoo apprenticeship she’d completed, and, for that matter, how much she wanted to open her own studio.
Also, she thought about the latest lip gloss collection from Dior.
She said, “£350,000.”
“Okay,” he replied. Just like that.
Fuck. Fuck. He was a footballer, for Christ’s sake. He probably made millions. She should’ve asked for more.
Wait—what the hell was she doing? Aria shook her head sharply, the reality of her situation falling like a ton of bricks. “You can’t be serious. This is not serious. This—”
“Google me,” he sighed. “I have the money. I play for Colston City. Google me.”
“I don’t want to fucking Google you,” she hissed across the table. “I don’t care if you have all the money in the fucking world! In fact, that just makes this even worse! Worse, and incredibly weird, and frankly dangerous!”
He stared at her as if she’d just climbed on top of the table and laid an egg. “Dangerous?”
“Yes! Because you are a man, and you’re wealthy and powerful. You giving me a lot of money for an incredibly odd arrangement would create a questionable situation between us. You could probably defend yourself in court by saying we agreed upon all kinds of shit, and that’s why you paid so much—”
“Wait, wait,” he interjected, brows shooting up. “Court? What do you think I’m going to do?”
“I don’t know what you’re going to do,” she shot back. “That’s the point! I don’t know you, I don’t trust you, and I wouldn’t have any guarantees in an arrangement like that!”
“First of all,” he said calmly, “you’re friends with Keynes, right? Well, so am I. He knows I’m not a secret murderer, or anything. And secondly, you would have guarantees. You’d have a contract.”
Aria sat back as her adrenaline drained away, leaving something shaky and anti-climactic in its wake. “A… contract?”
“Of course. I’m not just going to give you all that money out of nowhere. My accountant would throttle me, for one thing. This is a job. I’m totally prepared to do this aboveboard.” He paused. “Although there would be an NDA, I suppose. You have a lawyer, right?”
She almost laughed at that. “I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m a normal person. You know, poor. Poor people don’t have lawyers.”
He appeared to be holding back a smile. “I know. I was talking about Keynes.”
Oh, yes. Their mutual friend Keynes, who was, incidentally, a solicitor. “Whatever,” she muttered. “Fine. Yes, I have a lawyer.”
“Good,” he said.
“But I’m telling you now.” Aria waved her fork threateningly. “Don’t fuck with me. You’ll regret it. My uncle is a big-time gangster, you know, back home.” Her uncle was a used car salesman with an overbite from Lowdham.
Either way, Nik didn’t appear scared. Instead he seemed… concerned. His dark eyes turned gentle, almost as if he knew why she felt the need to say all this. As if he knew something had happened to her, that she’d once been a fearless woman and now she was only ever afraid.
“I’m asking you to help me,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t hurt anyone, but I’d never hurt someone who was trying to help me. And I’d rather die than hurt you.”
He looked so sweet, with those huge brown eyes, that soft, smiling mouth, and those big hands clutching a tiny mug of tea. She almost believed him.
But Aria, she reminded herself, was a terrible judge of character.
Dear Aria,
You mentioned (correctly) that we should get to know each other before we do this thing. And I thought, what better way to show you my deepest, truest self than a compilation of my fav
ourite Vines? Please find attached.
Yours,
Nik
Dear Nik,
You are, of course, right about me being right. And I agree that Vines are an important insight to the soul.
Which is why I’m sadly disappointed to find key, iconic Vines missing from your compilation. Either your research was shoddy, or your soul is underdeveloped. Please find attached a reflection of my own soul, and a far superior offering.
Best,
Aria
Dear Aria,
I want to argue, but your compilation is, in fact, way better than mine. See, I’m all about sportsmanship. I can lose gracefully.
However, I will not take this loss lying down. You may regret the day you ever dared to best me in anything remotely resembling a competition. Because you and I will now be trapped in this contest forever, while I do everything I can to prove myself the ultimate Vine master.
To that end, please find attached another compilation. If you can give better than that, hit me.
Nik
Dear Nik,
It’s on.
Chapter 5
Six Weeks Later
Jen: Remember to text me the address!!!
Aria: Don’t worry, I will. We just arrived, so I’ll send it soon. x
Jennifer wasn’t usually a triple-exclamation-mark kind of gal, but she was clearly feeling anxious about her best friend travelling to Spain with a retired footballer to pose as his fake girlfriend. Well, actually, Jen didn’t know about that, because Aria had signed an NDA. So, she was really anxious about Aria, known lover of fuck boys and literally murderous men, flitting off on a ‘romantic holiday’ with a ‘new boyfriend’ no-one but Keynes had ever met.
Which meant that Aria had to text Jen constantly this week, just to confirm her continued survival and ease her poor friend’s worry.
It was a damned good thing she was getting paid for this, or she’d be annoyed already.
Of course, the sultry heat of a Spanish afternoon went some way to alleviating that annoyance. So, did the massive 4x4 whose passenger seat she currently occupied, and the huge gated villa the car was pulling up to… and even the man in the driver’s seat.