Fiona scoffs. "Get a room."
Blake pulls back. He throws his sister a fuck you glance. "Where's Trey?"
She plays with her wedding ring. "A conference."
There's a sadness in her expression.
Her husband is off somewhere and Blake is throwing our relationship in her face. That must hurt.
Even if she seems… unpleasant.
"He couldn't be bothered?" Blake's voice is all protective older brother.
It makes my knees weak. First looking out for Lizzy and now for his not particularly kind sister. It's charming.
"Mom is tired today. Put in some face time before your speech, okay?" she asks.
"It's under control."
"No, now. I'm not sure she's going to make it through your speech." She looks me up and down, picking me apart. "Where exactly did you and Blake meet?"
I stare back with my best I'm madly in love with your brother look. "I bumped into him on my way out of an interview."
"Oh? You work. That must be a refreshing change, Blake," Fiona says.
Irritation flares in his expression. Okay, there's a hint in his eyes. But that's a lot for him.
"What do you do?" Fiona asks.
"I'm a waitress," I say.
Fiona fights something. Judgment. Or maybe solidarity. I'm not sure.
She looks to her phone. Frowns. "It was nice to meet you but I need to make a call."
Something passes between her and Blake. It's pure sibling magic. I do the same thing with Lizzy.
When their gaze breaks, she turns and leaves. Her steps are heavy. Frustrated.
And my heart is racing.
I'm still floating from that kiss.
It was pretend.
But none of this feels pretend.
Not anymore.
I grab a champagne flute from a passing waiter.
It's amazing. Sweet. Bubbly. Fruity.
I tilt the glass back, but Blake grabs my wrist.
He leans in to whisper. "Slow down."
It's a good idea. I need my wits about me. I need my inhibitions at full force.
I nod. "Of course, honey."
He presses his palm against my back as he leads me through the crowd. Everyone waves or nods.
Most look at me the way Fiona did, like they're assessing me. Deciding if I'm the love of his life or a disposable piece of arm candy.
I keep my eyes on the decorations. Sleek, abstract art in gold and silver. Totally incomprehensible, just like Blake.
We make our way to a row of seats in the corner of the room. There's a woman sitting in the corner, nursing a glass of champagne.
She's in her forties. Or maybe her fifties. I've never been good with ages. She's thin. No, she's tiny. Like she's disappearing.
She's pretty, well-dressed with perfect hair and makeup, but there's something off about her. She's pale. Not typical New York in the winter pale. It's more like she's ill.
Color spreads over her face as she sees Blake. Her eyes light up. Her lips curl into a smile.
She looks me over. Not like everyone else. Like she's happy to see me. Like she wants me to be good enough for Blake. To be everything for Blake.
She stands slowly.
Blake rushes to help her, but he's too slow.
She shakes her head. "My son has always been very protective." She turns to me. "You must be Kat."
"Yes." I struggle to meet her gaze. She has the same intensity that Blake does, like she can read my mind. "I've heard so much about you."
"Oh, you're so sweet to lie. If I know Blake, well, I doubt you've heard much about anything."
I smile. A real smile this time.
"Call me Meryl. And, please, none of that Mrs. Sterling crap. If you insist, it's Miss. Can't have any eligible bachelors thinking I'm off the market."
I go to shake her hand, but she hugs me instead.
Her head is pressed right up against my chest. Meryl is on the shorter side, and I'm wearing towering heels under my dress.
She laughs. "Ah! I see why my son likes you."
"Mom." Blake clears his throat. For a second, he sounds like a teenager complaining that his parents are embarrassing him.
It's incredibly endearing.
She laughs. "My son. It's not his fault, but he thinks I'm too old to notice these things." She turns to Blake. "One day you'll be in your late forties. You'll still be noticing breasts."
Blake's cheeks flush. Holy crap. His mom is embarrassing him. It's so normal.
Meryl shakes her head. "Dear, do you need to sit? Those heels look excruciating."
"I'll be fine. I'm on my feet all day."
"Really? What do you do?"
"I'm a waitress." I brace for a snarky comment. Meryl seems nice, but people with money, you never know if they look down on the commoners.
"Isn't it supposed to be server nowadays?" she asks.
"It's all the same, really." Though I'm not doing it anymore.
"You call shit roses, it still smells like shit." She laughs. "I used to wait tables at the nicest place in town. That's where I met the late Mr. Sterling."
"Oh?"
She nods. "You should have seen him. He dressed even better than Blake does. He was so flashy with his platinum watch. When Orson—"
"Orson, really?"
"I'm afraid so." Her smile lights up her entire face. "When he came into the restaurant, it was a commotion. All the girls wanted that table. It was the dream to marry a rich customer. Best way to get a better life. But I hated the asshole."
"How did you two end up married?"
"I've embarrassed Blake too much already."
Blake is still red. It's amazing. I can hardly believe that he's capable of any kind of shyness.
I lean closer and lower my voice to a whisper. "I won't tell."
"It started off as sex. It was about the only thing we had in common. We got caught up in the passion. Then I… well, Blake knows this story. I got pregnant. It was a surprise, but it was wanted. I'd always dreamt of being a mother. We married immediately. Things were different then. People didn't have children out of wedlock." She finishes her last drop of champagne and moves towards the nearest waiter.
Blake fusses over Meryl. He takes her glass. Shoots her a concerned look.
She shakes her head. "I'd better let you go, dear. I'm sure Blake wants to show you off."
"Likely."
She studies my expression. "I wouldn't fault you if you were after his money or his looks."
"I… Uh… It did start that way. Physically, I mean. But Blake's…" I look at Blake in the hopes he can rescue me from this conversation, but he's still finding another glass of wine. "He's wonderful."
"Really? He's always seemed… uncompromising."
"Sometimes. But I… I trust him to take care of me." At least that's not a lie. Not technically. I trust him to get me off. And that's taking care of me. In a way.
"Be patient with him. His father wasn't a good man. It's no excuse, but…" She shakes her head as she falls into her thoughts.
Blake arrives with two fresh glasses. He hands one to his mom and one to me. "Give us a minute."
I nod. "Of course. It was lovely to meet you."
Meryl nods. Neither of them speaks until I turn, and even then, it's too quiet for me to hear.
Even so, I can tell they're talking about me.
I can tell they're sharing a secret.
Chapter Ten
The bathroom is as beautiful as the rest of the hotel ballroom. The floors are marble. The mirrors are ornate. Modern art lines the walls.
I turn the shiny fixture to cold and splash my neck.
It helps.
A stall door opens behind me. Footsteps move closer.
I focus on applying another coat of lipstick. That berry color. The one that makes me feel like a sex goddess.
Fiona steps up to the mirror. She stares at the sink as she washes her hands. Her eyes are red. Puffy.
She's
been crying.
She looks to me as she grabs a paper towel. "I'm surprised Blake let you off his leash."
I force myself to smile. That might be a threat or it might be sincere curiosity. Either way, I'm selling myself as madly in love. "He can't exactly join me here."
"Hmm."
"He is protective."
"Try having him as an older brother."
"I can imagine."
"Every guy at our school was afraid to date me. They thought Blake would kick their asses."
"Would he?"
"What do you think?"
"Excuse me?"
"He's your boyfriend. You don't know how he reacts to jealousy?"
"That was a long time ago."
"Mhmm." She brushes her dark hair behind her ear. "No. Blake isn't violent. Well… not usually."
I swallow the question that rises in my throat. There's something she isn't saying. Something I'm not supposed to know.
She gives me another once-over. "I have to say. I didn't expect him with someone like you."
"Like me how?"
She pulls her lipstick from her clutch. "Blake is married to his job. He's worse than my husband. I always imagined him with someone who was the same."
"I love my work too."
"Waiting tables?"
"I'm an artist. I have a lot to learn. It keeps me busy."
She nods, accepting my story. Or maybe that's an okay, whatever you tell yourself nod. I'm not sure.
"Blake makes time for me." That's true. Sort of. "He wants to change things. He knows he won't be happy unless he does."
"I hope you're right. But you know what they say about men and change?"
"No. I don't."
"That's it. They don't."
Deep breath. This is a test and I need to pass. "I guess time will tell."
Fiona bites her lip. "Or does it not matter to you?"
"Excuse me?"
"You're a waitress. He's loaded. It doesn't take a genius to figure out he's got meal ticket written on his forehead."
"It isn't like that. I love Blake." God, this is a terrible confession of passion. I force a smile. I think of the things that make my heart race. The accident. The skyline against the sunset. The spring's first flowers. "He… he's not like anyone I've ever met. He makes me feel safe. He makes my knees weak. He's…"
She snaps her purse shut. "I hope you are telling the truth. For your sake. Because if you're not… you're going to regret using him. I'll make sure of it."
"I appreciate that you're looking out for him." Really, it's sweet. Even if it's at my expense. "I hope you enjoy your night." I drop my lipstick in my purse and I saunter out of the bathroom.
Conversation whirls around me. It's loud.
Everyone is looking at me the same way Fiona was.
What's he doing with her?
And what's she doing with him?
Someone that young—she's looking for a meal ticket? Just look at her dress.
You think she's a hooker?
Okay, I'm imagining things. I think.
It's funny. I never thought people would be looking at me thinking I was too pretty to be with someone.
It's almost nice.
But Blake isn't after my looks.
He's after my—
No, he's not after anything.
This is all bullshit.
I find a waiter and grab another flute of champagne. The bubbles burst on my tongue. They lift me higher. They make the room effervescent.
Now where is my adoring boyfriend?
He's not in the corner where he was earlier. Neither is Meryl.
I wander around the party, looking for him. But I don't see him anywhere.
Oh. There's a quiet balcony up ahead. That's perfect.
Someone steps into my path. Declan, Blake's old friend.
"Hey, Kat. Blake is about to give his speech."
"I'm just going to get some air," I say.
He pats my shoulder. "Nonsense." He leans in close and whispers, "I have it on good authority that he mentions you in it."
Oh.
We're moving up the timeline.
That must mean…
I swallow hard. "Of course."
I follow him into the main room. Grab another glass of champagne and drink quickly.
This is too fast.
I'm not ready to be a fiancée.
Declan pats me on the back. He nods to a small stage. Blake is standing there. He's holding up his own glass of champagne like he's about to give a toast.
He scans the crowd. His eyes rest on mine. They fill up with love.
Like this is real.
His smile spreads over his cheeks.
That's how I know it's fake.
Blake doesn't smile.
I press my nail into my palm.
He doesn't love you.
He'll never love you.
This is all pretend.
"I know we're all very excited about the new Photos feature. I'd love to praise the dev team—you're all fantastic—but this is a party." He lifts his glass. "Let's skip to something interesting."
Everyone laughs. And lifts their glasses.
Blake finishes his in one long sip. It's not like him. Not like the Blake I know.
He wipes sweat from his brow.
That isn't like him either.
Blake doesn't get nervous.
His eyes meet mine. They fill up with something, something real.
The flutter in my stomach builds.
Lightness spreads through my fingers and toes.
I forget everything but those deep blue eyes of his.
"My priorities are different nowadays." He steps off the stage. "There's something, no, someone I love more than Sterling Tech."
The crowd parts until it's a straight shot between Blake and me. Good thing his mic is cordless, because I can't move a muscle.
He walks to me slowly.
He hands off his champagne glass.
The expression in his eyes is pure love.
I believe him.
I believe everything.
He takes my hand and strokes my fingers. "Kat, I love you more than I've ever loved anyone."
My stomach flutters.
This is pretend.
But my body can't grasp that.
My body is on fire. It's demanding him. Not just the heat of his touch, but the softness of his embrace.
"You make the happiest man alive." He drops to one knee.
I force my lips into a smile.
Blake pulls a ring box out of his pocket. "Will you marry me?"
It's a solitaire on a platinum band. Four carats, five maybe. Sleek, like everything else he owns.
The room goes quiet. Every ounce of attention is on us. I catch glances from his mother. Her mouth is hanging open, but there's no mistaking the joy on her face.
I go for a big smile. I throw my hands over my mouth like I can't believe my luck. "Of course."
His eyes stay glued to mine. He slides the engagement ring over my finger and rises to his feet.
Blake leans into a kiss. Our lips meet and fireworks explode inside my body. But it's fake. Everything but the ring is fake.
I'm engaged to Blake Sterling.
This is either the best decision I've ever made or the biggest mistake of my life.
Chapter Eleven
Lights flash. Cell phone cameras click. An actual shutter closes and opens.
We're a spectacle.
Of course we're a spectacle. A public proposal is always an event.
Blake is already at my side, his arm around my waist, his expression cool and aloof. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was a robot with only one programmed facial expression.
He's not. There's more to him, other shades. I've only seen them briefly, but I'm as sure of them as I am of anything.
Blake waves at the crowd. "If you'll excuse me, my fiancée and I would like to be alone. To celebrate."
Some p
eople laugh. A few cheer. Everyone knows celebrate is code for have crazy, hot, we-just-got-engaged sex.
It's romantic. We're committing to forever. We're promising to proclaim our love in front of everyone. It's beautiful.
Except it's bullshit.
I force my lips into a smile. I force my gaze to my ring. It catches every bit of light in the room. It mocks my decision to choose money over integrity. Over honesty and love and affection.
I don't believe in karma, not usually, but I can't fight the sense I'm sealing my fate.
I'm mocking love. I'm mocking marriage. I'm mocking lifelong commitment.
My parents loved each other. Even after twenty years of marriage, they were madly in love. They still smiled and giggled like teenagers.
They even died together.
It was better that way. For them. They would have been lost without each other.
But for me…
It's been three years since the accident that killed my parents and left Lizzy in critical condition for weeks. I've been holding things together for three years, and I've never really found my footing. Everything is too expensive. And there's never enough time.
I need Blake's money. I know that.
But this gorgeous, expensive, showy ring makes me want to hurl.
It's the most beautiful horrible thing I've ever seen.
Blake's grip around my waist tightens. It's a little possessive, sure, but that part is for show.
I think.
The crowd parts for us. No, it's parting for Blake. He has that effect on people. They bend to his will.
Cool air hits my face as Blake pushes the doors open.
I lean into Blake's touch.
I soak up all his warmth.
And I hate that too.
My gesture is a lie.
I force my gaze away from the ring. We're at some fancy hotel uptown. The streets are quiet. The limo is parked at the curb. And, there, in front of it, are bare trees. But there are tiny white buds on the tree at the end of the street.
It's a cherry tree. It's almost the season.
Blake opens the limo door for me and helps me inside. Then he's on the opposite bench. He pulls the door closed. It shuts out the sounds of the party.
Soft white lights glow. This really is a beautiful limo. Sleek. Like all his possessions.
Like the ring.
Like me. I'm close enough to something he owns. A woman under contract. He doesn't strike me as the type who would think of his wife as his property, but you never really know. Rich people are awfully entitled. The men especially.
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