by Kim Karr
“Yes, of course, I will,” Julius responds. Knowing his Grandmother is listening, he’s obviously on his best behavior.
I sigh as I watch him close the door, knowing the dark side of him is sure to emerge once again. “What’s going on?”
He leans against the wall, folding his arms across his broad chest. “The IPO is taking place tomorrow.”
“That’s great,” I tell him, full of genuine happiness for him. “But what does that have to do with us leaving?”
“We are leaving for London at five tonight.”
“London, why?” Not that I don’t want to go, but why am I going?
“It’s a business trip. I have to meet with the new investor in the morning to sign the deal, and you need to come with me.”
“You want me to travel overnight with you?” I croak in disbelief.
“Yes, on a business trip,” he repeats impatiently. “Nothing more.”
“Why do I have to go?”
His sigh is full of impatience. “So we can take this charade up to the next level. The public whirlwind romance we’re about to create will keep Raquel so occupied, she’ll have no idea what’s really going on.”
Seriously? “Maybe you should bring Katerina? That would keep Raquel very occupied as well, as she wonders what happened to her scheme.”
A dark brow rises in a challenge. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Ophelia. But for the record, I walked Katerina to her car and said goodbye with a handshake after the Garden Party last weekend, and I don’t plan on seeing her again.”
As if I care.
Okay, perhaps I do care, but I won’t tell him that.
Ignoring his condescending tone, I move on and ask, “Why do I have to go with you?”
“I already told you, to get the rumor mills spinning and keep Raquel off the real trail.”
“What happens after you sign the deal?”
“The news gets announced, and Raquel goes ballistic.”
“When is this happening?”
“Tomorrow at three p.m. States Eastern Standard Time.”
“Then what?”
“We’ll be at the Ball when news of the IPO is released. I think it would be a good idea if you break it off with me there, in public. We can come up with some bogus reason.”
“Okay, but why bother? The game is over by then.”
“If you pretend you didn’t know anything about the deal, you might be able to keep your job at Wimbledon Life.”
Slowly crossing the room, I stop directly in front of him, so our faces are only inches apart and stare right into his eyes. “I’ll go with you to London, but I want to finish the article I’m writing for your grandmother before our pretend relationship ends.”
His eyes narrow at my nearness, but he holds my gaze. “That’s not the plan I just laid out.”
“No, but if you want me to continue to be a distraction, you’ll let me finish the story.”
“Why do you want to do that, anyway?”
“Because I respect your grandmother and want to tell the world what she wants them to know about her.”
A look of both apprehension and appreciation crosses his face. “I’m going to trust you. Don’t make me regret it again.”
“I hardly think I could make you do anything,” I tell him, as I step around him and open the door.
It’s become very clear to me that whatever he thinks of me, I can’t change it. However, I can show him that I’m not the villain he thinks I am.
That there is a bit of hero in me, after all.
And once I do that, I’ll be able to make peace with myself.
Finally.
LONDON BRIDGES
The Present
Thirty minutes isn’t nearly enough time to pack for an overnight trip; yet, that’s what the dark prince has allotted me.
Actually, he told me we were leaving in four hours before disappearing, and I stayed a bit too long with the Queen.
So, technically, my lack of time is my own fault, but it feels better to blame him and his brooding ways.
After taking a shower, I quickly peruse my closet for something to wear that will make me stand out in photos and not fade into the background like all the other pictures of me with Julius have.
For once, I need Raquel to be wowed.
I decide on my most figure-hugging denim mini skirt, a pair of four-inch black platform booties, and a tight white tank top that pushes my small boobs up a bit, giving the illusion that I have a little cleavage.
It’s a rebel look, and since I feel like being rebellious today, it certainly fits my mood.
I decide a touch of makeup wouldn’t hurt, either, and concentrate on my eyes, going for the sixties feline look. Then I top the look off by pulling my hair back in a low ponytail.
The sixties hippie look.
There, take that, Julius.
Smiling at my reflection, I have to say, I look good, and even though I can’t undo what I did to Julius, I’m beginning to love myself again.
Atonement really can be smoking hot.
Before I change my mind about going with Julius, I head downstairs. As soon as I open the door, the Queen’s official town car and security detail are pulling up to the front of my apartment, flags and all.
Oh-my-word, he really is making a show of this.
Julius gets out, and his gaze focuses on me, as soon as he sees me. He looks like a very delicious drink of bad boy royalty, and I can’t help but devour the sight of him with each step closer I take in his direction. He’s wearing dark denim jeans that fit him like a dream and a black Beatles t-shirt that molds to his muscled chest and is snug around his bulging upper arms.
A Beatles shirt, sigh.
That long and lean body of his is perfection, but those muscles are sinful, and I remember his abs in vivid detail. They are smooth and so ripped I used to trace the indentations with my fingers.
Used to.
His casual, very sexy, very toe-curling look makes me forget this is a pretend date.
When his lazy gaze continues to drift over me with each step I take, it warms me from head to toe.
When I get close enough, he holds his hand out for me to take, and I do. “Lia,” he says in that deep voice.
Lia.
Does he even know he said that?
“Nice shirt,” I comment, pointing at the band.
With a wide grin, he ducks his head and plants his lips on mine. Then he pulls me close for a breathless kiss that makes me swoon.
This doesn’t feel like pretend.
It really doesn’t.
He’s sipping on my lips, grazing them with his teeth as he does, nipping me with enough force that my entire body starts to tingle.
His mouth drifts to my ear, and he whispers, “You look incredibly sexy. The cameras are going to love you.”
Even though I blush a thousand shades of red, his comment only makes me remind myself—this isn’t real.
This.
Is.
Pretend.
“Good. That’s what I was going for,” I tell him as I step back. However, that isn’t the truth—it’s him I want to love me.
This is almost over—so I might as well finally admit it.
“Are you ready to do this?” he asks.
“I am,” I respond, and start for the car.
“Good. Me too.” He’s beside me, and he watches me with a shuttered gaze that makes it hard to see the truth behind his words.
Like me too, as in, let’s get this over with? Or me too, as in, I can’t wait to spend time with you?
I don’t want to feel the hurt and confusion this trip is bound to bring, so I decide to pretend it’s real.
Two days.
I can pretend for two days that we are real.
In the car, Julius looks down at his screen and starts tapping away. When we get to the private jetway, he takes my hand to lead me up the gateway to the Royal plane and pauses in the doorway to kiss me again. Another breathless ki
ss that makes me weak in the knees and wet between the thighs.
See, it is real.
On the plane, Julius gets on the phone and spends the forty-minute flight discussing the IPO details with his CFO. However, as soon as we exit the airport, he puts his arm around me, drawing me nearer. He doesn’t stray from my side all the way to the car. Even there, he holds my hand, pulls me closer, and whispers sweet nothings into my ear that others can hear.
“I can’t wait to get you alone.”
“You are so sexy.”
“It’s you and me and the night.”
To anyone else, it has to appear that we’re in love, and honestly, it feels like we are.
Pretend.
This.
Is.
Pretend.
But again, it doesn’t feel that way.
We are staying at the Shangri-La Hotel at the Shard London, and I try not to gape as I stare at the vertical glass city before me.
It’s unlike anything I’ve seen.
Just steps from London Bridge Station and the London Tower, it is a jewel. The sharp-suited doormen stand poised, ready to open our door and lead us inside, as soon as the car doors open.
Photographers are poised on the street corners and ready for the shot, as soon as we exit the car.
Snap,
Click.
Julius takes his time walking us toward the hotel. Leaning close, he whispers, “Is this okay?”
His tone is kind, concerned, and makes my heart pound. I nod. “Yes, it really is.”
As soon as the lobby doors ping open, the sights overwhelm me. We’re greeted by a split-level marble-clay lobby that hums with the other over-awed guests staring out the floor-to-ceiling panoramic view windows.
The lobby’s high ceiling and glass elevators give it a modern vibe. Plush chairs and glass-cut chandeliers hang from poles, casting light over the contemporary décor in a romantic way.
Blending into the crowd and becoming part of them, we wander casually inside, as if there is no hurry to our agenda. My jaw is still hanging open. On The Bachelor, we stayed at beautiful hotels, but this place is beyond what I’d say is nice.
Everything seems tranquil, calm even, that is until we get to the front desk. “Checking in under Monaco,” Julius says, as a greeting to the older man behind the counter.
He nods and begins typing on his computer. “Prince Julius Monaco and guest. We have you booked in the Westminster Suite. I’m sorry, I know you requested the Shangri-La Suite. However, it is otherwise occupied for the night.
Julius smiles at the man. “That will be fine. Thank you.”
On my tiptoes, I whisper into his ear, “Only one room?”
He ignores me. In lieu of answering, he ducks his head and kisses me on the lips.
After we check-in, and we’re walking toward the elevator, I ask, “Do you think we could get an adjoining room. I’ll pay for it.”
“We’re supposed to be on a romantic getaway,” he mutters impatiently.
“Right, we’re pretending,” I mutter back.
On the elevator, he looks at me. “I’ll sleep on the floor if it bothers you to share a bed with me.”
Share a bed with him?
I’ve shared a bed with him many times.
Just not lately, I remind myself.
Lately, he fucks me where it can’t get too intimate. Against the wall, on a desk, in a car. Where it’s a hate fuck, that means nothing to him.
“No, it’s fine,” I respond.
The room is stunning. Located on Level 37, the panoramic views of London are of St. Paul’s Cathedral, the Gherkin, and even Canary Wharf.
The spacious one-bedroom suite features a walk-in dressing room and the most extravagant bathroom I have ever seen. Brown marble blends with contemporary light wood, and there are hidden televisions in the mirrors. A rainforest shower and freestanding tub make me itch to bathe, but Julius beats me to it when it says, “I’m going to take a quick shower before dinner. I thought we’d eat here if that’s okay, and then head out to a club?”
“Yes, that’s fine. I showered before you picked me up, so I’ll just change.”
He gives me a look, and I can’t figure out if he wanted me to join him, and he thinks I just turned him down or if he’s okay with it. Recent history tells me to believe the latter, and while he strides into the spacious space, I flop on the bed. It’s a body-contouring mattress, and the thousand count sheets are dreamy, so much so, I fall asleep.
I jolt awake when I hear the shower turn off and scramble for my bags to get changed. The bellhop delivered our things and placed them in the dressing area, so I wander that way to change my clothes.
Removing my tank and unbuttoning my skirt, I let the pieces fall as I enter the elegant silk-covered space.
I’m bending to unzip my bag when the door from the bathroom slides open. Julius freezes at the sight of me, and our eyes lock.
Yearning shoots through me at the sight of him. Staying right where I am, I watch as little water droplets course down his rock-hard abs. Lucky ducks that they are.
Why does he have to be so sinfully beautiful?
“Sorry,” he says, “I didn’t know you’d be in here.”
Grabbing my dress, I stand up, allowing him to take in my lace bra and matching thong along with my platform boots. “It’s fine. I was just getting some things from my bag.”
He shifts from foot to foot as if trying to decide if he should come in or go back. If the bulge in his towel is any indication, I’d say he wants to come closer.
I mean, come on, we’re both practically naked in this room. As if the flames between us need that kind of fanning.
Still, I don’t cover myself. Don’t move. Instead, I let my eyes roam over him. I want him. I want to strip him and lick him and tease him.
I want him to be mine.
For real.
But he isn’t.
That’s a dose of cold water, alright. “It won’t take me long to get ready.” My voice is husky and gives my lustful disposition away, so I turn on my heels with my bag in my hand and go back into the bedroom.
Not quite twenty minutes later, there’s a tap on the bathroom door as it slowly opens. “Can I come in?” Julius asks.
Over my shoulder, I tell him, “Yes. I’m just zipping my dress,” but I freeze when I see him. He’s clean-shaven and dressed in a pair of light gray slim-fitting slacks and a black dress shirt with gold cufflinks. I think they are of the Royal crest.
He looks so good.
In the mirror, I can see his eyes rake over me. In truth, it makes me feel good and solidifies my choice.
I’ve opted for a sexy little black dress. It’s one I bought on sale last summer but have never worn. It strapless across the top and falls a few inches above my knees. It’s tight above the waist and free-flowing at the bottom. I added a thin gold belt around my waist that looks more like a ribbon, gold hoops, and gold bangles, too. I also let my hair down and curled it into waves around my face, and I rather like it that way.
“I hope this is okay?” I ask, slipping my feet into a pair of chunky-heeled pumps that are probably way too high for me to wear all night long.
For the first time since we reconnected, I see Julius appear to be flustered, and I find myself beaming on the inside. “Yes, it’s more than okay,” he says, grabbing the room key and his wallet. “Ready?”
I nod and follow him, the door closing behind us as we make our way down the hall side by side.
When we reach the elevator, he grabs my hand, kisses it, and then ducks down to whisper, “You really do look beautiful.”
Even though ours is the only suite on this floor, I find myself glancing around looking for cameras. There’s none. We’re alone. That means he’s saying this because he means it. “Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself,” I add, trying to keep my heart from fluttering out of my chest.
Then he draws me to his body and kisses me softly. I’m so shocked by the gentlen
ess in his tone, of his slow movement, of his rippled muscles against me, that I feel high.
What’s happening?
I can’t even answer my own question, but I know whatever it is…it is real.
SING IT
The Present
After a very PDA-filled dinner, complete with fake kisses and pretend caresses, Julius tells me to meet him at Egg London, the hottest nightclub around.
During dinner, the investor called and wanted to clarify the US expansion plans before closing the deal tomorrow. This is fine with me because it gives me time to just walk around the city and think.
Who knew playing pretend would be so hard?
Walking with no destination in mind, I end up taking a spin on the London Eye. The Ferris wheel overlooks the Thames and Big Ben, and I think how amazing it must have been for Julius when he lived here. There is so much to see and do; there is no way to ever get bored.
By the time I exit my ride for the second time, it’s already time for me to catch a cab to the club, and I didn’t even have time to wallow in my own self-pity.
The Ibiza-style nightspot has three floors. Good thing Julius told me to meet him in the Piano Lounge because I find that right away.
True to its name, there’s a large baby grand in the center, and the pianist is both singing and playing. There’s a huge tip jar beside him, so I assume he takes requests. Right now, he’s playing a song about living on a prayer, and I think how appropriate.
Scanning the crowd, I don’t see Julius, so I weave my way through the closely set tables toward the bar.
The place is jammed with people, and I figure I might as well get a drink while I wait for Julius.
There are two open seats at the bar, and I take the one beside a guy who has a man-bun and looks like he’s still in college.
I sit on the swivel stool, and my short dress rides up a little too much, forcing me to tug at the hem. “I’ll have a glass of your house white wine,” I tell the bartender, who quickly pours me one with a nod, being sure to make eye contact the entire time.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
“No problem. Any time.” He smiles and gives me a wink. There’s a gleam of interest in his eyes, and I’m fairly certain he’d like to carry on with this flirtation, but even if I weren’t meeting Julius, I wouldn’t. My heart just hasn’t been in it—not for the past three years.