Modern Fairy Tale

by Proby, Kristen

  “I have a proposition for you.”

  “If it involves you taking a really long walk off a really short pier into shark-infested waters, count me in,” she said sweetly.

  He fought back a grin. “Bloodthirsty little American.”

  “Ever consider it’s people like you who made us bloodthirsty?”

  “Hardly.” He brushed an errant crumb off a cuff link. “People adore me.” Well, people who weren’t his brother, his cousin, his mother … or her, apparently. Actually, she adored him when he was Jules.

  Jaw working, she looked nearly ready to bludgeon him to death. “You’re demented.”

  “Possibly, and in light of what I’m about to propose, certifiably.” Taking another drink of water, he looked straight into Daisy’s eyes. “I’ll pay off your insurance bill if you agree to pretend to be my fiancée for a period of no longer than three months. Then we shall part as friends, with goals met.”

  It was perfect, really. He could have the best of both worlds this way, until he found a way to tell her the truth.

  Hazel eyes rounded. “Who told you about the bills in the first place? You didn’t seem that shocked when you read the letter.”

  “Your Aunt Leah, of course,” he said, grateful the chatty woman had provided him with an airtight alibi.

  Daisy crossed her arms over her chest. “Of course she did,” she grumbled.

  “Think about it: all you’d have to do is pose as my fiancée for three months, and in return I’ll pay off your insurance bills.”

  “What do you get out of it?”

  You, he thought, I get to spend time with you. “My position as President of Romanov Industries. I’m here to make nice with the brother, acquire a fiancée, etcetera, so they will vote me back in. I won’t bore you with the details.”

  Rounded eyes narrowed. “Try anyway.”

  Clever girl. One should always know the specifics, and as he recalled that blustery winter day where she made him promise not to do anything to hurt Rose, she always wanted specifics. “My vice president, Liam Stewart, suggested fabricating a relationship to make me look more…stable. Quite Machiavellian of him, yes?”

  “I guess.” She shrugged. “But why?”

  Because he’d become reckless after his father’s death by making shady deals with shady people, acting out of character in his personal life by making it public fodder, and worst of all, had for a brief period set out to destroy Romanov Industries from the inside. And he hadn’t told anyone, not even the person who meant the most to him.

  So much for the very untouchable golden child of Vladimir Romanov.

  “I haven’t been myself for a while, and it wasn’t good for Romanov’s bottom line. We have shareholders to answer to, you know. So, I’m out, until I’ve proven myself to be different or rather the same.

  “Whatever. Sometimes, I’m not sure who they want me to be. Hell, I’m not sure who I want to be,” he added in a murmur, gazing off into the distance.

  She stroked the sleeve of his suit jacket, bringing his attention back to her. “Bless your heart. I’m sorry about your dad, by the way. Zoe said he’d died in a boating accident a few months ago.”

  Her softly spoken words touched him while at the same time made him feel vulnerable. Without a computer or phone between them, he was awkward, something he’d never been in his life. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Anyway, that’s what the board wants, so that’s what they’ll get.”

  “So I’m a means to an end,” she said softly.

  No, you are so much more. “As am I. This is mutually beneficial, lo—er, Daisy. I need your help with this bloody family business, so be quick about it. I have appointments to keep.”

  Chapter Nine

  God, were all British men like him? Arrogant one minute—nervous the next.

  No, not all of them, she reminded herself. Jules was charming and funny … and nice. Christian and his cousin, Alexander, were both devoted to their wives, and actually carried on conversations without insults.

  So it couldn’t be a family trait.

  It had to be because Sebastian had lost his ever-loving mind. Sure she felt bad for him, because he was obviously still suffering over losing his dad in a horrible explosion. She’d felt that way when her momma had died, but at least she had her family and friends to help her get through it.

  Still … fake engagement, and she should hurry up, because he had an appointment? She had no idea if this was the way he normally conducted business, but if it were, no wonder the board voted him out.

  “Time’s a-wasting,” he said.

  “Go sodder yourself, Your Royal Pain in my Buttliness,” Daisy snapped.

  “It’s bugger. Impossible to do to oneself, by the way, but I’d be happy to demonstrate the technique on you,” he said in his English accent that simultaneously annoyed her and made her knees weak.

  “Part of your fake fiancée package deal?”

  His chin dropped, and his eyes grew dark. “If you wish.”

  “I don’t wish.” Liar, liar, a little voice in her head mocked. Whatever his temperament, her body sure liked him, but no matter what, she wouldn’t act on it, because what kind of woman was into a man like Sebastian Romanov?

  “We are agreed then.” He reached for the last cupcake. “Excellent.”

  Making a noise that was a cross between a snort and a grunt, she transferred the food he hadn’t eaten to plastic containers and stored them in her refrigerator. “I didn’t say yes.”

  There was no way she’d say yes. Then again, maybe she should. After all, the insurance bill was hanging around her neck like an anchor, pulling her down and drowning her. However, making a deal with a man like Sebastian Romanov—aristocratic, arrogant, and aggravating as all get out—was akin to dealing with the devil, but his money would solve so much.

  Sighing as she closed the refrigerator door, she turned to face him and jumped. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  Tapping on his very expensive watch, he said, “I need an answer.”

  “Right this second?” she asked, stalling for time. She needed time to think, time to hash it out with someone who was reasonable and circumspect … and Jules. She needed to talk to Jules about it. Isabella and Haven, too. Wait, she couldn’t. Bella was out of town, and Haven would freak out.

  “What are you so worried about?” he asked, pulling her from her thoughts. “I’m not asking you to commit a crime.”

  “Just fraud.”

  He rolled his eyes. “For God’s sake, it’s not fraud. It’s to be paid for services rendered.”

  “By lying.”

  “It wouldn’t be lying per se. For all intents and purposes, we’d actually be engaged for the duration.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a finger. “To sweeten the pot, I’m willing to pay any and all future insurance bills.”

  “If I were to agree, what would this require?” she asked, trying to get all her ducks in a row, so when she talked to Jules, he could help her do a pros and cons list. Or tell her to run far, far away.

  A confident smile kicked up the corners of his mouth, as if he already had the ring on her finger. “Not much. Be my date to events, and actually go on dates to non-business events, royal get-togethers and the like. You know, the usual things couples in love would do with each other.”

  Royal get-togethers? Her mind swam at the possibilities while her stomach did flips. No way she’d fit in his life.

  “But you’re an earl and I’m not,” she said faintly.

  “The title isn’t bestowed upon women.” He grinned. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me.”

  Maybe just a little. “Um, your brother lives here, and we’re practically related, remember?”

  “Not until you reminded me,” he said with a frown. “Thank you.”

  What was so off-putting about being related to her? “Look, I don’t think I’m what you need. You’re like the twenty-first century version of Downton Abbey and I’m a g
eneration removed from Dukes of Hazzard.”

  Confusion filled his icy blue eyes. “The what and what?”

  “Oh, forget it.” Jules would have totally gotten her comparison, and as soon as Sebastian left, she would fire off an email to Jules about this entire conversation instead of waiting until their usual time.

  Placing a hand on Sebastian’s suit jacket, she tried to explain herself further. “What I’m saying is—we go together like peanut butter and—I don’t know—fish sticks.”

  “I don’t eat peanut butter.” Edging closer to her, his suit jacket brushed against her breasts. Dear God, he smelled good.

  “Don’t you think people will see right through us?”

  His chin lowered a fraction. “I think they’ll like what they see—aristocracy falling madly and completely in love with a commoner. Look at William and Catherine. The press adores them, as do members of the board.”

  “What about sex?” she blurted, her cheeks heating and her hand falling away. “I mean, you don’t expect sex. I mean, you’re not paying me for sex. I don’t have sex for money. Sex is free with me.” She couldn’t stop saying ‘sex,’ and there was no one around to duct-tape her mouth shut. “But we’re not a real couple, so our sex would be fake sex.”

  His arms came around her then.

  She took a step back, hitting the cold front of the fridge. Bracing a palm along each side of her, he dipped his head. Her heart sped up until it beat so hard and fast that she had to take in great gulps of air.

  “I prefer the real thing, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice sounding nothing like it usually did. Her gaze fell to his lips, full and totally kissable when they weren’t stretched into a thin line. In fact, right now they were parted and oh so dangerously close. Tempting. “But not with you. I mean, I don’t know you,” she murmured.

  “You could get to know me,” he said, and her eyes rounded, but she didn’t move.

  Time seemed to stand still. His lips seemed to draw closer, and his eyes became all slumberous. Heat spread through her, languorous waves that made her want to touch him, to see if he felt it too.

  “I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” she said. Her breasts ached, and she wanted his hands on her. Oh God, she was a hussy. A slave to her lust, all over a man she’d only met twice before, yet wanted to jump as soon as she’d seen him. All three times.

  “Then it’s a very good thing I’m of the same opinion.” He stood, letting his hands fall away. “I’ll transfer half of the amount you require to your account within the hour. The rest will be transferred upon the ending of our engagement. Afterward, you will notify me should more bills suddenly appear and I’ll make them go away.”

  Make them go away? God, it must be nice to have that kind of power and freedom. “Now what do we do?” she asked, slipping past him. Her skin felt overheated. She poured herself a glass of water and drank greedily.

  Tilting his head to one side, he let his eyes roam her body. Her nipples tightened and desire pooled in her belly, spreading low between her thighs.

  “We pretend to fall in love. I’ll be by Wednesday for your answer, and to sample your next menu offering. Think tropical.” With that, he strode to her door and grabbed his coat along the way.

  “And Daisy,” he asked, pausing at the door.

  “Yes?”

  “I would have kissed you, if you’d asked me.”

  She wanted to wipe away the smug smile that appeared on his face. “Guess you’ll never be kissing me then, because I will never ask you.”

  For a moment, his smile fell. She blinked, and it was back, maybe her imagination had wished it had fallen. “Never say never.” Then he opened the door and left, letting the door close softly behind him.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she chanted, rushing to her phone. Forget emailing Jules. She had to talk to him now.

  * * *

  Sebastian glanced at his phone as it buzzed and climbed inside the limo.

  Daisy: Are you there? Do you have a minute or five million?

  Jules: All my time belongs to you.

  Daisy: You’re not a Duke or something, are you?

  He grunted. Oh, he was something all right, but Jules would only answer her Duke question.

  Jules: Not for at least thirty more years.

  His mother’s father was bound to live for at least that many years, and Vladimir had made the Duke of Everham sign a binding contract that his title and the estates would go to him upon his death. Only Vladimir was dead and Westmoreland was still kicking.

  Rather poetic justice, Sebastian thought.

  Daisy: Good.

  Jules: Why?

  The text bubble had the … in it while she typed.

  Daisy: I met someone.

  Jules: Should I be jealous?

  Daisy: No, kitten­party­basket­bagel

  He made a face. What the hell was that?

  Jules: What the hell was that?

  Daisy: Ugh. Autocorrect. Can I call you? It would be easier.

  Oh hell no. She’d hear his voice, recognize him, accuse him of being a liar (rightly so), and never speak to him again. There was no way he could let that happen.

  Jules: Sorry, darling, but I’m actually in a meeting.

  His driver opened his door, and he got out, heading inside a chain restaurant on the outskirts of town. Some meeting he was having.

  Daisy: OMG. I’m so sorry.

  He smiled. Now that he’d heard her voice again, he could actually hear her saying the words.

  Jules: No worries.

  Daisy: Talk to you later?

  Jules: Of course. I’ll text you ASAP.

  Daisy: Jules?

  He sighed. Whenever she typed his name like that, she had something serious to ask or tell him.

  Jules: Yes?

  Daisy: I like it when you call me darling or love. Just wanted you to know.

  He frowned. Sebastian wasn’t allowed to call her anything but her given name. Why should he? Sebastian didn’t know Daisy, not like Jules did. But he was also Jules, so he did, in fact, know her as well as Jules did.

  “Oh good God,” he muttered. He was becoming jealous of himself.

  Jules: Laters, darling.

  He took extreme satisfaction typing that last word before pocketing his phone. Sebastian Romanov might be on the outs with the sexy little caterer, but Jules Westmoreland sure as hell wasn’t, and he would use that to his advantage.

  * * *

  “Still no butler,” Sebastian said with a frown as his brother greeted him at the door.

  Christian raised his brows. “Your powers of observation are truly frightening.” He gestured for Sebastian to come inside. “Now that you’re back, maybe you can help me with something.”

  Sebastian followed his brother into the living room. “Diffusing the situation between your bride and her mother not enough?”

  Turning to face Sebastian, Christian gave him a look. “You only helped, because it served your purpose.”

  Removing his coat, he draped it over a large, flowered chair by the fireplace and sat down. “And?”

  “So don’t pretend you did me any favors.”

  “But I did do you a favor.”

  His brother’s mouth opened and shut. Taking a deep breath, Christian moved to stand beside the fireplace mantle. “Doing me a favor was still self-serving.”

  Why did it bloody matter what the purpose was or who it served? “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  Christian rubbed the back of his neck. “Good to know some things don’t change.” He picked up the Owl Whistle Pez and held it up to the light. “Don’t suppose you’d care to share how this suddenly appeared in my collection?”

  “That’s your predicament—magically appearing candy dispensers? How incredibly wonderful that’s your only pressing problem in life.” His brother peered at him, identical blue eyes growing frosty as a winter morning in St. Petersburg as Sebastian’s insult
hit its mark. “Truly fascinating.”

  An evil grin lit Christian’s face. “It was you.”

  Indeed, but claiming ownership didn’t signify in the greater scheme of things. Sebastian loosened his tie. “Any Russian Standard in your cupboard?”

  “Oh no. You’re not getting out of this.” Christian carefully placed the dispenser back on the mantle and clapped his hands, briskly rubbing them together. “I thought Vlad had destroyed my entire collection, right after Francesca left him. Thank you for returning it to me.”

  Sebastian remembered the day well, though he chose to keep the memory locked away, but his damned brother had a way of making him remember all those things best left in the past.

  All of twelve, Sebastian hadn’t shown a lick of emotion when Lady Francesca had tearfully kissed and hugged her sons goodbye. He hadn’t hugged her back, merely stood there in his Eton uniform and had told her to take an umbrella for the storm on its way.

  Utter drivel he’d spouted. As for the events that had eventually followed…

  “Jesus,” Christian said, pulling Sebastian out of his bitter memories. “Can’t you be human for once?” He slammed his fist on the mantle. Crystal fairies clinked together, and Pez dispensers toppled over. “Stop pretending nothing bothers you.”

  “I’m not pretending.” He couldn’t let anything bother him. Hell, he’d been trained from birth to be the perfect, non-temperamental golden child.

  “Fuck it.” Slashing his hand in the air, his brother’s jaw clenched. “Are congratulations in order for you and Daisy?”

  “They will be.” Sebastian would fly to New York City tomorrow just for the hell of it. Just to make anyone who was tailing him think he was shopping for jewelry. Only he didn’t need to shop for a ring. He’d already purchased it, before he’d left England, with Daisy in mind.

  “I can’t believe you went through with it and talked her into your mad plan as well.” Christian shook his head. “God help Daisy Barnes, and God help you if you hurt her.”

  “She’s an adult, fully aware of the lack of emotions I possess.” Gazing into the fireplace, he said, “It’s a business transaction, nothing more.”

  “Good to know Vladimir Romanov’s legacy lives.”