Cal steps forward, “What the fuck? You can’t?—”
“No,” Evony says, her face flushed, her eyes downcast. She reaches out and grabs Cal’s arm, pulling him back, even though he’s staring furiously at me. “It’s okay, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” I agree, pulling Jules in closer to my side. “You shouldn’t have. You might be insecure about your bony ass, but you don’t have to make it my fucking problem. Apologize to her.”
Jules shakes her head, laughing—her face is slightly red now, but I don’t miss the shade of satisfaction there, something nearing pleasure. “No, that’s okay?—”
“Apologize,” I command. Evony clears her throat and nods.
“I’m sorry,” Evony mutters, to which Cal scoffs.
“She didn’t even say anything,” he says, anger still roiling in his voice. “You’re just overreacting.”
“If I wanted to be gaslit,” I mutter, rolling my eyes at him, “I’d go sit at Dad’s grave and wait for his ghost.”
Cal opens his mouth to respond to that—maybe something cutting about me speaking ill of the dead—but before he can, one of the coordinators appears, grinning at Jules and me, not sparing a glance toward my cousin and his date.
“Dr. Burch,” she says, reaching out and touching my arm, then smiling at Jules. “Are you ready for your speech? And after, we thought it would be nice to clear the floor and have the two of you come out first. Bit of a show for your engagement.”
She looks thrilled that this happened at the party—donations must be skyrocketing past our initial goals.
“What do you think?” I ask, dipping my head down to look at Jules. For a moment, she looks surprised that I’ve asked her, then she tightens her hold on me and nods. “That would be lovely.”
We follow the coordinator, leaving Cal and Evony standing there without a backwards glance.
Chapter 16
Jules
For the rest of the night, I’m plunged in the warm, effusive joy of our “engagement.” Russell keeps his hands on me, possessively, guiding me through the room, holding me against his body as we dance. Each time he needs to tell me something, he drops his lips down to my ear, and his hot breath blows over my neck.
I’m just a woman. I’m not a fucking saint, or a superhero—ofcourseI’m turned on, my core practically glowing, my skin hot and sensitive. It’s been the longest foreplay of my life, all the little touches, the attention, the way he defended me against Evony without a second thought.
And, of course, the kiss.
TheI like the sound of that, Jules,right in my ear, not a performance for the people around us but something soft and gentle, delivered right to me. It made my body pulse with joy, with confusion, with wanting.
Itwasn’tfor me, though. I made it clear to Russell that this was a fake arrangement. He made it clear to me that this isn’t about sex. It’s about him getting his inheritance and saving the clinic.
This is not real.
This is not real, and it’s not about sex.
It’s what I tell myself as we coast through the rest of the gala, and I get to play the part of the sparkling, wealthy, care-free fiancée. It’s what I tell myself each time Russell tugs me closer to him or talks me up, telling anyone who will listen that I’m in PR, and I’m great at my job, and he knows I’m going places.
And it’s what I tell myself when the night ends, and we wave goodbye to everyone, heading up to the hotel room. We’re just far enough outside the city center that it would be a slight hassle to make it home, which I suppose warrants a hotel stay for anyone with the money to throw around.
I’m hyper-aware of everything as Russell pulls the hotel key card from his wallet, and the door buzzes slightly before clicking and allowing us entry to the room. I notice the shining marble under my feet, the glowing sconces on the walls. I notice the slight, wafting scent of his cologne—warm, sweet, liquid, and golden, with just a hint of spice.
Russell opens the door, and I walk into the room first, momentarily stunned out of my hazy lust by it. In the center of the room is a massive four-poster bed with intricately carved posts and what looks like the most comfortable layering of blankets I’ve ever seen.
The pillows are stacked and stacked, nearly spilling out over the end of the bed onto the duvet bench. The floor is shining hardwood, but there’s a plush, ivory rug rolled out under the bed that stretches nearly all the way to the sitting area near the floor-to-ceiling glass doors, which lead out onto a balcony.
I’m turning slowly, like a pauper-to-princess in a Disney movie, and I catch a glimpse of the bathroom, seeing the edge of the most magnificent tub I’ve ever seen in my life. There’s no tub in my apartment—just a stand-up shower. When Gus was little and I could no longer bathe him in the sink, I had to just hold him, use a cup, and pour the water over his body.
“You like it?”
Russell’s voice is so deep it seems to vibrate my bones, and when I turn to face him, our chests are nearly touching. We each had less than a glass of champagne tonight, but he’s looking at me like his inhibitions are gone, his pupils blown out, his cheeks flushed and his stare determined.
