I may be a virgin, but that doesn’t mean I don’t fantasize about romance. Most of my spare time is spent swooning over the kissing scenes in romance novels and sketching my version of the perfect pair of lips, sharp jawline, and knee-wobble–inducing eyes—when I’m not trying to pass my business school classes for my dad.
And now I’m about to walk down the aisle pretending to be someone else, and I have to play that part for an entire week.
Oh God, the honeymoon. What is he expecting will happen?
“Trying to make a break for it, sweetheart?”
Tingles cascade down my spine at the endearment, setting my romance novel–loving heart aflutter.
The voice is velvet smooth, reminding me of oil paint smeared on a canvas, blending into a masterpiece that effortlessly draws me in.
I don’t want to turn around—because there’s no way reality can beat my vivid imagination—but if I stand like a frozen statue much longer, it’s going to get weird, and I already have enough social anxiety.
The tailored cut of his suit draws my attention first, fit to hint at the well-defined muscles beneath. A line of pearlescent buttons on his crisp white shirt draws my eyes upward to the sharp line of his jaw and smooth, slightly upturned lips.
My fingers itch to sketch him.
What romance novel did he walk out of?
My eyes lift to his, the blue so piercing and clear it’s like he’s standing right in front of me, not a few feet away with his phone in his hand watching me curiously.
He looks familiar, like I’ve seen him somewhere before. With those looks, probably on the cover of a magazine.
His eyes run down my body and back up, and his mouth curves up on one side.
My nerves flutter for a whole new reason.
“Cold feet?”
“No.” It’s impossible to have cold feet when I’m not even the real bride. “Just hoping the groom isn’t too wrinkled and old to get I up.”
I slap a hand over my mouth.I can’t believe I said all of that to a stranger.
A crooked grin curls one side of his mouth, transforming his already handsome face into something even more devastating.
A gust of wind whips my hair into my face and mouth, trying to choke me. Could this day get any more embarrassing?
Fingers smooth the flyaway strands out of my face, revealing my handsome stranger, now barely a breath away. He tucks my hair over my shoulder and lightly brushes his fingertips up my neck. His fingertips linger just below my ear, for only a second, and a strange expression passes on his face.
Can he tell how flustered I am?
A hot spark of desire burns where he touches and coils down low in my belly.
Of course my virgin ass would get a crush on a stranger on the day I’m playing fake bride.
I step back. “Um. Bye.”
I hurry back to the church, panic under control, annoyance at 100 percent.
The deal with my father is done. There’s nothing that says they have to get along, just work together on the marketing plan for Owen’s new hotel.
So what is the benefit of the marriage? It doesn’t do anything financial for either party.
Weird.
I let my father lead me into the church, empty per the groom’s weird request to keep this deal private.
My mouth drops open, and my heart beats so fast I can’t hear anything.
