He bustles back in and sets down an amazing spread of cheese, crackers, and other assorted gourmet accoutrements and then pours us both water with sliced lemon from a carafe.
“This is way too fancy,” I say, swiping a few red grapes. “Did you really put this together yourself?”
“Oh, Brooklyn. You’ll soon find out I’m a man of…many hidden talents,” he says with a smirk, his gaze dropping lazily down my body and back up again.
There’s a familiar tightening between my legs, and I force myself to look away.I didn’t come over here to have sex with my fake fiancé, I remind myself.
Feeling the need to deflect the sexual tension, I tease, “You seem excited about this.”
His smile gets more genuine. “Honestly, when my brother said I had to get married, I thought my life was imploding. But if I have to go through with this, I’m glad it’s with you.”
He puts his hand on my knee and I take a sip of water because my throat is suddenly dry. I don’t want to tame his enthusiasm—it makes us look good—but I can’t help feeling thrown by the fact that he’s diving head-first into this whole thing while I’m still struggling with my guilt.
Being level-headed is my default, and so far, I’ve kept my integrity while growing my career, which isn’t easy to do in the modeling industry. But in agreeing to this marriage, I made the decision to let some of that integrity slide, and now I’m struggling to remind myself that it’s no big deal. People do sketchy things to reach their career goals all the time. I’ll fit right in with all the uber successful. I just have to keep my head on straight and remember what this is.
A business arrangement.
I glance at my fiancé. He’ll never have to know the true extent of what I’ve done. And in the end, it doesn’t matter.
The theme music for the show suddenly comes on full blast, and my heart skips a beat.
“It’s starting,” Luka says, grabbing the remote. “Do you have the picture of your ring ready to go?”
“Locked and loaded,” I answer, pulling out my phone.
His cologne surrounds me as he adjusts his body on the loveseat, leaning into me. Little goosebumps run down my spine as his warmth radiates against me from thigh to shoulder. I tense up a bit in anticipation of his arm going around me, but instead he reaches for a brie-smeared cracker and turns up the volume on the fifty-two-inch flat screen.
I scroll through my photos until I land on the money shot—our hands clasped over a backdrop of the Chicago skyline lit up at night, my diamond ring sparkling obscenely—already zoomed and filtered to perfection. As soon as theCelebrity Chathost announces our engagement, I’ll be putting up the pic on my Insta account. With luck, people will care enough to keep the happy news rolling through social media until our faces are plastered everywhere.
Luka’s thigh tenses against mine and my nipples perk. I’m wearing a thin bralette and an off-the-shoulder top, which I’m sure do little to hide my reaction to him, but he’s so focused on the TV that he doesn’t notice. I’m not sure if I’m happy or disappointed about that. I like it when he touches me, and I want more.It’s a good way to test my boundaries, I tell myself. See how far we can take things as a fake couple. Theoretically, sex is on the table, but I’m not ready for it.
Yet.
“Here we go,” Luka says.
Suddenly, I’m staring at myself on screen, cozied up to one of the hottest men alive, gushing about how in love we are. The host chats and laughs excitedly as if she just can’t get enough of us. I don’t remember her being so exuberant during the actual interview; I’d been too nervous to soak up much of what was actually happening.
“…such a whirlwind,” I say on screen, nuzzling against Luka’s shoulder.
“I’d actually taken a break from dating when we met, but you know what they say about love at first sight,” Luka tells the host, managing to sound sincere, and they both laugh.
“We look great together,” I say, turning to Luka to gauge his reaction.
“There was never any doubt about that,” he says, absently tracing circles over my knee with his finger. A little shiver runs through me, and I drag my eyes back to the show.
It’s a relief to watch myself now and realize that I got through all the host’s questions without making a fool of myself on national TV. My pulse kicks up another notch as the interview reaches the moment that Luka and I have been waiting for.
“So…let’s see the ring!” the host says, leaning forward, and I give her my hand with a thrilled smile while the shot jump-cuts to a close up.
“Instagram time,” Luka says.
As if I needed a reminder. I hit upload, and our eyes lock as I wait for the photo to pop up on my IG account…and just like that, my beautiful diamond is out there for the whole world to see.
I flash him my phone screen. “Our engagement is officially official,” I tell him.
“Here goes nothing,” he says, leaning back with a relieved sigh and turning down the TV.
Within seconds, my phone starts buzzing nonstop with social media notifications. I’m almost afraid to see what’s happening on IG, but Luka’s looking at me expectantly. So I open up the app, and I can’t believe it. I have a pretty active following, but thiscrazy. My account is blowing up with hundreds of followers already congratulating us and sharing the pic. The comments and shares are rolling in so fast, I can’t keep up.
