Page 109 of Handsome Devil
“Yes, it was.”
“It’s almost like you did it on purpose,” I said, staring him down.
He didn’t flinch or break eye contact. “I did not upload that video to the internet, Devi.”
I considered that. I did not feel sorry for him. Not the least bit.
But I knew what it was like to lose a grandparent.
“I’m sorry about your grandfather,” I forced out.
“Thank you. He was a great man. A great businessman, and a devoted family man.” He hesitated again. “My father was not.”
“Is he dead, too?”
“No.”
“You talk about him like he’s dead.”
“I guess that’s because he’s kind of dead to me. I don’t speak to him.”
Hmm. That was heavy. I had some issues with my own family, but I’d never stopped speaking to any of them.
“So,” he went on, “in order to repair my family’s faith in me, I need to prove to them that this whole sex tape thing doesn’t mean I’m just my father’s son after all. My best chance of doing that right now is to get my life back on track. That includes getting married, like I’d planned to. And marrying well.”
“I’m not a CEO, Dane,” I pointed out, referring to the woman he’d been engaged to so recently. “You’ve seen my salary.”
“You have money of your own and a career of your own and alife, Devi. Without me in it. You don’t need me. Marrying well, in the eyes of my mother and my grandmother, would mean marrying a strong woman who they approve of. A self-made woman would be right up that alley. Someone who’s clearly not a bimbo or a gold digger but has her own ambitions. Someone who could be the mother of the next Davenport generation.”
“And that’s me?”
“In their eyes, yes.”
“And what happens when we divorce before we populate the world with little Davenports?”
“They’ll get over it. Maybe I’ll get married down the road, when I have time to choose an actual wife. I just need this to fly until I get my inheritance. Then shortly after my birthday, we can both move on with our lives.”
“Right. Then you’re free to divorce me and go back to wearing that class ring on your ring finger and screwing bimbos?”
“Does it matter?”
No. No, it did not.
So why was I asking?
“Four months?” I said.
“Yes.”
“And that means I have to pretend to like you, like I did last night?”
“In public, yes.”
Christ. Just the thought was fucking disturbing. And exhausting. Could I really fake it that good, for that long?
“How much would we actually have to be seen in public?”
“Just enough to sell the world, and my family, on the fact that we’re together. We can choose our public appearances, control what we put out there.”
