Page 7 of The Fake Fiancé

Maybe I'm an idiot. No, I amdefinitelyan idiot; that’s a given, but right now I need to be smart enough to manipulate the ridiculous thing I've just done into something that can work in my favor.

I drag my hand through my hair, immediately regretting the act and how it shows just how out of sorts I am. “Look, Dubois is a shark. I had no idea he was going to be here tonight, and I acted rashly.” I manage, “Stupidly, maybe, but he was going to use you to get to me. I know it. I knowhim. He’d suggest I was unprofessional, that I mixed business with pleasure. It's a tactic he's used before."

"So you decided to prove him right?" Elowen snaps in disbelief, "You told him we were engaged! Adam, that's insane!"

"It was a strategic move. It neutralizes the threat. It takes away his leverage. He can't use you against me if you're already solidified as a part of my life. A girlfriend and a soon-to-be wife are two utterly different things.”

"A part of your life?" The laugh that comes out of her is nearly hysterical. "I'm your translator! We've known each other for what, six months, and most of that has been over a screen! This is not a life, it's a job! A job you just made a thousand times more complicated!"

"I know," I exhale, "I know. And I'm sorry."

The apology is so unexpected that it throws her off balance. "You're sorry?"

"I am. I didn't mean to put you in this position. I just...I saw the way he was looking at you, and I saw an opportunity to shut him down before he could start. It was a split-second decision."

"A split-second decision that has made this job into…into,” she repeats, gasping, “a nightmare!”

The words hit me hard, because I know she's right. I had a choice, and I made it without her consent. I put my own goals, my own misplaced possessiveness over this woman I have no right to feel possessive. No right to place any kind of convenience above her comfort. I have to make this wrong, right. How?

The fucking problem is that I don’t really want to make anything right. Being this close to Elowen, with her looking so damn beautiful, so damn perfect, and watching all these other horny, try-hard pricks looking at her, drooling, is resurrecting a part of me that I’d thought died long ago. A possessive part, yeah, but it’s more than that. It’s a part of me that wants to claim,wants to own, wants to take Elowen and hide her from the world while showing her why I’m the only thing she’ll ever need. I was fascinated by her when we first met, but now that my veil of grief has lifted, the feelings I have for her are inconvenient, undeniable, but….addictive.

But I can’t give in. I can’t be that sort of man, not in this carefully curated world, not with this woman who is more of a stranger than I want to admit, and especially not as a father. I ran my mouth and got us into this position, and now I have to get us out as painlessly as possible while also fighting the urge to give in to the more primal man shaking the bars of my restraint every time I’m close to Elowen.

"Okay," I hold my hands up in a gesture of surrender, "Okay. You're right. I was out of line. But what's done is done. We can't go back in there and announce it was a misunderstanding without it being a way bigger deal. The story is undoubtedly already spreading.”

I cannot undo it now. Not in public. In private, of course, I apologize to you, and I’ll do whatever it takes to undo your pain or your humiliation. Whatever you need.

Her shoulders slump, the fight draining out of her as it really hits her how stuck we are. "So what do we do?"

"We play the part for the rest of this summit. In public, we pretend to be engaged for two weeks. After that, we can announce that we’ve separated, and that’s it.”

Elowen crosses her arms and looks at me without speaking for an uncomfortably long pause. I can almost see the gears in her head working, how she wants to deny the simplicity ofmy explanation, but in the end she fails to come up with any arguments.

"Okay," her words come out as a burst of air. "Okay. But we need rules."

Easy. "Name them."

"No unnecessary touching," she holds up a finger for each rule she counts off. "No emotional manipulation, no overcomplicating our cover story, and minimal time spent together when we aren’t in public.”

I nod, the relief I feel making it easier to breathe, but doing nothing to lessen how badly I want to drag her into my arms and seal her agreement with my mouth against hers. "Agreed,” I say, stepping back as if to underline and seal my agreement.

"And what about after the summit? How do we explain everything ending so quickly?"

"We announce we've made a mutual decision to break it off amicably. We say it was too much, too soon, we go our separate ways, and this whole thing becomes a distant memory."

She takes another deep breath, then another. "Fine. Two weeks. But after that, we're done."

"Done," I promise. I mean it in my head, but in my heart, I can’t shake the feeling that part of me will never truly be done with Elowen Hart.

It feels like a deal, like something that should be shaken on, but instead the two of us simply look at each other in the wake of everything that has just happened. She’s even more beautiful when she’s angry, color high on her cheeks and her lips parted.The urge to kiss her hits me again, hard. Instead, I straighten to my full height. ”Shall we,” I offer her my arm, “fiancé?"

She looks at my arm for a long moment, then slowly, almost reluctantly, places her hand on the crook of my elbow. Her touch is electric, not as powerful as the touch of my hand at her lower back had been, but a jolt all the same.

We walk back into the ballroom, and the whispers start up again, a low, excited murmur that follows us as we make our way to our table. I can feel the weight of their stares, the intensity of their curiosity, but I can’t find it in myself to care. All I can think about is the feeling of her hand on my arm, the warmth of her body so close to mine.

We sit through dinner, answering the endless stream of questions, a little awkwardly at first but evening out as we reach our stride. We tell them we met at a charity event, that we kept our relationship private, that we're taking things slow. The lies come easily, and while they’re bitter on my tongue, they go over well enough with our interrogators that I swallow it down happily enough. Turns out we have quite an instinctive and creative penchant for embellishing our joint lies.

After dessert, the music starts. It isn’t a surprise to me–I’ve been to enough of these events to be able to navigate them in the dark, but the set of Elowen’s shoulders change, and there’s an expectant hum of energy as people look towards us. They’re hungry to see if there is a real connection between Elowen and I, if our chemistry will be real on the dance floor. Even if our engagement is false, the way that I ache for her is all too real, so at least that will play in our favor.