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“So you’re wanting this...circus to convince people we’re marrying because we love each other?”
“That’s part of it. No one who knows me would expect me to go to a courthouse. And,” he adds with a wicked grin, “there’s something satisfying about having you play the role of blushing bride.”
I roll my eyes, then curse as my phone vibrates again.
“I have to go.”
“I’m staying at the Seaside Inn through tomorrow morning. I’ll have my lawyers fax over the paperwork.” He reaches out and catches my arm as I start to turn away. “Come by later and I’ll have the hotel print them off for you to sign.”
“I’m busy tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”
His body tenses.
“Busy doing what?”
I tug my arm away, not caring for his tone. “Busy doing something I already had scheduled before you decided to invade my home and bribe me.”
“I neglected to mention that dating or seeing anyone else is off-limits until our divorce is finalized.”
“Is that a two-way street?” I snap.
An image appears in my head, vivid and unbidden, of Gavriil rolling around naked in bed with some tall, glamorous model. It’s an extremely unpleasant vision.
Not because I’m jealous, I reassure myself.
“Adultery is not a habit I indulge in.”
Dear God, he almost sounds offended. Right after he just insinuated that I would be entertaining men on the side during the course of our so-called marriage.
“No,” I reply with a sweet smile, “just a new woman every week.”
He returns my smile with a slow curving of his full lips that draws my attention down to his mouth before snapping my eyes back up to his amused gaze.
“Jealous again, Grey?”
“Nothing to be jealous over. We’re not in a relationship.”
He reaches out and grabs my hand once more. This time, however, his touch is firm but gentle. My breath catches in my chest. His fingers wrap around my wrist as he slowly raises my hand so that my palm is facing him. The diamond glints back at me, large and dazzling and mocking.
“Hate to break it to you,” he says, his voice low yet no less powerful as it ripples over my skin, “but this ring says otherwise.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gavriil
Four weeks later
PEOPLEMOVEACROSSthe lawn, Chanel dresses and Louis Vuitton suits sparkling under the twinkling lights strung up in the trees. The setting sun casts a rosy glow on the crowd made up of movie stars, platinum-award singers, bestselling authors, fellow billionaires and politicians. Waiters dressed in black tuxedos move through the crowd with silver trays, offering crystal flutes of champagne and some rare oyster only found in a river in France.
I tasked Juliette with creating the wedding of the century. She delivered.
Four weeks ago, I slid my ring onto her finger. She showed up at the Seaside Inn the following morning, agreed to a wedding one month later and vanished just as quickly as she’d arrived. I heard nothing else from her the rest of the day.
I got the first bill the following day. Sarabeth DeLancey, the premier wedding planner in the country, orchestrated the weddings of A-list actors, platinum-selling singers and the children of presidents. She would also be coordinating ours. Sarabeth was the first in a long line of bills that had crossed my desk in the past month.
But Juliette’s wanton spending seems to have done the trick. The engagement, and the buzz surrounding our luxurious wedding, has been positive. No one has questioned it. The enemies-to-lovers angle has made Juliette and me a regular feature on West Coast news outlets and social media. That we are turning down every interview request has only increased the hype and speculation about our wedding.
It’s been a week since I’ve seen or spoken to her, other than through text messages. She’s played her part well at the events we’ve attended together, including an engagement dinner hosted by some business associates and their spouses. Every time I’d looked over at her during the evening, she’d smiled, laughed, even laid her hand on top of mine. To anyone watching, all they’d seen was a young woman in love. Exactly what I asked of her.