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The thought of putting that necklace on makes my palms sweat, and I shake my head quickly. “It’s stunning, really, but I can’t wear that,” I tell him. “It’s way too expensive.”
Nicholas raises a brow. “You’re my fiancée, Amara,” he murmurs, pulling the necklace out of the box. “It’s my job to spoil you.”
I press my lips together, unsure how to argue with that. Before I can try, he steps closer, his sharp cologne filling the space between us.
“Turn around.”
I hesitate for half a second before doing what he asks, turning to face the night sky. The cool breeze brushes against my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the shiver I feel when Nicholas’s hands graze my neck. His touch is light but firm, and I’m hyper-aware of every little movement as he gathers my hair and gently drapes it over one shoulder.
My heart pounds as he places the necklace against my skin. The cold metal makes me shiver, or maybe it’s the way his fingertips skim my neck as he fastens the clasp. I hold my breath,staring out at the city lights, trying to ignore how intimate this all feels.
“Look at me.”
I let out a slow exhale and turn around to face him. His eyes immediately find mine, lingering for a moment before they drop to the necklace resting against my collarbone.
“Beautiful.” A small smile tugs at his lips.
For a minute I let myself think he’s talking about me, but I know he means the necklace. I lift my hand, tracing the small diamonds decorating my neck.
He keeps his eyes on me for a while before his hand reaches out. “Shall we?”
I glance at his hand, before sliding mine into his as we walk toward the entrance.
This might not be my world—might not even be real—but for the next three months, I think I could get used to this.
Chapter eleven
Nicholas
Ithought this would be easy.
It might have been a rash decision, in a moment of panic, but I’ve done nothing but think of what this arrangement would be like for us. I managed to convince myself that this would be like any other business deal.
But it turns out, I was wrong.
So fucking wrong.
Asking Amara to be my fiancée is a problem I didn’t see coming.
I steal a glance at her as she walks beside me, her long black silk dress catching the low light, the smooth fabric clinging to every inch of her body. My jaw tightens involuntarily.
Fuck, she looks beautiful tonight.
For two years, I’ve seen Amara in sweaters and skirts that hid her figure. And although I tried not to, I always thought she was beautiful, in a quiet, understated, girl-next-door kind of way.
But this?
I’ve never seen her like this.
She looks like she’s stepped straight out of one of my wet dreams, the silk of her dress catching every movement, her soft waves cascading over one shoulder, framing her face. And that dress…God, that dress. It’s enough to drive any man to distraction.
I force my gaze forward, clamping down on the unwelcome thoughts spiraling in my mind. I have work to do tonight, people I need to impress. I can’t afford to let her distract me.
Focus.
The clinking of glasses, the low hum of polished conversations, the faint notes of a string quartet playing in the corner are all familiar. Comfortable, even.
I’ve done this before. I’ve walked into rooms like this, with a date on my arm to maintain appearances. It’s never affected me. It’s always been a necessary part of the game.