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He closed the distance, and my hands rested on his chest. “Is it working?” He dipped, pressing his lips to the skin behind my ear, a featherlight touch that set my body ablaze.

“I—” I cleared my throat. “I, uh…” I clutched his shirt in my fists, trying to concentrate. Focus.

Focus, Lil!

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I straightened and took a step back. “Okay.” I patted his chest. “That’s enough—for now. You’re not getting out of this.”

He arched one eyebrow as if to say, “You sure?”

I planted my hands on my hips and narrowed my eyes at him in response. Hoping the gesture conveyed that I was sure. Even when my body was screaming in protest at the loss of his touch.

“No rest for the wicked.” He adjusted himself. “I’ll go change, and then we can get started.”

I smoothed my hand down his chest, unable to resist touching him. “You look great. Relaxed. At home. The more comfortable you are, the more it will reflect on-camera.”

“But I’m CEO of one of the most lucrative luxury hotel chains on the planet.”

“And everyone knows that. They see you in suits all the time. But they don’t get to see you like this.”

I only hoped that I’d get to see Graham like this after we returned to LA. I knew things would change. Of course they would. He’d go back to working full time, and we’d go back to attending public events. But I hoped we’d still be as vulnerable and authentic with each other.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked, showing a rare hesitance. Was he nervous?

I placed my hand over his heart. “Do you trust me?”

He brought my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my palm. “Of course.”

“Then trust me on this.”

He blew out a breath. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

“That’s the spirit,” I teased and ducked inside. I checked my phone, frowning at a new message from my mom.

Over the past few weeks, I’d ignored countless texts from my family. Their anger had since cooled, turned into apologies.A thinly veiled attempt to manipulate me into giving my sister the money.

Sometimes I wished I could go back tobefore. To when my family hadn’t been jealous and resentful. To when they’d viewed me as an oddity instead of a piggy bank that they tried to guilt into giving them money.

I deleted the text and grabbed my gear. As soon as I returned, Graham took my camera bag and tripod from me.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yep!” I chirped with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm. Eager to distract him—and myself—I said, “Wait. Didn’t you say you had a surprise for me?”

“I said, I had something I wanted to show you.”

I arched a brow and gave his crotch a pointed look.

“Not that.” He shook his head. “Though I’d be happy to show you that anytime.”

“Mm.” I licked my lips, my mind flashing to last night and the way I’d sucked him off.

Watching him lose control had been glorious, but I wanted more. I wanted something real. Telling him about my alopecia had been a good first step. And his reaction had been, well, everything.

But could he love me? For now, maybe it could be enough to know that he cared about me. Regardless of his feelings, our situation was complicated. So long as we were pretending to be a happily married couple, I wasn’t sure I could distinguish what was real from what wasn’t.

We walked to the edge of thegrand allée, and Graham watched as I set up the camera. “Okay,” I said. “Can you walk down thegrand alléetoward the château?”

“That’s all you want me to do—walk?” He looked incredulous.