Page 41 of Faking the Pass

Cinderella Goes to the Ball

P resley

Going to the Nauticals practice facility Wednesdays through Saturdays was a lifesaver.

If I’d had to stay in the house with Rosie twenty-four-seven, I’d have lost my mind within a week.

All that close physical proximity was wearing on me.

Out on the practice field, I watched the linebackers and defensive backs lunge forward and slam into the sleds, the impact loud and violent.

And I was jealous of them.

I wished I had such a powerful outlet for all the pent-up energy I was walking around with now that the honeymoon was over—in every sense of the word.

Working out at home and here with the team’s trainers wasn’t getting the job done.

While it might not have been a cure for the so-close-but-so-far blue balls, at least coming into work gave me a sense of purpose for half the week. I attended the quarterbacks meeting then watched my two backups run the week’s offensive plays on the practice field.

Dylan was really coming along. Though he rarely saw any gametime action, my youngest brother had been looking tight in practice.

Coach Maddox had noticed it too.

Walt Maddox had been known as “The Wall” in his playing days, not only because of his massive size but also his unshakable demeanor. He never lost his cool, though the man never quite looked happy either.

He stood on the sidelines today, frowning against the sun but also clapping his huge hands together as Dylan completed yet another long pass while running the opposing team’s plays.

“That’s the way you do it,” he yelled. “Looking good, Dylan.”

After the drills, my brother ran over to join me and Austin talking on the sideline.

“You hear that?” he asked me.

“I heard it, and Coach is right,” I said.

“I just can’t believe he actually said it. Dude hates me,” Dylan said.

“Nah, that’s just how he is. He likes you, I can tell. Keep throwing it like that and he’ll like you even more,” I said. “You just need to work on relaxing.”

“What about you Pres?” Austin asked. “You must be pretty relaxed these days.”

I ignored my backup’s obvious reference to my sex life, but he kept going.

“Unless you’re on the IR at home too.” He laughed. “If it were me, I’d have to be in a full-body cast to keep from climbing onto Rosie James every night.”

He wore a dirty grin I was sorely tempted to wipe off his face, broken clavicle or not.

Of course I couldn’t because if I were to put him on the injured reserve list, people would accuse me of playing dirty to move my brother up the roster and get him on the field this Sunday.

I simply said, “Don’t talk about my wife.”

Apparently my forbidding tone was dark enough to convince him, because Austin’s smile dropped immediately, and he got back to business.

Several of my other teammates teased me about the surprise marriage and about Rosie’s hotness, though it was all good-natured. I’d missed these guys.

All of them but Kannon Calahane.

Apparently, he wasn’t all that delighted at my return either because he scowled when he saw me in the locker room.

“Move, rich boy—unless you want your new wife sitting on a busted up face.”

Several of the guys chuckled as he pushed past us and continued down the hall to the showers, practically shaking the walls with his heavy footfalls.

And yes, all of us moved out of his way.

Words from Kannon were pretty rare, but when he spoke, people listened.

If a hurricane and a rabid grizzly bear could somehow procreate, the result would be Kannon Calahane. He was one of the largest humans I’d ever seen, and after twelve seasons in the NFL, I’d encountered some big ones.

Six-foot-seven and 320 pounds, he could have been a great offensive tackle but chose instead to assassinate quarterbacks for a living as a defensive end.

Watching him in the weight room was awe-inspiring—a little scary even.

It wasn’t just his massive size and strength. Kannon had a reputation as one of the dirtiest players in the NFL and had received numerous penalties for roughing the other teams’ QBs, thus his nickname, “Kannon the Crusher.”

He seemed to have a particular dislike for me and Dylan, glowering whenever we were around. I guessed it was the position we both played?

I pictured the guy being groomed from birth to hate quarterbacks like those poor pit bulls who were trained by their abusive owners to be vicious and fight one another to the death in a ring.

I was just glad he was on our team, and I didn’t have to play against him.

On Friday evening, a large box arrived at the house. I retrieved it from the driver and carried it inside.

It was heavy. The address label featured both mine and Rosie’s names, but I didn’t recognize the sender’s name or address.

“Rosie,” I called out. “Someone’s apparently sent us a boulder as a wedding gift. Either that or… did you order a baby grand?”

She came in from the deck and eyed the huge box.

“That must be my costume,” she said. “I have to attend the Cosmo Gala at the Cosmopolitan Museum of Art. It’s required in my contract for Once Upon a Charm .”

“In New York? When is it?”

“Monday.”

“This Monday? That’s only a few days from now. When were you planning to tell me about this?”

“I didn’t want to bother you with it,” she said. “Besides, you have work. I didn’t think you’d want to go.”

“We have Mondays off. And I don’t necessarily have to be there early on Tuesday. It’s a fundraising thing for the arts, right? Why would you think I wouldn’t want to go with you?”

Rosie blinked, looking like she was at a loss.

“Have you ever seen photos from the Cosmo Gala? Everyone wears costumes. Wild ones. The theme this year is fairytales and fantasy.”

“So? I like costume parties,” I told her.

“You’re not going to like this one,” she said dourly. “Since I’m attending it to promote the movie, I have to wear a Cinderella costume. Couples usually dress to match.”

“Are you telling me there’s a fairy godmother dress in there for me?” I joked.

Rosie didn’t laugh. Instead she winced.

“No, but there’s no Prince Charming costume for you either.”

She hesitated before continuing. “Randy’s planning to dress as the prince—because of the movie, you know.”

“Randy will be there?”

Now I was definitely going.

“Yes. I won’t be sitting with him at the dinner, but we have to take some pictures together on the red carpet,” Rosie said. “There is a costume in there for you, but if it’s what Randy said he was sending in his email, you’re not going to want to wear it.”

“Open it up and let’s see.”

Rosie took a box cutter from the drawer and carefully cut the tape and opened the box flaps.

The sparkly blue ball gown was on top. She pulled it out, and then I saw what she was talking about.

“What. the. fuck. is that ?” I asked.

There was an enormous white mouse head in the box.

Not a mask—lots of people wore small masks to the outlandish high fashion event. This was an entire head-covering like people wore on that crazy masked singer show.

It was ugly as hell.

“It’s a footman costume,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the sight of the hideous head.

“You remember the fairy tale? The fairy godmother turns some white mice into a coach driver and footmen?”

“Yeah, I remember.” I picked up the head, which must have weighed forty pounds.

“So this is the costume Randy generously sent for me ,” I said, understanding her sheepishness now. “Something that hides my face so I’m completely unrecognizable and makes it damn near impossible to breathe.”

“Well, officially the studio sent it—and paid for the tickets, which are fifty thousand dollars apiece. But I don’t expect you to wear it.”

“Good. This thing looks fucking scary—not to mention suffocating.”

I set it down and went back to the box, removing the rest of the costume. It was a silky light blue short jacket and matching knee-length breeches, white stockings, black buckled shoes, and a lacy white shirt and cravat.

Not the most masculine outfit I’d ever seen.

“I’ll wear the rest of it though,” I said.

Rosie’s eyes bulged. “You will?”

“Sure. Like I said, I like costume parties. Usually I don’t dress like Lord Byron, but I can tolerate it for one night. I don’t want you to have to face Randy alone.”

To my surprise, Rosie flung herself at me, wrapping her arms around my waist and pressing her cheek to my chest.

“Thank you. Thank you so much. I don’t want to face him alone either. Or the press, which will be crawling all over the place.”

My heart was pounding so hard I was hoping it didn’t bruise Rosie’s face. I cupped the back of her head, holding her to me.

This was the closest we’d been since that shower, and she hadn’t voluntarily held me in her arms since we’d been on the island. It felt incredibly good.

“Of course,” I said. “What kind of fake husband would I be if I let you go alone? When do you want to leave?”

“The studio booked a room at the Scott Hotel for Sunday and Monday nights. That’s where people usually get ready for the event—it’s down the street from the museum.”

“I’ll arrange for a driver to pick us up Sunday morning and drive us there,” I said. “Maybe we could explore New York a little that day and have dinner somewhere nice?”

She gave me a brilliant smile that made me feel like I’d won a prize.

“That sounds perfect. Thank you, Presley. I owe you one.”

She didn’t, but I wasn’t going to say that out loud.

If Rosie wanted to consider herself in my debt, who was I to argue?

I had never liked Randy Ryland before this day, but at least the man had done one thing right.

The room his company had booked for us in Manhattan had only a single queen-sized bed.

Right now, Rosie’s dress and my embarrassing costume were laid out across it as we both got ready for the event. The smell of her perfume drifted from the bathroom, and I could hear the music she was listening to—the spa channel.

It was what she listened to whenever she was tense or nervous. That made me extra glad I’d come with her.

I pulled on the skin-tight breeches, stockings and shoes, and the frilly white shirt, feeling about as silly as I looked.

But then Rosie came out of the bathroom in her white hotel robe, and her eyes dropped to the front of my pants and widened.

She cleared her throat. “Those uh… don’t leave much to the imagination do they?”

I turned to check my reflection in the full-length wall mirror. Now that she’d mentioned it, there was even less room in the pants.

Willing to bet that wasn’t what Randy had intended for tonight.

Turning back to Rosie, I gave her a naughty grin and a little bow. “Your loyal footman… always ready to serve, my lady.”

Her face flushed, and she scooted back into the bathroom. The studio had arranged for a hair stylist and makeup artist to come to our room and transform her into Cinderella.

When they left two hours later, Rosie emerged looking like a real life princess. The sky-blue dress looked like it was made for her, and it probably had been.

It was one of those off the shoulder styles with tiny little puff sleeves and a tight waist my hands ached to encircle. The neckline perfectly displayed the tops of her lush breasts, which were being pushed up by something to a totally distracting level.

“You uh…” Words were failing me. “You look stunning.”

“Thank you. I can hardly breathe in this corset, so hopefully my face doesn’t turn blue and match the tulle,” she joked.

“Your face looks stunning, too,” I assured her, and her eyelids fluttered down shyly.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Think you could help me with this thing?” I asked as I tried and failed to tie the lacy neckpiece of my costume for the third time.

She walked over to stand just in front of me, reaching up to tie the cravat.

“You look very nice,” she said in a breathy voice. “Is it… uncomfortable?”

My gaze dropped from her face to her chest, so generously displayed in the low neckline, and I sent up a silent prayer of thanks to whomever invented corsets.

“The breeches are a bit tight, as you pointed out. That’s partially your fault. You really do look incredible, Rosie. I mean, you always do, but tonight…”

Her eyes flew up to meet mine, and her hands stopped their work. She seemed to have stopped breathing.

I found it hard to catch a breath myself. I wanted to bolt the door, throw her on the bed, and find out what was underneath that dress.

Instead, I stood still and let her finish tying the neckpiece. Once she got it tied, she gave it a little pat.

“There you go.”

“Thanks.”

For some reason, in this moment, our fake marriage felt so much like a real one. I almost said so, but the room phone rang, startling us both and breaking the tension of the moment.

I went to answer it.

“Mr. Lowe, this is the front desk. Your car is here.”

“Thank you.” I hung up and told Rosie, “Your carriage has arrived for the ball, my lady.”

“Ha ha.” She didn’t look amused though. She looked nervous.

When I saw her hands trembling, I couldn’t not do something. I went to her and took her icy fingers in mine.

“You’re beautiful—like a real princess,” I said. “Don’t worry about the press. They’re going to love you.”

Just like I do.

There was no point in denying it to myself any longer. If I wasn’t already deeply in love with Rosie, I was falling—hard.

She had to be aware of it. I mean, no straight man on the planet wanted to spend that much time shopping or planning special outings. I’d completely given up trying not to be distracted by her—in fact I liked it.

Her beautiful brown eyes were wide and trusting as she gazed up at me.

“Are you sure?”

“Trust me,” I whispered, and the cock-blocking phone rang again.

I reached over and lifted the receiver to my ear.

“The limo’s double-parked,” the desk clerk said in an apologetic tone.

“We’ll be right down,” I told her.

It was a good thing the limo ride was a short one. Any longer and I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself from jumping Rosie in the back of the car.

Which would have been bad, since as far as she knew, nothing had changed between us.

She didn’t seem to remember the things she’d said while under the influence of the seasickness medication, and she hadn’t made a single move on me physically.

As far as she was concerned, we were still pretending.

Her hand clenched mine like a vise as we pulled up at the curb in front of the Cosmopolitan Museum, sobering me up and reminding me of my function at this event.

Do whatever was necessary to protect what was mine.