Page 17

I’m buried in my phone, replying to an email as I enter the dining room.

When I look up, I find Mark sitting there, a table laid out for two.

“Oh,” I stammer, memories from three nights ago rushing back at me.

He’s looking devastatingly handsome.

Enough to know I’ll be in real trouble if I let myself stumble.

“Join me?” he asks, rising from his chair.

“I … I just remembered I have some more meetings to set up. I think I’d rather eat in my room.”

“Right,” he looks.

.. disappointed? But I’m probably just imagining things by projecting my own feelings onto him.

The truth is that I’ve been trying to keep my distance from him because of what happened between us, and I'm not sure if I can be around him without wanting more. And from how he spoke about the time we shared, something about how all good things come to an end, I already know he’s not in it for anything long-haul.

And his actions match his words.

He hasn’t pushed for answers. Hasn’t pushed for time with me outside of what is necessary. That’s probably because the night we shared was nothing but a casual hookup for him.

“I’ll ask the maid to send up your dinner,” he says as I stand there silently before him, lost in my thoughts.

“Yes, please,” I say, and my heart feels crushed that he hasn’t tried to convince me to stay.

“After all, we can't keep the busy bee waiting for her nectar,” he teases. I force a laugh, feeling the weight of the unspoken tension between us.

As I turn to leave, Mark's voice stops me in my tracks, “Quinn, we have that charity event to attend tomorrow night.”

A part of me wants to decline, to put some distance between us, but another part reminds me to hold on to my end of the bargain.

With a sigh, I nod, “Seven it is.”

He smiles, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes, and I turn to walk away.

***

I gaze out the window of Mark's sleek black Mercedes, the city lights blurring past as we speed toward tonight's party. My thoughts wander to that evening, to the warmth of his breath against my skin, the pressure of his body against mine. I shake my head, trying to push the memories away. Focus, Quinn. This is just a business arrangement.

Mark's deep voice breaks into my thoughts.

“Penny for your thoughts, Princess?”

I roll my eyes at the pet name, refusing to let him see how it affects me.

“Just mentally preparing for tonight. We need to make this engagement look real.”

“Don't worry; I'm an excellent actor.” His blue-gray eyes sparkle with mischief as he grins at me.

***

Three nights later, I sift through the designer dresses Mark sent over, settling on an emerald-green piece that hugs my curves.

As I zip it up, I catch sight of myself in the mirror.

The dress is a far cry from my usual no-nonsense suits, but it makes me feel powerful and beautiful, exactly what I need tonight.

Mark waits by the door downstairs, looking criminally handsome in his tailored tux.

His gaze rakes over me approvingly.

“You clean up nice, Desmond.”

My heart races, highlighting the obvious fact that I subconsciously dressed up for him.

Does he see it, too?

We share a charged look, the air between us crackling with tension.

But I steady my spine, smoothing my dress.

I can't let myself forget—this is all pretend. Mark and I come from different worlds. Falling for him is the last thing I can afford to do because he certainly won’t fall for me.

***

As we step into the opulent ballroom, Mark's hand rests on the small of my back, a gesture that feels both possessive and reassuring.

I take a deep breath, putting a smile on my face as we navigate through the throng of well-dressed guests.

“Mark, Darling!” A woman dripping in diamonds approaches us, air-kissing Mark on both cheeks.

“And who might this lovely creature be?”

“Elena, meet my fiancée, Quinn Desmond.” Mark's arm tightens around my waist, drawing me closer. “Quinn, this is Elena, an old family friend.”

I extend my hand, my smile never wavering. “Pleasure to meet you, Elena.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, assessing me with a shrewd gaze. “Likewise, Dear. I must say, this engagement comes as quite a surprise. Mark's always been such a…free spirit.”

I laugh, the sound a little too bright. “Well, when you know, you know. Right, Baby?” I turn to Mark, our eyes locking.

For a moment, I swear I see something real flicker in his gaze. But then it's gone, replaced by his signature charm. “Oh, I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you, Princess.”

The way he says it makes my heart skip a beat. For a split second, I let myself believe his words contained a fragment of truth, a hint of the feelings I've been desperately trying to suppress.

But then reality crashes back in, reminding me that this is all a facade, a performance we're putting on for the world.

Elena glances between us, clearly searching for gossip. “Well, Quinn, you've definitely charmed the uncharmable Mark Zolotov.”

I share a look with Mark, both of us trying to keep up the act. “Oh, it was love at first sight for both of us,” I quip, forcing a laugh as Mark's hand tightens imperceptibly on my waist.

As Elena moves on to greet other guests, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. Mark leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “You're a natural at this.”

I shiver, trying to ignore the heat that courses through me at his proximity. “I learned from the best.”

We make our rounds, our act flawless. Mark's hand never leaves my back, his touch a constant reminder of our charade. But as the night wears on, the lines begin to blur. His laughter sounds genuine, and his smiles reach his eyes. When he looks at me, I almost believe the adoration I see there.

A pang of longing hits me, sharp and sudden. What would it be like to truly be a part of his life? To have his affection, his loyalty, for real?

I shake my head, banishing the thought. This is a game, nothing more.

But as he catches my eye, his gaze heated and intense, I can't help but wonder...what if?

***

As we mingle at another party next week, a woman in a sleek silver gown approaches me, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Quinn, Darling! I've been eager to hear more about your engagement.”

I plaster on a smile, my mind racing for a response. “Oh, you know how it is. When you find the right person, everything just falls into place.”

The woman leans in conspiratorially. “But how did he propose? I bet it was terribly romantic.”

From the corner of my eye, I catch Mark watching me, his gaze intense. I swallow hard, feeling the weight of his stare. “It was a private moment, just the two of us. Mark's not one for grand gestures, but he has a way of making even the simplest things feel special.”

The words come easily, a lie that feels dangerously close to a confession. The woman sighs dreamily, clearly satisfied with my answer. “You two make such a lovely couple. I can see the adoration in his eyes when he looks at you.”

I force a laugh, trying to ignore the way my heart clenches at her words. If only she knew the truth.

As the woman drifts away, Mark’s hand rests on the small of my back. “You handled that well,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. “Just enough details, but not too many to give us away.”

I tilt my head to look up at him, my pulse quickening at his proximity. “Thank you.”

His lips curl into a smirk, yet there's a softness in his eyes that takes me by surprise. “Dance with me,” he suddenly says, taking my hand and guiding me to the center of the room.

I follow silently, my skin tingling where his fingers intertwine with mine. As we sway to the music, Mark draws me closer, his body shaping to mine in a way that feels both familiar and exhilaratingly fresh.

“Quinn,” he breathes, my name a caress on his lips. “I...”

But before he can continue, an apologetic friend of his appears, asking for some urgent advice. The moment broken, Mark steps back, his mask slipping back into place.

I watch them walk off the floor. What was he about to say? And why do I feel a flicker of disappointment at the interruption?

***

As the party starts to wind down, Mark guides me towards the exit, and I feel a sudden surge of panic at the thought of leaving his side. It's irrational, I know, but after spending the evening playing the role of his adoring fiancée, the idea of being alone feels strangely unsettling.

As if sensing my unease, Mark tilts his head in my direction. “You okay?” he murmurs.

I nod, unable to speak. The truth is, I'm nowhere near okay. The lines between pretense and reality are blurring, and I'm uncertain how much longer I can maintain this charade without completely losing myself.

We step out into the cool night air, and I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head. But before I can fully compose myself, Mark leads me towards his sleek black car, its engine already purring. “I hope you’re not too tired. We have one more appearance to make.”

“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice sounding small and uncertain to my own ears.

Mark's lips quirk in a half-smile, his eyes glinting with excitement. “My family's place. My sister Lara and her husband Dima Orlov are throwing a little gathering.”

My heart stutters in my chest, and nervousness sweeps over me. “We’re meeting your family?”

“All of them,” he nods.

***

As we pull up to the sprawling mansion, I take in its grandeur—the manicured lawns and towering columns speak of wealth and status. Mark helps me out of the car, his hand lingering on the small of my back as he guides me towards the entrance.

The moment we reach the doorway to the living room, I'm engulfed in a whirlwind of activity, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses filling the air.

A bunch of curious faces turn in our direction, and I stiffen, suddenly nervous.

Mark's arm tightens around my waist, his presence a steadying force amidst the chaos of my thoughts. “Relax,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my temple. “You're with me. You're safe.”

I lean into him, drawing strength from his solid frame, and we move into the living room together.

The next thing I know, we’re surrounded by a group of people. I recognize Lara immediately, who embraces me. “I’m so glad you dropped by!” She turns to introduce me to a tall man. “This is my husband, Dima.”

“You’ll find that we Orlovs are much better company than the Zolotovs,” Dima grins at me, helping to put me at ease.

“That’s because you’re all frightfully boring,” a man I don’t recognize chimes in, giving me his hand. I laugh as I take it.

“Sergei,” he introduces himself.

“The most notorious of my cousins.”

“Don’t tell my wife that,” he winks at me as a beautiful woman slides up to him.

“Hi, I’m Amelia,” she says sweetly, before swatting at her husband’s arm. “Keeping secrets, are we?”

I find myself laughing along with them, the tension slowly ebbing away in the face of their easy banter and genuine warmth. Mark stands beside me, his hand never far from my back.

“Can I get you a drink?” he whispers in my ear. The air hits my neck, and I shiver from unwanted desire.

“Yes, please,” I say, my voice coming out hoarse.

We make our way to the bar, where Mark hands me a glass of red wine before introducing me to several others. I already know his brothers, Abram, Vladimir, and Denis, who greet me warmly. Then there’s Mikhail, with his booming laugh and infectious smile, and Caterina, elegant and poised, who regards me with keen interest. Lastly, there are Lev and Pippa, the bickering yet clearly devoted couple who remind me so much of my parents.

“So, you're the woman who finally managed to tie down our Mark,” Artyom, the youngest of the Orlovs, comments. “I never thought I'd see the day.”

I laugh, the sound a little too high-pitched to my own ears. “Well, what can I say? I'm pretty irresistible.”

Artyom chuckles, clearly amused by my response. “I like you,” he declares, raising his glass in a toast. “Welcome to the family, Quinn.”

I clink my glass against his, the gesture feeling oddly significant, even though it’s all but a lie. As I take a sip of my drink, I catch Mark's eye, a flicker of something unreadable passing between us.

Throughout the evening, Mark remains attentive, his hand always finding the small of my back or the curve of my waist. He refills my drink without being asked, his fingers brushing against mine as he hands me the glass.

“Having fun?” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.

I nod, leaning into his touch. “Your family is...a lot,” I admit, my voice low. “But in a good way, I think.”

Mark chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. “They can be overwhelming,” he agrees. “But they mean well. And they seem to like you.”

I glance around the room, taking in the smiling faces and the easy laughter. Despite my initial reservations, I find myself starting to relax, the warmth of the family's welcome seeping into my bones.

As the night wears on, I find myself drawn into more conversations, each one a little easier than the last. Mark's siblings regale me with embarrassing stories from his childhood, their laughter infectious as they share memories of a young Mark getting into all sorts of trouble.

I can't help but join in, my laughter mingling with theirs. For a moment, I forget the pretense, the fact that this is all just an act. In this moment, surrounded by the warmth and camaraderie of Mark's family, I feel like I belong. I get caught up in the experience, savoring the various cocktails and snacks they keep offering.

Watching them, I feel a pang of longing so sharp that it takes my breath away. I've always been independent, proud of my ability to stand on my own two feet. However, seeing the warmth and love that surround Mark's family, I can't help but wonder what it would be like to be a part of something like that. All I have in this world to call family are my parents, who are happy in their retirement and traveling the world.

Memories of my uncle gush back. I remember how he filled our home with laughter on his visits and how special he made me feel. But when he passed, we were down to just three, and I wonder, on a certain level, what it might be like to have a family this big, this boisterous, this large, and happy.

Lost in my thoughts, I don't notice Mark approaching until he's standing right beside me. “Penny for your thoughts?” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate.

I startle slightly, then shake my head. “It's nothing,” I say, forcing a smile. “Just...taking it all in.”

Mark studies me for a moment, his blue-gray eyes seeming to look right through me. “Come on,” he says, taking my hand. “Let's go get some air.”

He leads me out onto the balcony, the cool night air a welcome respite from the warmth of the house. For a moment, we stand in silence, looking out over the twinkling lights of the city below.

“I know this isn't easy for you,” Mark says finally, his voice soft. “Pretending to be something we're not.”

I shrug, trying to play it off. “It's not so bad,” I say, but even I can hear the uncertainty in my voice.

Mark turns to face me, his expression serious. “Quinn,” he says, and the sound of my name on his lips sends a shiver down my spine. “I know we didn't exactly start off well. But I want you to know that... I'm here for you. Whatever you need.”

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly tight. “I just...” I hesitate, the words sticking in my throat. “I've never had this before. A family, I mean. Not really.”

Mark's expression softens, his eyes filled with understanding. “I know,” he says quietly. “It’s truly something special, isn’t it?”

He reaches out, his fingers brushing against my cheek in a gesture that feels almost unbearably tender. For a moment, I lean into his touch, allowing myself to envision what it would be like to experience this, not just the pretense, but the reality of it. To belong to someone, to be part of something greater than myself.

But then reality comes crashing back in, and I pull away, my heart racing. “We should get back inside,” I say, my voice rough. “Before someone comes looking for us.”

Mark nods, but there's a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. “Of course,” he says, offering me his arm. “Shall we?”

I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders as I slip my arm through his. Together, we step back into the warmth and light of the house and head straight back to the bar.