Page 33 of Lucas

I swallow hard, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I do feel it, much as I wish I didn’t. This unwanted, undeniable attraction that simmers beneath the surface every time we’re near each other.

“You’re delusional,” I say, but my voice wavers, betraying me.

He smirks, his hand sliding down to the small of my back, pressing me even closer. “Am I? Your body tells a different story.”

I flush, equal parts aroused and angry. How dare he presume to know what I want, what I feel?

The song ends, and he dips me again, even lower this time, supporting my weight easily. His lips graze my collarbone, trailing fire in their wake before he claims my mouth in a searing kiss that steals the breath from my lungs. It’s hot and hungry and full of unspoken promises, and I melt into him,forgetting for a moment where we are and who might be watching.

When he pulls back, releasing me from the spell of his kiss, I’m left reeling, my lips tingling and my head spinning.

“Just giving the people what they want,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “The picture of a happy couple, madly in love.”

I blink, the reality of our situation crashing back over me like a bucket of ice water.

Right. This is all a show, a performance. None of it is real, no matter how my treacherous body might react.

“Congratulations!” Cora appears at my side, enveloping me in a hug. Over her shoulder, I catch sight of my father, standing alone at the edge of the dance floor, a glass of scotch in his hand. Our eyes meet, and he nods, raising his glass in a silent toast. I nod back, a lump forming in my throat.

I know he thinks he did what was best for our family. That this marriage will save us. But looking at him now, I can’t help but wonder at what cost. If I’m going to survive this.

It’s late when we arrive at Lucas’s house after the wedding. As the limousine winds its way up the long, tree-lined driveway, I gaze at the mansion appearing before my eyes through the tinted window. Even in the dark, it’s clear to me it’s enormous.

Splendorous and impressive. Exactly as I expected.

The car comes to a stop before the grand entrance, a wideset of stone steps leading up to ornate double doors. The driver hurries to open the car door for me, bowing slightly.

Lucas gets out first and strides inside while I struggle to extract myself from the vehicle with the voluminous skirts of my dress. The corset digs into my ribs, not allowing me any range of motion.

I should have taken a more loose-fitting dress for the party, as Cora suggested. But it’s too late for regrets now.

I get out, nearly tripping on the hem as I ascend the steps. I enter the foyer and pause, my eyes widening as I take in the opulent space. The ceiling soars high above, a glittering chandelier casting a soft glow. The walls are adorned with large, gilded frames housing what look to be original oil paintings.

Lucas has already taken off his suit jacket, and he’s now removing his cufflinks and handing them to another man who takes them and disappears from sight.

“Who was that?” I ask.

Lucas turns, one eyebrow raised as if he’s surprised to see me standing in his house. “That was Hugo. My house manager. He’s here to fulfill any request. I’ve instructed him to respond to your needs as well, of course.”

“Of course,” I echo, trying not to bristle at the implication that I’m just another task for his staff to manage. “Are there any other staff members I need to know about?”

“Yes, but only Hugo is here all the time. The rest come and go during the day as needed.”

“He lives here?”

“Yes, but not in the mansion. He has a house attached to this one.”

I nod, stifling a yawn that threatens to crack my jaw. The events of the day are catching up with me, the adrenaline thathad been sustaining me ebbing away. “Could you point me to my room? I’m pretty tired.”

Lucas points to the left. “You’re at the end of the hall.”

“And you?”

Lucas points in the other direction. “I’m there. In the room farthest from yours.”

“Great,” I mutter, unsure whether to be relieved or offended by the clear message in the distance he’s putting between us.

“Your belongings have already been brought to your room.” He walks over to a side table where several cut-crystal decanters and matching glasses sit on a silver tray. He pours himself a generous measure of amber liquid—whiskey, judging by the color. “Want some?”