Page 11 of My Horrible Arranged Marriage (Bancroft Billionaire Brothers #20)

MINA

I couldn’t believe he was actually matching my crazy.

Not just tolerating it, not rolling his eyes and muttering about how immature I was being—but actively leaning into it.

Isaac Bancroft, with his stupidly good hair and million-dollar smile, had just twirled me onto the dance floor like we were just two regular wedding guests tearing up the floor in celebration of love.

His hand found the small of my back, steadying me before he dipped me in one smooth, theatrical move.

I was breathless when he pulled me back up. And not just from the dancing.

His grin was smug and a little devilish, like he knew damn well the effect he had on me. I playfully shoved him, but the electricity humming between us didn’t fade.

“Stop showing off,” I said.

“Can’t help it,” he replied, voice low and velvety near my ear. “You make a hell of a dance partner.”

“I thought you didn’t dance,” I said.

“I don’t,” he replied.

He spun me again before I could reply. We were lost in the swirl of music, bodies, and twinkling lights.

We weren’t supposed to be here. We didn’t know the couple.

We had no assigned table. Our names weren’t printed on the fancy seating chart with its calligraphy font and gold-leaf paper.

We were a pair of liars with fake names and stories we’d made up on the fly.

But I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had this much fun.

None of my friends would ever do this with me. Certainly not any of the guys I had dated. It was freeing. I loved that he wasn’t judging me or trying to be a good influence. He was leaning in and clearly loving it.

After three songs, we made our way to the dessert table. Neither of us sat, not wanting to risk exposure, but we hovered like predators at a buffet. We had not gone to dinner like I expected we would when he asked me out.

We filled small white plates with mini tarts, chocolate-dipped strawberries, and tiny cannoli while pretending to be totally legit wedding guests.

We nibbled like we belonged there, making small talk with other guests, laughing at their stories, and throwing in absurd little facts about our supposed friendship with the bride.

Every guest got a different story. It wasn’t intentional, but I knew there was no way I could keep the lies straight and I wasn’t going to try.

“I was her roommate in Switzerland,” I told an older woman who complimented my dress. “We studied interior architecture.”

“Is that right?” she asked. “What a lovely field.”

“Yeah,” Isaac jumped in smoothly. “That’s actually how I met Persephone. I was over there working on a documentary about Swiss marmots. Got snowed in. Her flat had heat. One thing led to another, and now here we are.”

I cocked an eyebrow at his sudden Australian accent. He was really enjoying this.

The woman blinked. “Swiss marmots?”

“Charming little buggers,” he said with a perfect Aussie accent. I almost choked on my pastry with the exaggerated accent. My very own Hemsworth brother.

“Have you ever been to Australia?” I asked in a low voice when it was just the two of us.

“I’ve been,” he replied.

“I can’t tell if you’re lying or not.” I laughed.

“I’ve been there for real. Have you?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m not big on spiders the size of my head.”

He laughed. “Huntsman. The stuff of nightmares.”

“I don’t need to be introduced,” I muttered. “I never want to see them or the many other critters that live there.”

We were standing near the bar, sipping champagne and pretending to be engrossed in a conversation about the bride’s “amazing” taste in flowers, when a man in a slightly too tight tuxedo approached us.

He had the kind of smile that said he was trying too hard and the energy of someone who’d had one too many espresso martinis.

“You two look like you’re having the time of your lives,” he said, his voice booming over the music. “I’m Greg. Friend of the groom.”

“Sebastian,” Isaac said smoothly, extending a hand. “And this is Persephone.”

Greg shook his hand with way too much enthusiasm. “Persephone? Like the goddess?”

“Exactly like the goddess,” I said, flashing him my most dazzling smile. “But don’t worry, I won’t drag you to the underworld. Tonight, anyway.”

Greg laughed like I’d just told the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “You two are a riot. What do you do, Sebastian?”

Isaac leaned in slightly, his expression turning serious. “I’m a shark charmer.” He was back to using the Australian accent.

Greg blinked. “A… shark charmer?”

“Yeah,” Isaac said, nodding like it was the most normal job in the world. “I specialize in calming down great whites. You know, for research purposes. It’s all about understanding their body language and earning their trust.”

Greg looked genuinely impressed, which made it even harder for me to keep a straight face. “That’s incredible! How did you get into that?”

Isaac shrugged casually, like he wasn’t spinning the most ridiculous lie I’d ever heard.

“It started as a hobby, really. I was surfing off the coast of Australia—that’s where I grew up—and this massive great white just showed up.

Instead of panicking, I stayed calm, looked it in the eye, and started humming this little tune my grandma taught me.

Next thing I knew, it was swimming circles around me like a puppy. ”

Greg’s jaw dropped. “No way.”

“Way,” Isaac said, his tone completely deadpan. “Now I travel the world, working with marine biologists to study shark behavior. It’s not glamorous work, but it’s rewarding.”

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. Greg was eating it up like it was gospel.

“That’s amazing,” Greg said, shaking his head in awe. “You must have nerves of steel.”

“Nah,” Isaac said with a modest shrug. “Just a good ear for shark music.”

Greg laughed again, clapping Isaac on the shoulder like they were old friends. “Well, it was great meeting you both. Enjoy the rest of the night!”

As soon as Greg was out of earshot, I turned to Isaac, my shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. “A shark charmer ? Really?”

He grinned at me, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “What? It worked, didn’t it?”

“You are insane,” I said, still laughing. “How in the hell have we never partied before?”

He shrugged. “I guess we’ve just managed to miss each other.”

“Have you ever met a shark charmer?” I asked him.

“Nope.”

“How do you charm a shark? What do you do, bat your lashes underwater?”

He shrugged, deadly serious. “Eye contact is key. That and emotional vulnerability. And a lot of fish.”

I burst out laughing and had to lean on his arm to keep from stumbling in my heels.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says. “I’m bored.”

Right then I noticed the bride talking to one of the staff members.

And that explained why Isaac was suddenly bored.

I snatched a bottle of wine from a corner table that someone had just opened.

We made our way out the back door into the parking lot, which smelled like car exhaust and cigarette smoke.

A few staff members were leaning against the brick wall, smoking and scrolling their phones, but they barely glanced at us.

“That was a close one,” I said.

He started laughing. “Was it the snake charmer thing?”

“Or maybe my story about the hookah lounge,” I said. “I get the feeling the beautiful bride is a bit uptight. I gave away the ruse.”

We settled onto the curb like a couple of teenagers playing hooky from prom.

“My father would absolutely lose his shit if he knew I was doing this,” I said before taking a drink straight from the bottle.

“Then I guess it would be best if he never knew, right?” Isaac grinned, reaching for the bottle as I passed it to him.

We sat there in silence for a moment, the cool night air brushing against our skin, the buzz of the party still faintly audible behind us.

The world felt quiet out here. Removed from responsibility.

From names like Bancroft and Duvall. For a moment, it was just us and a bottle of wine and the ridiculous memory of Isaac fake charming sharks.

“You’re not what I expected,” I said, not meaning to say it aloud.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” he asked, head tilted as he passed the bottle back.

“I don’t know yet.”

He nodded, as if that answer made sense. “You’re not what I expected either, for what it’s worth.”

I took another sip and leaned back on my hands, staring up at the sky. “I thought you’d be boring. Uptight. Polished within an inch of your life.”

“I can be all those things,” he said with a wink. “Sometimes I have to be. Just like I’m sure you have to be at times.”

I nodded. “Yep.”

“I’ll admit, I was not looking forward to the date,” he said. “I was thinking you must be the most obnoxious girl in the world if your daddy had to force a guy to go out with you.”

“Hey!” I protested. “I was the one forced to go out with you .”

He flashed a grin. “Do you think they thought we’d get along?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” I mulled over the question. “I think my father assumed I would complain. Like he was punishing me.”

“I could punish you,” he said in a husky tone before he burst out in laughter. “Sorry. That was cheesy. I couldn’t resist.”

I laughed again, surprised at how easy it was with him.

I wasn’t like this. Not anymore. Not after Sampson.

That relationship had taken something from me.

The woman I was before was gone. Sampson’s betrayal left me wary, suspicious, and so tightly wound I barely recognized myself half the time.

But here with Isaac, I felt light. Like maybe I still had a little bit of spark in me after all.

He nudged my knee gently with his. “You okay?”

I turned to look at him. There was concern there. He hid it under that charming smile, but I saw it in his eyes.

“What?”

“Earlier. On the phone. You sounded upset.”

I swallowed, not sure what to say. My first instinct was to deflect, crack another joke, keep things playful and safe. But he was looking at me like he actually cared to know the answer. That wasn’t something I got a lot of lately.