Page 13

Stella

Agreeing to stay married to Thomas is one thing. Actually following through with it is another, especially when members of my family are on the other side of the door.

We need to get out of here as quickly as possible before anyone corners or questions us. Thomas and I aren’t done talking—there are a thousand things we need to hash out before we can move forward with this plan—but this isn’t the right venue for it. I’m about to suggest we go back to my hotel when the door bangs open and we’re both left blinking at a cloud of tulle.

Janelle shoves herself inside the room. “You two are in deep trouble,” she announces. “Not only are you stealing my spotlight, Stella, but your parents are freaking out. They want to talk to you.” Then she jerks her chin at Thomas. “And him.”

“ Fuuuck. ” I drag the word out on an exhale, eyes sliding closed to shut out the world for a heavy second. “I’m so sorry, Elle. I hope I didn’t ruin your day.”

The scratch and shuffle of fabric floats through the air, getting me to look over at Janelle again, but she’s already in front of me, attempting to squeeze herself into the tiny space between Thomas and me on the couch.

“No apologies,” she says, grabbing my hand and holding tight. “You didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Is there anything I can do to help? I know you’ve got lawyers of your own, but do you need me to find you someone local to get started on the annulment? You probably don’t want to put that off now that the news is out.”

I lock eyes with Thomas over Janelle’s head, icy panic spreading through my veins. How the hell am I supposed to answer her question? Do I tell her the truth—that we’re staying married but it’s a sham? Or do I lie and tell her to start looking? Neither seems like a good option, and judging from the way Thomas is British-grimacing right now, he’s leaving the choice up to me.

“Actually,” I start cautiously, still staring at Thomas and hoping he’ll give me a sign if I take my answer too far, “we’ve decided to stay married for now.”

Janelle jerks away like I’ve slapped her, eyes wide. “That’s a big departure from your attitude earlier.”

The cold panic shifts to hot embarrassment when one of Thomas’s eyebrows rises questioningly. He knows I’ve been adamant about getting us out of this situation, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that I told Janelle our story and how I felt.

“Yeah, well, we decided it could be for the best.” I clear my throat and force myself to look at her instead of Thomas. “Can we talk more about this tomorrow? I need to get out of here before my parents find me.”

Her lips twist to the side. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to leave without talking to them. They’re on the warpath.”

I bite my tongue to keep from swearing again, because great . Just great! I might be able to avoid the finer details in this conversation about what’s going on, but there will be no avoiding it with my parents. They’re going to make sure all the information comes out now .

Plus, this isn’t the way I wanted Thomas to meet them—if he ever had to at all. Logically, I know it has to happen eventually, because not meeting your partner’s loving and supportive parents is a massive red flag. But introducing my real-but-actually-fake husband to them is the last thing I want to do.

And then there’s the whole issue of how I’m going to introduce him. It’s too much of a risk to let them in on the truth of the situation lest they accidentally let something slip and ruin the charade, but that means I’m going to have to lie. And that somehow feels even worse.

“Then we’ll just have to face them,” Thomas says, and my eyes snap back up to him.

“You cannot be for real.”

“I’m very much for real.” He pushes some of Janelle’s tulle off his lap, and I hate myself for once again noticing how large his hands are, especially when he stands and offers one to help me up. “Let’s do this and get out of here.”

I scoff and burrow into the sofa. “I’d rather stay in this room all night than face them.”

“I can carry you out if it’s going to come to that.”

“Ooh, like a real bride!” Janelle squeals.

I glare at her. “Don’t you start.”

But I’m reminded of how easily he lifted me into his lap last night, and the warmth of mortification I’ve been feeling shifts into a different kind of heat. He could absolutely carry me out of here if he wanted. And I’d let him.

“Ugh, fine!” I shove up from the sofa before my brain can make an unwise decision. “Let’s get this over with. How do you want to explain this situation?”

“Like I said yesterday, we can stick as close to the truth as possible. We hit it off recently and decided to get married.”

I roll my eyes. He’s a fool to think anyone who knows us well is going to believe that half-assed story. “We need actual details . Like dates and a timeline and—”

The door swinging open cuts me off. And then I’m staring at my mom and dad.

“Estelle Margaux,” Mom thunders as she strides into the room, and I know by the names she’s used that I’m in big, big trouble. “What in the world is going on?”

Dad is a half step behind her, ready to back her up if necessary. He knows she’s got this handled, though. She always does.

I try to answer, but everything I want to say gets stuck in my throat, leaving me opening and closing my mouth like a fish. It’s Janelle who breaks the silence with the rustle of her giant skirt as she picks it up.

“That’s my cue to leave,” she announces, marching to the door. “Love y’all. No murders allowed on my wedding day.”

When she’s gone, the door clicking closed behind her, there’s nothing left for me to do except swallow hard and say, “I’m not sure where to start.”

“You can start with how you’re apparently married and how your father and I had to find out through the grapevine instead of you telling us yourself.”

“So, about that…” I wet my lips, searching for the right answer. “It wasn’t—I didn’t—”

“I’m so sorry about the confusion, Mrs. Baldwin,” Thomas cuts in as I flounder. “Our nuptials happened a bit suddenly, and we didn’t want to take any attention away from Janelle and Ron today. We also didn’t expect the news to leak the way it did. Stella certainly wanted to tell you both as soon as possible.”

Mom’s sharp gaze snaps to Thomas, who’s moved up beside me. “And who exactly are you?” she asks, voice so chilly that I shiver.

He offers her an easy smile and his hand to shake. “Thomas Maxwell-Brown. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“ Finally? ” Mom repeats, ignoring his outstretched hand. “Considering my daughter has never mentioned you, I can’t imagine you’ve been waiting that long.”

Thomas’s hand drops, confidence shaken. Can’t even blame him since that’s Mom’s specialty. “I—well—”

I snap out of my daze as he fights for a reply. We can’t both be flailing here. “We’ve known each other for ages,” I blurt. I’m not sure where the lie comes from, but now that it’s out, I can’t stop. “We met the same night that Janelle met Ron. He was there too. Isn’t that right, Tommy?”

Thomas shoots me an incredulous look, and I swear I see him mouth Tommy? before he clears his throat and shifts his tight smile back to my parents. “That’s right,” he corroborates. “We’ve kept in contact ever since.” He stops, thinking for a moment before his eyes widen. “As friends, of course. I knew she was in a relationship. I never—I never interfered with that.”

I’m burning up as I nod along. “Yep, just friends! But then when everything with étienne exploded, Thomas was kind enough to reach out to see how I was doing.” I glance up at him, hoping he can read the panic in my eyes and pick up this awful improv where I’ve left off.

“Mm-hmm.” The sound is incriminatingly high-pitched. “I wanted to make sure she was okay, especially after that little video of hers went viral.”

I let out a laugh that’s more of a groan, hating him for bringing that up. “He’s such a good guy,” I gush, grabbing his hand and squeezing hard. I’m vindicated when I feel him wince. “We decided to meet up in Vegas right before Janelle’s bachelorette party and realized just how much we clicked. It kind of felt like fate.”

Mom stares at us, bewildered. She’s the one fighting for words now, because there’s simply no way she believes anything we’ve just said. And despite her sparkling career in the courtroom, she seems lost as to what to ask us next.

“And that led to you two getting hitched?” Dad asks for them both, squinting as he struggles to piece it all together. “Seriously?”

“There was also alcohol involved,” Thomas says apologetically.

I want to kick him for admitting that. Then again, how else could we explain such a rash decision? The world is well aware that I don’t make the best choices while drinking, and my parents know it too. Their intelligent, levelheaded daughter wouldn’t pull a stunt like this without some sort of influence.

“Our feelings for each other are very real, though,” Thomas continues before I can butt in with another explanation. “This wedding was rushed, yes, and certainly an on-the-fly decision, but I have no regrets.”

My desire to inflict harm on him wanes with how genuine he sounds. I know it’s an act, but it’s a good one, and judging by the way Dad’s face softens, Thomas is on the right track. Well, with one of my parents at least.

“Not a single regret?” Mom has found her voice, and it’s dripping with doubt. “You don’t regret that you’ve never met us? Or that Stella kept you a secret for all this time? Or that you’ve rushed into this binding contract with a woman who’s just had her life turned upside down by a man and is clearly still trying to heal from that?”

“Mom,” I snap, but Thomas’s thumb brushing the inside of my wrist distracts me from following it up with anything too harsh. “I wasn’t some unwilling participant, so don’t make it out like he’s taking advantage of me. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you guys about it beforehand, and I’m sorry that you found out like this, but we’re married, and that’s that.”

She throws her hands up with a scoff, whirling to face my father. “Is this girl for real?” she asks him. “Are we just supposed to accept this?”

Dad is solemn as he stares down at his wife. “I think we all need to take some time to process what’s going on. We can discuss this more when everyone’s calmer.”

Mom makes another sound of distaste, but she knows he’s right. She turns back to Thomas and me, expression flickering between confusion and hurt.

“We’re flying back to Atlanta in the morning,” she says tightly. “Will we see you there for Thanksgiving?”

I nod. I’ll be there, at least. Who knows about the man standing next to me, though, because anything could happen in the next twelve days.

“Good. We’ll talk more then.”

With that, she turns on her heel and strides out of the room as quickly as she came in.

Dad’s slower, coming over to kiss my forehead and shake Thomas’s hand—a bit too firmly, but at least he makes the effort—before backing away.

“Call us if you need anything,” he says, and then he’s gone too.

I stare at the empty doorway, praying I’ll suddenly wake up and realize all of this was just a bad dream. But when that doesn’t happen, I whirl on Thomas and yank my hand out of his.

“That was so bad,” I hiss. “This is never going to work!”

He’s paler than he was earlier, but there’s a deluded determination written across his face. “It will,” he urges. “That was just a little stumble.”

“A stumble ? I almost made it sound like I was cheating on étienne, and you admitted we were drunk!”

“It wasn’t my finest moment,” he admits. “But really, were they going to believe anything else?”

I groan and throw my head back because no, they wouldn’t have, and I hate that it’s the only part of the truth we can share with them. Maybe I should have told them the whole wedding was a mistake and how we’re trying to make the best of a bad situation. There’s still time. I could chase after them and confess it all.

But when I look at Thomas again, I know we went with our best option. At least we have a story to tell the world now.

“I need to get out of here,” I mumble. “I want to go to bed and leave this shitty day behind.”

“Then let’s go.” He gathers my things and passes them over before putting a guiding hand to my shoulder. “I’ll tell my driver to meet us at the back exit.”

I should thank him for getting us out of here as stealthily as possible, but my throat is too tight to force more words out. Still, I hope the weak smile I flash after we slip into the back seat of the sedan says more than I currently can. When he returns it, the vise grip around my esophagus eases some.

We’re both too lost in our own thoughts for the silence to be awkward, though I know we’re going to have to speak to each other soon enough. We have at least a thirty-minute drive ahead of us, plenty of time to get the basics of our plan down as we head back into the heart of Las Vegas, but I’m still struggling for words ten minutes in.

“Your name’s Estelle?”

I glance over, relieved that he’s kicked off this conversation but also wincing at the reminder of my mother’s tirade.

“I was named after my great-grandmother,” I explain. “But my parents always call me Stella. Unless, of course, I’m in trouble, as you just saw.”

He nods like he’s filing that information away. “Guess it’s a good thing I know your full name now. Probably something a husband should know about his wife.”

I give a scratchy, surprised laugh. “Oh, honey, that’s not all. I don’t know if you’re ready for my government name.”

“Try me.” He crosses his arms over his chest in challenge, smirking. “I’m not sure much can beat Thomas Phillip Henry Arthur Maxwell-Brown.”

“Oh yeah? Try Estelle Margaux Wilhelmina Tyrrell Baldwin.”

He lets out a low, impressed whistle. “It sounds like we’re a match made in heaven. Have you considered taking my last name? Maybe triple hyphenating?”

I don’t want to smile, because the situation we’re in is nothing short of a nightmare, but his dry jokes have my lips involuntarily twitching upward. “I already have trouble fitting my name on forms, so I’ll pass.”

“That’s understandable.” He pauses, his tone a little less light when he speaks again. “We need to know everything about each other if this is going to be believable.”

I swallow hard, torn over whether we’re making a huge mistake. Will we actually fool people into thinking we’re a real couple? Maybe the general public will fall for it, but what about the people who know us? His family, my family, Figgy, my board of directors…Are we just asking to fail miserably?

“Guess we should start with the basics.” I bite my lip as it hits me just how little I know about this man. “I don’t even know how old you are. I’m choosing to believe you’re at least old enough to legally drink in this country.”

I’m once again falling back on humor to keep from shoving my head between my knees so I can stave off the mounting panic. He looks young, but not that young. If I had to guess, I would say he’s probably my age. Factor in how his parents are pushing him to get married—something that typically doesn’t happen for men until they’re in their thirties, the bastards—and maybe I’ll be pleasantly surprised when he reveals he’s older than me.

Thomas laughs. “I just turned twenty-six.”

I swear the car shudders to a stop even though we’re smoothly moving through traffic. “Twenty-six?” I repeat, and it’s followed by an involuntarily low, keening groan that makes me glad there’s a divider between us and the driver. “Oh God . I’m older than you!”

He looks at me like that’s hard to believe. “Seriously? How old are you ?”

I should take his disbelief as a compliment, but I’m already preparing to undo my seat belt so I can bend over and ward off the spinning. “Twenty-eight! I’m a cougar!”

“Sweetheart, it’s two years,” he says, scoffing at my dramatics. “Calm down.”

“ Calm down? Do you understand how frowned-upon it is for the woman to be the older party in a hetero relationship?”

étienne pretended he didn’t hate that I was only nine months younger than him, as if the fact that we were literal peers and I wasn’t some fresh-faced ingenue was a problem in the crowds he ran in. It was obvious, though, especially since on my birthday and for the three months a year when we were the same age, he acted like saying the number we shared was blasphemy.

“My mother is six years older than my father,” Thomas reveals. “And as a grown man, I don’t give a fuck if a woman I’m attracted to is older than me.”

I blink, almost compelled to clutch my nonexistent pearls at his bluntness. He’s right that it shouldn’t matter, though. We’re both consenting adults, and the stigma shouldn’t exist, but it’s something I have to get over thanks to étienne’s influence.

“Okay, fine,” I concede. “Let’s just…move on from that.” I take a breath as I figure out what to ask next. Most of this is going to be information that would come up organically over the course of dating someone, but this is about to be a crash course. “Speaking of parents, tell me about yours.”

“Hopefully they won’t ambush you like yours did to me,” he says wryly. “Iris, my mum, is an artist, which is just a nice way of saying she’s a rich woman with too much time on her hands. Phillip, my father, inherited our family’s hospitality company and is technically the one in charge, even though my eldest sister runs most of the day-to-day operations and my brother is the face they present to everyone.”

Before everything went to shit last night, he mentioned that he was the middle child of five. I’m going to have to learn about them soon enough, but first I want to know more about the family business.

“When you say your family runs a hospitality company,” I preface, “what exactly does that mean?”

“We’re in hotels.”

It’s a vague, to-the-point answer, and I wait for him to elaborate, but I get nothing else. “As in, your products are in hotels?” I prompt.

Thomas shifts in his seat. “No, as in, we…own hotels.”

“You own hotels?”

“A chain of them,” he says quickly, looking back to me almost apologetically. “A large luxury chain. A.P. Maxwell International, if you’ve heard of it.”

“Oh.” My breath catches as recognition hits. “I’ve definitely heard of it.” I was supposed to honeymoon in one of their opulent Maldives resorts. “So you’re rich rich.”

He fidgets a little more, and there it is, that parliament smile. “We’re comfortable, yes.”

That’s wealthy people talk for we’re fucking swimming in it . “And to think I was the one worried about a prenup,” I muse. “You better hope I don’t come for half of everything you have in the divorce.”

Even in the dim illumination from the streetlights streaking by, I swear he goes paler. “I suppose we should get that postnup drawn up soon.”

“Mm-hmm. Better call your solicitor in the morning and hope I don’t disappear in the night.”

I can practically see him making himself a mental note, and I stifle a snicker, delighting in toying with him. But then the worry clears from his face and he angles himself toward me, his eyes falling to my hands in my lap.

“I need to get you a ring.”

I look down at my left hand, still not quite used to seeing it bare. Embarrassingly, I have a slight tan line from where my last engagement ring used to sit. I guess I wouldn’t mind having a new one to cover it up. But something about slipping another ring onto my finger when I just managed to take off the last one has my stomach in knots.

“I’ll leave that up to you,” I tell him, not wanting to think about the ring sitting in a drawer in the home I was supposed to share with étienne. “Just get me whatever and something for yourself that matches.”

He seems thrown by my request, eyes flicking over me. He probably can’t believe the woman wearing hand-picked jewels and a designer gown wouldn’t care about a ring she’ll have to wear with every outfit. But this isn’t a real marriage, and even if I hate what he picks out, I’ll only have to tolerate it for a year. Why get invested when I’m just going to give it back? I’ve already made that mistake once.

Eventually, he nods and moves us on to the next topic. “When do we want to go public as a couple?”

“Haven’t we already?” I ask dryly.

“Against our will. I meant more along the lines of when do we want to announce to the world that we’re together?”

I bite the inside of my cheek, some of that dizzy anxiety returning. “I don’t know. Do you have any ideas?”

“Remember when I told you I have to be here for work?” He flashes me a crooked smile, but I do recall that detail. “We could make our debut at the Grand Prix. Would you be up for that?”

Ah yes, that’s right, I’m married to a Formula 1 driver. I don’t know exactly what a grand prix entails, but I get the feeling it’s a big televised deal.

“It does seem like the perfect opportunity,” I say, contemplating the idea, but it also sounds like an opportunity for things to go terribly wrong and the whole world to witness it.

“We don’t have to,” Thomas says, sensing my hesitation. “There’s still time to back out of this.”

There is, and I could. My parents wouldn’t like finding out that I lied to them, but I’d be able to tell the truth. They’re the least of my worries, though. My board of directors and my tattered reputation have to take precedence here. And I wouldn’t hate rubbing my new relationship in étienne’s face either…

I glance away from Thomas, not wanting the understanding in his eyes to sway my decision. The heavily tinted windows make the night appear darker than it is, but there’s no disguising the neon glow of the Las Vegas lights drawing closer. I might have made a mistake in this city, one that would be nice to leave here, but it’s going to follow me no matter what I do. I might as well use it to my advantage. And if it helps Thomas in the process, then it’s an added bonus. My good deed for the year.

I turn back to him. “Fuck that,” I declare. “I’m in this. For better or worse, your highness.”

But it definitely won’t be till death that we part.