Page 104 of The Cuddle Clause

Then he glanced at his watch and winced. “We should probably start getting ready for the gala.”

“Roman, it’s ten in the morning.”

“It’s an all-day celebration. We’re expected to show up early for the procession and pre-ceremony photos.”

I groaned. “You people really know how to milk a fake relationship.”

He shrugged and stood, collecting our plates. “You knew what you signed up for.”

“Debatable,” I muttered, grabbing the makeup bag and dragging it toward the couch.

I stared at it for a beat too long, then looked up at him. “I guess it’s time to make it look like you actually bit me.”

His brows lifted.

I sighed. “I never thought I’d ask this, but… will you please do my makeup for me?”

Roman burst out laughing. “What?”

“You heard me,” I said, sitting cross-legged on the rug. “Come on, big bad wolf. Let’s see those makeup skills.”

He walked over slowly, crouched in front of me, and picked up the makeup he’d bought from a costume store.

“I’m going to regret this,” he muttered.

“Probably,” I said. “But I already regret everything, so join the club.”

His fingers brushed my collarbone. It was the lightest touch, but my breath caught anyway. I kept still, heart hammering, as he sketched shadows and fake dried blood along the skin just above my shoulder.

I wondered if he could feel it, too—that thing between us that was getting harder and harder to ignore.

When he finally leaned back, he looked at me like he wanted to say something. But he didn’t.

“It’ll pass.”

“What will?”

“The bite. It’ll pass as real. Just don’t let anyone get too close.”

I stared at him, at this man who had fake-bonded with me and lied to his alpha, and yet somehow made me feel more like myself than anyone else ever had. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking, what he really wanted.

Instead, I said, “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

The gala lookedlike something out of a dream.

Soft lighting turned the mansion’s grand ballroom into a warm, honey-dipped fantasy. Golden sconces cast long shadowson velvet-lined walls, and a string quartet in the corner coaxed out a melody so pretty it made my chest ache. The music wrapping around everything, floating through conversations, brushing across champagne flutes, curling around the couples already swaying in rhythm.

Roman and I had barely stepped in when I felt his hand slip into mine. Not forceful. Not performative. Just steady. Familiar.

He smirked at me. “May I have this dance?”

I lifted a brow. “Are you about to dramatically dip me in front of all your childhood frenemies?”

“Only if you say please,” he said, bowing like a prince trying to charm the hem off my dress.

I rolled my eyes but placed my hand in his. “Fine. Knock yourself out.”