Page 401 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Gio

"She won’t have the procedure until we get married?" The blood drains from my features.

"She confirmed." Rick’s features resemble that of the stone his call sign is. His jaw tics, and his cheekbones stand out even more in contrast. There are hollows under his eyes. Clearly, he’s been training hard—and he hasn’t been getting that much sleep, considering we’d both been busy until the early hours of this morning.

"Do you think she knows?" I frown.

He rolls his neck. "Knows what?"

"That the two of us are faking it?"

He stills. "Only, we aren’t faking it, are we?"

I wince. "I don’t want to talk about it.

" Mainly because I can’t see an end to this resolution.

Not until we can walk away from each other, and I can move out of the room I’m sharing with him.

Which means, leaving my job—which I can’t afford to do.

Not until I find another, and it’s not going to be easy to find another, considering my track record is far from stellar at the moment.

He raises a shoulder. "Whether you want to or not, fact is, we need to figure this out because it seems there’s no getting away from it." He grabs the glass of water the waiter poured him and chugs it down like it’s alcohol.

We're sitting in another restaurant run by James Hamilton.

This one perches atop one of the tallest buildings in the city with a spectacular view of the Tower Bridge, otherwise known as London Bridge to the rest of the world.

The place is so exclusive, we had to go through security before we were ushered up.

I spotted an Academy Award-winning actress, a politician who was recently in the news, and a pop singer with her entourage, to name a few.

The tables are separated enough to provide complete privacy, the staff were discreet, and we have a corner table looking down on the Thames with the sun setting over the horizon in the distance. It's romantic.

Except for the paparazzi who were waiting for us as we entered.

Which, I confess, is my fault. I leaked the news of our arrival to the press.

I may be the fiancée of the captain of the hockey team, but I'm first and foremost, a PR person. I had to make the most of the opportunity. Rick played his role, too. He pulled me into his side and kissed my forehead. The resulting picture will seal our reputation as one of the most popular couples across the internet. My work is going well. So why doesn’t it feel all that rewarding?

"I don’t want to marry you," I burst out.

He doesn’t seem surprised by my outburst. "Neither do I."

My stomach twists. What was I expecting? A declaration that he's ready and willing to do what his grandmother wants without hesitation? Which isn’t fair, considering I’m the one who said I wasn’t on board with the idea.

"If she doesn’t have the operation, she’ll die."

He firms his shoulders. “Of course, she’s not your grandmother. You don’t have to agree to the marriage.”

"And if I do agree to get married—?" I swallow.

"At least, she'll have a chance. The odds are not in her favor; she’s already delayed too long. But this gives her a chance."

"Shit." I reach for my glass of wine and knock it back. I, too, need to be up early tomorrow for work, but damn, if this occasion doesn’t call for alcohol. A waiter materializes by my side and tops me up, then fades away. I curl my fingers around the stem of my wine glass. I’m so distracted that when Rick touches my outstretched hand, which I’ve placed on the table between us, I startle.

Some of the wine splashes onto my blouse.

"Oh, no." I grab my napkin and dab at it, then jump up to my feet. So does Rick.

"Stay." I glance away. "I… I’ll be right back." I rush toward the hallway and into the restroom at the far end. I’m glad for the reprieve, because he’s right. If I want to help save his grandmother’s life, we have to get married. Shit, shit, shit.

I grab one of the towels from the counter, wet it under the tap, and dab at the blotch of red on my blouse.

I had to drink red wine today, and of course, I’m wearing white.

I rub at it and the blouse sticks to my bra through which the outline of my nipple can be seen.

Ugh. I ball the towel in my hand and am about to throw it when the door behind me opens.

I look up and gasp, "What are you doing here? "

Dennis saunters in. "I was looking for you."

"How did you know where to find me?"

He holds up his phone and comes to a halt behind me. On the screen, I see the picture of me and Rick that the journalist snapped an hour ago. Plenty of time to post it and for other media outlets to pick it up.

"What do you want?" I toss the napkin into the basket and straighten.

His gaze drops to my chest, and color flushes his skin. "You’ve lost weight since I last saw you."

"So?"

"It suits you."

I grip the edge of the counter. "You need to leave."

"Not before I find out why you’re doing this." He shoves his hand in his pocket. "I’ve apologized to you so many times for what happened. She didn’t mean anything."

"Does she know that?"

"Yes, I told her. Tiffany and I are no longer together."

"Good for you." I flip open the tap and hold my hands under the water so I have something to do.

"I love you, Gio."

"I don’t."

"You said you did."

"I don't anymore. Infidelity can do that, you know."

"But we had it all planned out. Me, the successful athlete. You, the well-known PR guru. A wedding, consummation on our first night together—"

"You had it planned out."

"I wanted to do everything right. I wanted to have you for the first time after we were man and wife."

"But the rules didn’t apply to you."

"That’s what I mean, she didn’t mean anything. You did. It’s why I didn’t touch you. Plus,”—he raises a shoulder— “you didn’t seem very interested in sex anyway.”

"Wow." I slap the tap shut, wipe my hands again on another towel and fling it into the basket. "You have some nerve coming to talk to me, especially when I’m engaged to someone else." I hold up my left hand, and the light blinks off the ring.

His features darken. "You mean your sham engagement?"

"Nothing sham about it. I have a fiancé who loves me. Unlike you. You must be either completely crazy, or stupid, or both, to think I’d ever forgive you for what you did to me."

His gaze narrows, and his eyes gleam. "Is it because I didn’t fuck you? Is that why you’re trying to make me look like a fool?"

"This isn’t about you. Well, it is, because you slept with my friend—or at least, someone I thought was a friend.

I suppose, I should thank you for exposing her for what she is.

As for you? You did me a favor by sleeping with her.

You saved me from getting married to you and"—I gasp as he grabs me by my hair and tugs. Pins scatter, and a strand of hair breaks free. He tugs again, and pain sizzles down my neck. I arch my back to try to get some slack, but he only tightens his hold on me. I paw at his wrist, but he doesn’t budge.

Anger pours off of him. My eyes water, and when I meet his gaze in the mirror, I swallow. He has a look on his face that makes my stomach twist. My skin crawls. "Did he fuck you already? Is that why you’re marrying him? First taste of sex and you think that’s the best you can get?"

"I don’t think. I know it’s the best I can get," I spit out.

He bares his teeth, then pushes down with such force, I have to grab at the sink to stop myself from falling over.

Another zip of pain, this time more intense, shivers down my neck.

My back protests, and my shoulders hurt.

The fine hairs on the back of my neck rise.

Shit, shit, shit, I shouldn’t have aggravated him, but I’m so tired of playing safe.

So tired of feeling torn. And I hate him.

This much I know. And I don’t want anything to do with him.

"I’m going to show you what it means to be fucked by a real man."

He palms my butt, and I cry out, "Stop!"

His smile widens before he reaches down and grips the hem of my skirt.

“Rick, help me!” I scream.

That’s when the door crashes open.