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Unless he’s hiding it from you. Unless he knows you have feelings for him, so he makes sure to hook up on the down-low. Unless…
Okay, so there’s a possibility he has hookups. But nobody long-term, not in all the time I’ve been here.
“So…” I narrow my eyes, trying to follow Luke’s train of thought. “You want me to pretend that we’re married, so you’ll win the bet.”
Luke grins. “Now you’re getting it. Since Paul’s wedding is in just a couple of weeks, I don’t have much time left to beat him to the punch.”
I sigh and cross my arms, pretending to deliberate, or at the very least to be hesitant about this proposition. But deep down, I already know what I’ll say. I can’t remember a single time I’ve managed to say no to this man. Especially not when he’s looking at me the way he is now, with that huge, charming grin of his, his gaze focused on me like I’m the only person in the whole wide world he sees.
“It’s just for two days, Celia, I promise. We can have whatever we want at the restaurant every day—I hear the menu is seasonally themed and rotates based on whatever the chef selects from the neighboring farms. Plus, the DelMonte has its own vineyard…”
“Okay, okay.” I burst out laughing. “It’s like you know my weaknesses are food and wine, or something.”
“Well, we have spent a decent amount of time together.” His eyes sparkle with amusement.
I lean forward and have to catch my breath when he mirrors me. “Is that why you’re asking me to do this?” I arch one eyebrow. “Because we can fake a relationship easily?”
Some expression I can’t quite read flickers across his face. But it’s only for a split second, there and gone. Then he grins. “But of course. Who better? You know more about me than anyone on the planet, Celia.” He sits back in his chair, palms flat on the desk. “But it’s a big favor. I won’t pressure you. If you don’t want to—”
“I accept,” I blurt out, before he can rescind the offer. Or worse, before he can ask someone else to do it. The last thing I’d want is to spend the weekend here in the city, picturing him off gallivanting around this gorgeous new hotel with a hot young bimbo on his arm, taking her out to fancy meals and then back to their big shared hotel room, where he’d probably have her for dessert.
I pinch the underside of my arm to keep myself from getting too distracted by my imaginary jealousy. Or by the fantasy it turns into, when I picture myself there with him instead.
“Wonderful.” Luke hesitates for a second, like he thought this would be a longer conversation. “I’ll drive. Can I pick you up Saturday morning, first thing?”
“I’ll add it to both of our calendars today.” I smile in response.
“Be sure to pack your bathing suit. And I’d say dress well, but of course, your style is always impeccable. Actually…” He glances at me sideways.
I laugh. “Yes, I can put together a wardrobe for you as well, if you’d like. Your favorite suit should be back from the cleaners by then.”
“Perfect.” Luke stands up, still smiling, and crosses around the desk to touch my shoulder. I freeze, wanting nothing more than to linger there, his hand on my bare shoulder, his fingertips strong and smooth against my skin. “Thank you, Celia. I promise you won’t regret this.” He winks. “Even if you’re stuck with me, a weekend at a luxury beachfront hotel should be worthwhile, I hope.”
His hand lingers so long that I finally work up the nerve to reach my own hand toward his, about to touch my fingers to his. But at that moment, he releases my shoulder, and my hand touches my own skin instead. I let out a faint sigh, hoping he doesn’t notice. But he’s already crossing the office behind me to open the door.
I swallow hard and manage to recover some of my vocal abilities. “I’m sure it will be lots of fun.” I force myself to stand and smooth down my skirt, before I turn to face him. I wonder if I imagine the way his eyes jump to mine, as if he were just looking somewhere else a second ago. Probably. “Even if I have to spend it with my boss,” I add with a wink, before I cross out of the office ahead of him and point to the clock nearby. “You’d better hurry if you want to make your 12:30 at this point,” I call back to him.
There’s a long silence. Long enough to make me turn back around to watch Luke as he walks to the elevator, his gaze never leaving mine. “Thanks, Celia,” he repeats. A refrain I’ll never get tired of hearing. “As always, I’d be lost without you.” The elevator arrives, but he barely seems to notice. His eyes stay fixed on me, and he opens his mouth again, about to say something.
I lose my nerve and look back at my computer screen, only risking turning it back on now that he’s on the other side of the office, too far away to accidentally glimpse what’s currently pulled up on it. When I look back up, Luke’s already gone.
3
At 8am sharp on Saturday morning, I hear a car horn tapped lightly outside my window. I stick a hand out and wave to signal that I’ve heard and I’m on my way. Then I grab my weekend bag and sling it over one shoulder, casting one last glance around my apartment and praying that I’ve remembered everything.
The bag weighs about a thousand pounds. I wasn’t sure what exactly to bring—careful research of the DelMonte’s website told me it’s a lot fancier than the type of restaurants or resorts I usually visit with friends. Those are more of the budget-resort-in-the-Caribbean variety, and even then, we normally only go if there’s some kind of package discount deal.
I’ve never been somewhere like DelMonte. And Luke’s compliments about my style aside, I’m not sure the outfits I own are fancy enough for this place, no matter how well-coordinated they might be. Rich people can spot knockoff designer clothes from a mile away, I’m told.
I don’t know many ultra-rich people aside from Luke, and he’s not that kind of person. He barely even notices if his own socks match, let alone if someone else’s outfit is particularly posh or not.
Finally, I decide I’ve packed as well as I possibly can, and I close the door shut behind me and head downstairs. I threw on a cute sundress and hope it’s the right thing to wear to something like this.
On the curb, I pause. Luke brought the Tesla. That means he’s really showing off today. I suppress a smile and wonder who exactly this friend of his is. I’ve never heard Luke mention a Paul, but if his other close friends and acquaintances are anything to judge by, he’s probably from one of the other big competing tech firms.
Luke has a one-track mind, and that track is work. If you ask me, Paul made a smart bet with him years ago, gambling that Luke would never commit to anything other than his office.
The thought makes my heart sink a little, at least until I hear the driver’s side door open. Then my heart stops altogether.
Luke looks resplendent in his favorite suit, the one I had pressed and steamed for him the other day. He comes around to my side of the car to take my bag, before opening the passenger door for me with a wink.
“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating a bit?” I ask, even though I have to suppress a grin to do it. “Husbands don’t really open doors or carry their bags for them anymore.”
“Yours does,” he replies, in a low, confidential voice that makes my chest constrict. As I step past him to slide into the car, his hand brushes my arm, just for a second and lightly enough that it could be a
casual mistake. But it’s a mistake that makes my belly tighten and my thighs clamp together.
What am I doing? For the first time, the full weight of what I’ve agreed to do this weekend hits home. Do I really think I’m going to be able to conceal my feelings for Luke all weekend? Especially in such close quarters, when we’re pretending to be married. My heart races as I watch Luke in the rearview, loading my bag into the trunk and then coming around to his side and settling in behind the wheel.
“I could have driven myself, you know,” I babble, before my face flushes. “I mean, thank you, but—”
“Husbands drive their wives.” He hesitates before he puts the car in gear and turns to face me. “Celia, I just wanted to say, before we go… I really need to go all in on this charade. Is that all right with you?” He smiles, a hint of mischief sparkling in his eyes. “If you want to back out now, I won’t blame you. Like I said, I know it’s a lot to ask.”
I square my shoulders, ignoring the rabbiting of my heart. No matter how worried I might be about my real feelings showing this weekend, there’s no way I’m backing out now. The last thing I’d do would be to leave Luke in a lurch. Especially one like this.
His hand is resting on the gear shift. Tentatively, I reach out to touch it. He flips it over and catches my hand in his, threading our fingers together. It’s a more intimate touch than we’ve ever shared, and I catch my breath at the sensation of his strong fingers between mine. It makes me imagine what they’d feel like on other parts of my body. Sliding up my arms and then down my curves, following them around my waist to cup my ass and lift me up off this car seat…
“I told you I’d help, Luke,” I say, and I pray my voice doesn’t sound as funny or strained to him as it does to my own ears. “I’m not going to back out on you now.” I squeeze his hand once, and release him, my fingertips tingling where we just touched. “Besides, you promised me some five-star meals. I’m not about to miss out on those.”
