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I thought about asking if it would have bothered him to lie to Hugh, but I bit back the question. It was too personal. It wasn’t my business.
“Come on, we have a busy day ahead. Tomorrow will be even busier.”
It would indeed. God, to think I’d be married tomorrow. Married. Yet not. Because it was only paperwork.
I took a deep breath, telling myself it was no big deal. Actors got married onscreen all the time. This was really no different. Except that the officiant who married us would be a real officiant. And that I’d have to lie to him, just as I was lying to everyone else.
I groaned. “I’m going to hell.” At least I had an “in” with its supreme ruler, having worked for him for four years. Still … “I should have said no to all this.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered if you had. I told you once before, I would have pressed you until you agreed. Now let’s get moving. It’s going to be a long day.”
He hadn’t been wrong. The hours dragged on. I couldn’t count the number of times I heard the word “congratulations.” People gave me hugs, slapped Dane lightly on the back, asked when the big day was, and shamelessly tried to get themselves an invitation to the wedding.
A few commented on how quickly he’d proposed, and I could see they assumed I was pregnant. Each time, Dane shrugged and said, “I always move fast when going after what I want.” I merely claimed it didn’t feel fast to me because we’d known each other so long and had secretly been dating for a while.
When photographers snapped pictures of us at the after-reception, I said to Dane, “Those photos will probably be posted online.”
Standing close to me with his arm curled around my waist, he put his mouth to my ear, making the tiny hairs there stand on end. “I know. And they’ll be posted very quickly, due to that ring on your finger.”
He was often featured in online magazines for one reason or another. And now I probably would be, too. How lovely.
The urge to chug down my champagne hit me hard, but I sipped at it instead. Honestly, I was a little tipsy. Breathing in Dane’s dark cologne didn’t help—it seemed to give off seriously potent pheromones. Or maybe that was just the man himself.
Each time he touched me, whispered in my ear, or played his fingers through my loose hair, I came that much closer to melting into him. My body practically throbbed with need. The air around me felt electrically charged, but it was more than obvious that he wasn’t similarly affected. If I hadn’t had four years-worth of practice at standing strong against the one-sided chemistry, I’d be close to trembling with the power of it. Sometimes, it almost felt like the sensual ever-present hunger had settled so deep into every cell of my body that I’d never escape it.
I needed to put a little space between us and give myself a reprieve, but he didn’t seem inclined to let me move. He never let me out of his sight. He had the role of possessive fiancé down to a tee.
“Has any of your family members called you yet?” I asked.
“My brothers did. Travis claimed to be thrilled for me, but he’s not as good a liar as he believes he is.”
“What did Kent say?”
“He’s pleased for me, but he’s concerned that I’m moving too fast.”
“Well, you are.”
“I’m moving at my speed. It’s not my issue if other people like to hem and haw over things.”
I sensed it truly didn’t bother him that his brothers weren’t 100 percent behind him. On the one hand, I was pleased he wasn’t upset. On the other hand, it was kind of sad that he could be so aloof about it.
It was past 1 a.m. when we returned to our suite. He was already back in work-mode, his attention fixed on his phone, so I bid him a quick goodnight and headed to my room. I was just kicking off my shoes when my cell phone rang. I cursed, because the only people who’d call me at such a late hour were my dad or one of his alters.
Hoping to God there was nothing wrong, I quickly grabbed my cell. Frowning at the sight of an unfamiliar number, I nonetheless swiped my thumb over the screen and answered, “Hello?”
“What the fuck, Vee? You’re engaged to Davenport? Seriously?”
I stilled. “How did you get this number?”
“Tell me it’s a fucking joke,” clipped Owen. “Tell me you don’t intend to marry him.”
“Why would it be a joke?”
“Vee, you’ve worked for him for years. You know that man’s dead inside. He feels nothing. Nothing. You’d marry someone who doesn’t, and never will, care for you?”
“You’ve met him twice. You don’t know him.”
