I took off my sneakers and sat at the edge of the pool, sticking my feet in the water. Strange how these people had the most beautiful pool in the world, literally, and on this gorgeous summer day, no one was swimming. I vowed to bring Luke out here tomorrow. Wedding planning be damned!
I knew I needed to get back to the house, to change for dinner, and be available. But I decided to give myself five minutes alone in the sun, with my feet in the cool water, to collect my zigzagging thoughts. It had already been an eventful day.
My grandmother wasn’t happy, but she and my siblings were safe. I didn’t feel good about lying, but I was relieved my family wasn’t going to be evicted.
That was where the good feelings ended. With Miranda’s campaign to take over the company, the pressure was on. Rhodes and I would be married next week. I’d just met the guy—I barely knew anything about him. It was all happening too fast.
Another thing I hadn’t expected: Luke Barrington needed me. He had Maria, who was wonderful and clearly devoted to him. But his father was gone, and it sounded like his mother was a lost cause, at least for the moment. Rhodes wanted full custodyof the boy, and I understood that. He was the only family he had left; they needed each other. But though well-intentioned, Rhodes seemed clueless about Luke. And Luke didn’t need clueless—he needed a family.
That was a role I could play. At least, while I was here.
I decided not to think about the ramifications of the five-year contract. When my situation ended, Luke would be nine. I refused to consider what the end of my fake marriage would do to the child. That was tomorrow Rory’s problem. Today’s Rory had enough on her plate!
Adding to my confusion, Rhodes Barrington had just floated the idea of having a child with me. Maybe he was drunk—still, he’d seemed sincere. There was an undercurrent to his tone when he’d propositioned me, a dangerous one filled with some sort of delicious promise I sensed but didn’t fully understand. When he’d spoken the words, my body had responded. Some illicit spark ignited deep within me. I didn’t recognize it.
It might’ve been desire. But how would I know?
The thing was—the thing Rhodes didn’t know—was that not only was I a virgin, I was a virgin by choice. I’d never wanted to risk an unwanted pregnancy and end up like my mother. I never wanted to bring kids into the world until I was certain that I could care for them, that they would be adored, that they would have a home, a family, the sort of life I’d only dreamed about.
I was going to break the cycle. Come hell or high water.
So if he thought he could “negotiate” me into being his surrogate, or doing the thing that could make me get pregnant, he was wrong. No, the billionaire was eye candy—and that was all he’d ever be. I was not contractually obligated to sleep with him; our marriage had to appear real, but it did not have to be consummated.
I just had to remind myself not to stare at his thighs. Or wonder what exactly Mr. Billions had going on underneath that suit.
PROPER
RORY
“Miss Rory,I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” the maid said, her tone scolding. Her name was Francesca, and she’d picked out my pink satin dress that morning. She was bossy and vaguely condescending. I’d noticed her frowning at me when she thought I wasn’t looking.
“Sorry, I was outside.”
“Follow me, Miss. We need to get you ready for dinner in the rear salon.” She marched into my suite, and I had no choice but to follow.
“Dinner is formal tonight, so you’re expected to wear a gown,” she announced. She opened the wardrobe to reveal a long, slinky black dress with a jewel-encrusted trim.
“That’s kind of… tight looking,” I mumbled.
“It will be perfect. Please go and bathe, then I will assist you with your hair and makeup.” Francesca didn’t sound as if she was taking no for an answer, so I obliged.
When I stepped out of the shower, I noticed that she’d already laid out undergarments for me. Except they weren’t really undergarments; they were strings. And there was no bra! I put the thong on, feeling ridiculous, and tightened a robe around my waist.
Francesca knocked on the door. “Miss, are you ready for me? We need to get a move on.”
“Sure,” I said, feeling bullied.
The maid threw the door open, plopped me down into a chair, and started blow-drying my hair. She worked thoroughly, meticulously, and then started flat-ironing before I had a chance to object. I preferred to wear my hair in its natural state—wavy and sort of a mess—because Ihatedsitting for so long. But Francesca didn’t seem inclined to care.
When she’d finished with my hair, she started dotting concealer onto my face, then foundation, powder, blush, eyeliner, the works. I opened my mouth to protest but she only dabbed more lip gloss on me.
“There. That’s perfect.” The maid stepped back, pleased with her work.
But when I glimpsed my reflection in the mirror, I grimaced. She’d done a smoky eye, three coats of mascara, and heavily rouged my cheeks. The lipstick she’d chosen was a dark red. “Don’t you think that’s a bit much for family dinner?”
She scowled. “Not at Barrington Manor, Miss. Now, into your dress. You don’t want to keep them waiting.”
I stepped into the dress and was alarmed to see that it was backless. No wonder there was no bra! I felt so exposed. Sky-high heels completed the look. The dress was designer, as were the shoes—I was certain that my outfit cost a small fortune. But I didn’t feel comfortable in it.
