Page 8 of The Fake Fiancé

"Dance with me," I say. It isn’t a question, and she doesn’t take it as such.

I stand and offer her my hand, and she takes it readily, eyes a little wide, smile a little tight, but still willing. Then I'm leading her onto the dance floor, my hand finding the small of her back, her fingers interlaced with mine.

Nothing we do is all that different than what everyone else is doing, moving in a slow circle, close enough that I can feel her breath ghosting over my face, but it feels so damn significant. Holding her has something wild swelling in my chest. I want her.

Fuck, I want her so badly. I’m in so much fucking trouble

I've wanted things in my life. I've wanted power, success, control. But I haven't wanted a person, not really, not with this raw, desperate ache that's clawing at my insides.

What I want, I get. Knowing I can’t really have Elowen is a hard pill for me to swallow.

But why can’t I have her?Something whispers deep in my mind.She can be mine. Nothing is stopping me.

For a single, brilliant moment, I allow that possibility to wash over me. Then I rein it in, cram it down, and lock it away.

I can’t have her. This is just an act. A performance.

Now, can I make my heart believe it?

5

ELOWEN

My new fake fiancé has been an exemplary employer, and I should be thrilled about how well everything is going. In fact, it should almost feel like a vacation--Michelin star-worthy meals, the world's most comfortable suite with a view to die for, and the company of a gorgeous billionaire.

It's that last part that has changed this job into something a lot more complicated, because each minute I spend with Adam, my inconvenient feelings for him grow stronger.

The next few mornings are a blur of high-stakes meetings where I translate for Adam, my mind sharp from double shots of premium espresso and the thrill of actually being challenged. Adam moves fast, and I have to lock in to keep up, but it’sfun.He is a formidable negotiator, razor-sharp and unshakeable.

Afternoons are for networking, with lots of handshakes, forced smiles, and mindless small talk. Adam introduces me to everyone as if me being here is the most natural thing ever, like I wasn’t eating instant ramen in my apartment just a few weeksago. I translate for everyone, from a CEO of a multinational corporation to the head of a European banking dynasty.

And then there are the evenings. They are the hardest, because it’s during the evenings that we are expected to act the most like a couple, the image of newly-engaged bliss. We hold hands, we share lingering glances, we whisper secrets to each other that are nothing more than commentary on the people around us. It's a role I'm surprisingly good at as long as I keep reminding myself that it’s all just work. But when I slip up and let the lines blur…

Well. When the lines start to blur, I find myself genuinely laughing with Adam, sharing stories with him that are completely true and soaking up his reactions like a sponge. He’s not just gorgeous and attentive, but he’s funny in a dry way, and weget along.I lose myself with Adam, leaning into his touch that should be nothing but theater, craving the warmth of his hand on my back, the strength of his arm around my waist.

I keep forgetting that this is all a lie. Each time I forget, I know the heartbreak I’ll feel when this is over will only be multiplied. Still, I can't stop myself. I’m weak when it comes to Adam Valmonte.

Then comes the day of the planned ski expedition. The sky is a brilliant, cloudless blue, the sun glinting off the pristine white of the mountain. It's a perfect day, a picture-postcard day, and I feel a surge of optimism. I learned to ski when I was a kid with my parents and have been a handful of times as an adult, but Adam has also taken me out for at least an hour each day since we arrived to build my confidence ahead of the expedition. It’s a big deal, and apparently it would be ridiculous for Adam’s fiancée to be unable to ski, so I sharpen my skills enough that I’m sure I’m ready.

It’s a mistake.

We ski with a small group of potential investors, Adam effortlessly leading the way, a natural athlete on the slopes.He’s probably a natural athlete at everything,I think.

It’s quickly apparent that these men and women are out of my league, zipping down the slopes in graceful arcs, and all I can do is hold my breath and follow. Adam hangs back when he can, but I wave him on. He doesn’t need to be held back because of me.

Then, the weather changes.

One minute, the sun is shining, and the next, the sky is a seething mass of dark, angry clouds. Visibility drops drastically. So does the temperature when the sun disappears, and my heart plummets with it. Oh, this could be bad.

"Stay close!" Adam yells over the wind, his voice barely audible. He jumps over a ridge, taking some air, speeds around a bend, and disappears from my view. I follow, struggling to keep up with my basic wedge turns.

But it's too late. A sudden gust of wind catches me off guard, sending me tumbling sideways. I lose my balance, my skis cross, and I go down. Hard. Head first. I slide, out of control, my world a blur of white. Finally I come to a stop in a deep drift of powder snow, off-trail and alone.

I'm disoriented; my head spins. My vision dark despite the gleam of whiteness surrounding me. I try to sit up, spit snow from my mouth. Then, I feel it. A sharp pain shoots through my ankle, and I yelp. I’m not too cold yet, but the fall has dislodged one of my gloves and both of my skis, and I can feel the snow quickly seeping in. My ski poles are, simply, gone.

Panic is waiting on the edge of my thoughts, waiting for me to let it in, but I push it away, pulling my glove back on and feeling around the snow drift for my skis. I grab one, pulling it close, swallowing down the sob that threatens to escape.

And then, through the blinding snow, I see a figure. A dark figure is moving towards me, digging his ski poles into the snow andmoving uphill. Oh god, last thing I need right now is ‘the Abominable Snowman’.