Page 32 of Fake it for Keeps

I watched her go, irritated. Hallie had a way of getting under my skin that I didn’t appreciate. Most people either feared me or wanted something from me. She seemed to do neither.

The yacht’s engines rumbled to life beneath my feet. I felt that familiar thrill of power. By the time we set sail, I’d checked every detail at least twice. The state rooms were prepared. Hallie was in the guest suite, Frankie in hers, me in the master. The chef had the menu approved. The staff knew their roles. Everything was lining up to be perfect.

I found myself checking on Hallie more than necessary. Making sure her room was perfect. I wanted to make sure she had everything she needed. And maybe I wanted her to appreciate the luxury I could provide.

“You’re being weird,” Frankie observed, catching me coming out of Hallie’s room for the third time.

“I’m being thorough.”

“You’re being obsessive.” She shook her head, rolled her eyes, and exhaled loudly. “She’s fine, Colt. The room is fine. Everything is fine. Stop freaking out at everyone.”

“It needs to be better than fine,” I said. “It needs to be perfect.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s the standard I set.”

Frankie made a noncommittal noise that meant she didn’t agree but wasn’t going to argue. “Dinner’s at seven. Try not to terrorize the staff between now and then.”

“I don’t terrorize anyone.”

“You made three different people cry this afternoon,” she said.

“They were tears of gratitude,” I said, only half-joking.

“You’re insufferable. You should probably go brood in your cabin or whatever it is you do.”

Dinner was set up on the aft deck, despite the cold. I had the crew install industrial-strength space heaters and brought out every blanket on the yacht. The table was set for two—white linens, crystal, silver gleaming under the soft lighting.

It looked romantic as hell. Which was the point.

There would be a few “leaked” photos. My staff would never dare actually leak shit, but in this situation, it was part of the plan.

Hallie appeared right at seven. She’d changed into a dress that should be illegal. She’d done something to her eyes that made them look even darker, more mysterious.

She was stunning.

“Wow,” I said, before I could stop myself.

“Don’t,” she said, but I caught the pleased flush on her cheeks. “Where’s Frankie?”

“Giving us privacy.” I pulled out her chair. “It’s just us tonight.”

She hesitated, and I could see her weighing whether this was a good idea. But then she sat. I pushed her chair in, letting my hands linger on her shoulders.

She looked around at the heaters, the blankets, and the view of the ocean stretching endlessly in every direction. “This is beautiful.”

“Nothing but the best for my fiancée.” I sat across from her and poured wine. “Even if she is fake.”

“Especially because she’s fake,” Hallie countered, taking the glass. “Have to make it look good for the internet.”

I laughed. “They’re very judgmental. That’s why we have to get everything right.”

The food came out in courses, perfectly prepared exactly as I’d specified. The chef knew better than to disappoint me. Hallie seemed to relax as the meal progressed. The wine loosened her tongue, making conversation flow easier.

We talked about inconsequential things. Her favorite movies. My least favorite investors. The ridiculousness of yacht ownership. She made me laugh more than I expected, her quick wit and dry humor catching me off guard again and again.

In the evening light, with the ocean breeze playing with her hair and the wine bringing color to her cheeks, she looked radiant.