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“That suit looks amazing on you. Hell, I’ve never worn a suit that well.” My fake fiancé smooths a hand down his lapel, but from his grin I know he’s not concerned about being outshone.
And I’m suddenly very glad I added that final rule to our contract because I have the oddest urge to climb Charlie and claim his grinning lips in a hot kiss.
Not acceptable thoughts about my husband!
It’s probably the suit. His suit, not mine. Charlie paid me a high compliment when he said I looked better than him. Because damn, my future fake husband is fine.
Talk, dark, and handsome has never been a more apt statement.
Every inch of his suit is black. The jacket and pants, of course, but also the shirt and the long, thin tie. He must have gone to a barber because his fade is perfection, as is his close shave. And god, the way his ebony skin stretches over that strong jaw of his.
It’s enough to have a fake fiancé wondering why we aren’t doing this for real.
Stop it! The suits are to blame!
I shove away the unwelcome thoughts and put on my serious face.
“Are you having second thoughts?” I ask. “Is that why you’re running late?”
Charlie’s skin grows darker with a blush, but he steps in close, cupping my elbow with his hand.
“No. I’m in all the way. I just thought if we’re going to be in this for more than a year, we might as well look the part.” At that, Charlie slips his hand into his pocket as if searching for something. Finding the item, he spreads his fingers wide, revealing two slim gold bands.
“Charlie!” I gasp out his name, not because the rings are beautiful but because I can’t believe how much he’s committing to this role. “You didn’t have to.”
He shrugs, handing me the larger one. “I want you to know that I’m not about to back out a month into this thing. And you don’t have to think of them as wedding rings if you don’t want to. Think of them as partner rings.” He holds up the smaller band, the one he plans to slip onto my finger in a few minutes. “When you wear this and look down at it, I want you to remember that I’m here for you. That you can trust me.”
Swallowing becomes difficult, and the ceiling is suddenly fascinating.
“Luna?”
I clear my throat. “The rings are a good idea. Thank you.” I was too busy with the online paperwork to consider if we should mess with more traditional wedding objects.
When Charlie smiles at me this time, there’s a depth of sincerity that is also strangely arousing.
Damn these motherfucking suits.
When I realize we’ve been staring at each other for just a little too long, I step back.
“We should be able to go in soon,” I tell him, my tone formal now. Back to business.
We settle beside each other on the hard bench outside the judge’s office, and I try not to admire the way the high-quality material hugs his legs.
“Are you here to get married?”
At the sound of Charlie’s question, my head pops up. Why would he ask something so obvious? But then I realize he’s not talking to me. My fake fiancé faces an elderly couple sitting on the bench across from us. They can’t be younger than seventy, but by the blissfully happy expressions on their faces, they might as well be teenagers.
“We are,” one lady responds, clutching the hand of the woman at her side. “Forty years together, and we decided, why not?” The crystals on her glasses sparkle as she tilts her head toward us. “You too?”
Charlie slings an arm around my shoulders, and I don’t flinch from the touch. Probably because it feels more like comradery than possessive.
“Yes ma’am. This is my fiancée, Luna. And I’m Charlie.”
The women offer us soft smiles. “I’m Margaret, this is Tiffany. How’d you two kids meet?”
Charlie gives me a wicked grin before turning back to them. “Well, you see, we were on this boat…”
As he relates our first encounter, sparing himself no embarrassment, I can’t help but feel awe at how easy he is around these strangers. Not that Margaret and Tiffany are intimidating, but there’s an air of vulnerability to the way Charlie opens himself up. His genuine nature is probably what gets the couple to share their own story of a love spanning decades, sometimes hidden from public view, but now allowed to be on display. By the end, I’m battling a wave of shame that Charlie and I are entering into this marriage under false pretenses when people like our new acquaintances struggled for the right.
