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He turned his back on her and wandered over to the balcony doors. “Six months.”
Her boldness faded, and she gulped. “Really?”
“I’ll go along with this for six months,” he said. “And then we renegotiate. You also have to agree to every one of my conditions.”
Alarm bells shrieked. She struggled to pull herself together. “Which are?”
“I’ll let you know when the time comes.”
“No deal.”
He shrugged. “Okay. No deal. This was your idea, not mine.”
“You’re being completely unreasonable!”
“I’m not the one who wants this so badly. Either we do it by my rules or I don’t play.”
No way in the world was she doing it by his rules. She’d had her fill of that with her father and Lance. “Fine,” she said. “Your rules. And I’m sure they’ll be eminently fair.”
“Oh, yeah, you can count on that, all right.”
She pretended not to hear. “The first thing we should do—”
“The first thing we’re doing is getting hold of Mel Duffy.” Suddenly he was all-business, which was unnerving, since Bram never paid any attention to business. “We’ll tell him he can take exclusive photos right here in the suite, but only if he turns over his shots from downstairs.” He gazed at her along his sublimely shaped nose. “He didn’t get my good side.”
Bram was right. The photos Duffy had just taken would make them look more like fugitives than blissful newlyweds. “Let’s get to work,” she said. “You remember how to do that, right?”
“Don’t push me.”
She notified the switchboard to hold the calls that would soon flood in, and Bram set about locating Mel Duffy. Three hours later, she and her dearly detested bridegroom were both clad in white, courtesy of the Bellagio’s excellent concierge service. Her dress had a bustier top, a handkerchief hem, and some strategically placed double-sided fashion tape to make it fit. Bram wore a white linen suit and an open-collared white shirt. All that white against his tanned skin, tawny hair, and rakish stubble made him look like a pirate who’d just stepped off a luxury yacht to plunder the Cannes Film Festival.
She phoned her people—all of them but her father—with the news. She did a halfway decent job of professing her joy and excitement at being married to the Playboy of the Western World, but it wouldn’t be nearly as easy with her friends. She deliberately left messages on their home voice mail so she didn’t have to speak to them directly. As for her father…One crisis at a time.
Bram came up behind her while she was in the bathroom. If she let him walk all over her now, there’d be no retakes. He needed to see a whole new Georgie York.
She picked up the lipstick wand she’d just set down. “I don’t share my makeup,” she said. “Use your own.”
“Is this stuff really nonsmear? I don’t want to get it all over me when I french you.”
“You’re not frenching me.”
“Wanna bet?” He crossed his arms over his chest and planted a shoulder against the doorjamb. “You know what I think?”
“You actually think?”
“I think all that crap you were spouting off about protecting your career is bogus.” The doorbell rang. “The real reason you want to go through with this farce is because you never got over me.”
“Oh, gee, you found me out.” She elbowed him hard as she passed through the doorway.
Bram caught her before she reached the living room, and he tousled her hair. “There. Now you look like you just tumbled out of bed.” He headed for the door. “Smile for the nice photographer.”
Mel Duffy lumbered in, bringing the smell of onion rings with him. “Georgie, you look gorgeous.” He studied the room, then gestured toward the balcony. “Let’s start out here.”
A few minutes later, they were posing by the railing with the sun sinking and their arms entwined around each other’s waists. Duffy took some close-ups of the bride and groom laughing over the plastic diamond, then suggested Bram pick her up.
Just what she didn’t want…Bram Shepard dangling her thirty stories above the ground.
Her filmy white skirt swirled around them as he swept her into his arms. She dug her fingers in his bicep. He gazed down at her, his face all lovey-dovey. She slipped her palm inside his jacket and lovey-doveyed him right back. She wondered what it would be like not to fake emotions she wasn’t even close to feeling. At least this time, she’d chosen her path, and that had to count for something.
