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I’m getting my chance if I have to burn down the world for it. Gabriel Sinclair is collateral damage.
He grabs my arms, but he doesn’t push me away. He doesn’t pull me in or kiss me back. He makes a surprised noise and freezes, hopefully giving the photographer a few extra shots.
Ideally, Gabriel would take me over the chaise. I could close my eyes and pretend he was Nic for the two minutes it would take. Photos and grainy videos of that would have Jessie running for a divorce. But this is Gabriel Sinclair, soof coursehe won’t even kiss me back.
When I pull away, he’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. He’s wearing more of my lipstick than I am. I’ve managed to muss his hair up, not to mention nearly strangle him with his tie.
I hum, satisfied.
It’s done. We’ll be trending on social media before we step out of this room, although I guess technically Gabriel Sinclair won’t be. Not that he’ll want to correct them.
He stays perfectly still as I walk around the chaise to retrieve my dress off the hook on the door. Maybe I’ve broken him.
That was too easy, no fun at all, really.
“What’s your name?” he asks gruffly.
“Ashley Foley.”
He blinks. Swears. A milddammit.
I feign offense at the obscenity, clutching at my chest with a gasp. His eyes narrow. But yay! He knows who I am. It finally clicked in his empty head.
“Zip me.” I turn my back to him and pull my blonde hair aside.
He ignores me, looking upset as he paces his side of the room in short bursts. “How close are you to the bride?”
Ugh. “We’re cousins. Why?”
His hands are in his thick hair, making more of a mess than I did. He’s talking more to himself than to me, so I let him ramble on as I do my zip as high as I can. Maybe it would be better if I came out half-zipped, looking freshly fucked anyway. I turn to the mirror to transform the mess I’ve made of my carefully chosen lipstick into something artful.
I only look at my lips.
“I shouldn’t have come to this wedding.” Gabriel is still having his boring existential crisis, muttering to himself. “How am I going to explain to Nic I’m taking a restraining order out on his cousin-in-law?”
I stop. “Restraining order?” That would ruin everything. “That’s not necessary—”
He shoots me a filthy look. Not the fun kind. This kind says I am worse than a shoe-ruining pile of dog shit. “I appreciate my fans, but you just crossed all sorts of lines.”
A wild laugh rips out of me, pushed by the surge of anger because I never wanted him in this room. I stomp up to him, but already his hands are up in the air. “I am not a fan of yours.”
His look suggests he doesn’t believe me but might play along in case I turn dangerous and honestly, I amthisclose.
I lean in and to his credit, he doesn’t back away. “I despise you.”
His glare intensifies. “Two minutes ago you were trying to suck my face off.”
“I didn’t enjoy it.” I push past him for the door. My half-zipped dress is already slipping down, exposing the top of my lingerie. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a party to—”
I open the door to a camera flash. A dozen camera flashes.
And I freeze. My heart pounds in my ears and I’m going to be sick. This wasn’t the plan. Where did they come from?
The first volley of flashes stops and a second of shocked silence falls.
“Gabriel Sinclair?”
Stunned voices. Stunned voices saying his name, turning hungry. Rushing toward me, cameras flashing.
