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“And you’re my fiancé.” I say it in an even tone; we need to get this correct, right from the start. It needs to roll off the tongue and feel natural.
Shouldn’t it seem harder?The persistent voice in my head notes.
“I’d like to see what I’m buying, Mel. If you don’t mind.”
She scoffs, but then the door opens fully. Mel steps out just enough for me to get a look. And I almost swallow my tongue.
It’s a one-piece, which wasn’t what I was aiming for initially. After all, Mel has a great figure and should show it off. My fiancé would show it off.
But this bathing suit…it cuts across her hips daringly, in a dark red color, like wine or blood, making her skin look more tan somehow and her eyes darker. The cutouts on the side are slight, but enough to lead to a natural high cut just under her breasts. I can see the swell of the underside of them, the soft skin and shadow.
My mouth waters.
It’s strapless, showing off her beautiful neck and shoulders as well. I feel my cock stir with interest and fight to keep my face blank.
“This one seems appropriate.”
Inappropriate, actually, but I’m already thinking of the sight of her rising from a pool or hot tub—water streaming down her body.
“Is there another you like? The retreat has endless options for swimming or lounging, if that’s something you’re interested in.”
She looks at me shyly and suspiciously, arms crossed under her breasts. They rise deliciously.
“Maybe. Let me…”
Mel disappears back into the room, this time with more enthusiastic shuffling. With a sigh, I drop back in the chair and cross my legs, hoping that whatever she comes out in next doesn’t give me a heart attack before this whole plan even gets started.
* * *
On the drive outof the Boston, Mel’s stomach growls.
“Hungry?” I ask with a smile curling my lips. “We can go out for dinner.”
She shakes her head. “No. Not yet, I mean. I—I know we need to be seen and everything, but I’d like to keep this quiet until it sinks in.”
I nod, accepting her request. As much as this is a two-way street, it must be jarring for her. Only a day into starting a new job, in a new place, and now she needs to fake a relationship well enough to convince my boss that we’re madly in love and going to settle down.
The thought makes my stomach ache.Settling down.
The last time I thought of settling down was with Mel, ironically. Back when I was a kid, daydreaming after a long phone call, wondering if it was crazy to be thinking of it at such a young age. Of asking her to marry me when we graduated from high school. Of following her anywhere she wanted to go.
Except, she didn’t give me the opportunity.
At the apartment, I take her hand to help her out of the car and ask, “Can I come inside? There are some rules we need to set down, and some things that need to be signed.”
Mel eyes me warily but agrees. I follow her into a small, stuffy foyer and up a narrow flight of stairs. She unlocks the door and steps aside so I can enter the apartment.
It’s tiny. Tinier than I expected, even. Almost a studio, except that I can see a bedroom behind two interior French doors, and a little bathroom off to the side. There’s good light, at least.
But most importantly, I can see bits of her everywhere.
Books piled on the side table, a divot in the loveseat where she sits, a few sketchbooks lying open on a drafting table. It’s almost the biggest piece of the furniture in the room.
She blushes and goes to stand in front of her drawings, some of which are tacked to the wall. A part of me longs to inspect them, but I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.
And that’s not why I’m here.
Wordlessly, I hand her a folder.
