Page 38 of Carnal Games

A contract marriage disguised as an arranged one between Rosalie and Nova.

The difference is—ours will always be a lie, never turning into a happily ever after.

As astounding as it sounds, Nathan and I have always been close friends when we’re alone. Our friendship hasn’t evolved into more. It’s the reason why our fake relationship has worked so well over the years.

We reach the stage with a gorgeous backdrop of thousands of pink roses and a huge chandelier. The photographer, along with the videographer, tells us to slow down and for Nathan to take the lead up the small flight of stairs.

Like we’re puppets and they’re pulling the strings, we’re made to pose and smile as they capture our pictures with their expensive cameras in rapid succession.

I peek at Nathan, conveying without words to get them moving.

Just yesterday, one of the top bridal magazines in the country did our professional photoshoot. It was an otherworldly experience and I won’t lie, I loved being pampered and spoiled on the set and wearing couture gowns. However, by the end of it, I was bone-tired and my mouth hurt from smiling.

I learned there’s a big difference between being Nathan’s girlfriend and his fiancée.

Suddenly, I’m the talk of the town. The soon-to-be Mrs. Singhania.

It’s nerve-racking.

“I think that’s enough,” Nathan sharply orders the cameraman.

“Yes, yes, of course.”

The mermaid cut of my lehnga makes my ascent a bit difficult. Anxiety chooses this moment to creep into my psyche.

You’re looking awkward.

Everyone is staring.

You’re going to fall.

My throat closes up as I try to force the thoughts out.

“Iris,” Nathan utters gently.

I blink up at him, and choke out, “The dress.”

My eyes widen when he winks and swoops down to pick me up around the waist. I’m lifted off the final step and placed on the landing.

“See, lightweight as a pixie.”

“Shut up.” My nerves fly away.

“That was perfect,” exclaims the photographer. Then he arches a brow to another one of his team members. “You got that?”

Nathan and I exchange an amused laugh at their eagerness to catch a candid moment, which I guess is their job. Like wepracticed at rehearsal earlier in the morning, we take our place at the center of the stage.

Our parents sit in the front row. Apart from Nathan’s father staring with a bored look, his mother and my parents admire us with pride.

Behind them sits our group of friends.

The host, who was engaging the guests while waiting for us, joins us on the stage. As she goes to stand between us, I absently scan the seated crowd when a flash of movement at the entrance draws my attention.

Am…am I hallucinating? Dreaming? Dying?

I can’t be seeing who I’m seeing.

The tall figure crosses the threshold, looking straight at the stage.

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