Page 6 of Taken

When I descend the stairs, I run into the last person I expect to see, and I stop dead in my tracks. "Dad?"

He looks miserable, half sheepish, half guilt-ridden. "Hey, kid." He hefts the luggage at his feet. "I helped get some things from your apartment. You gave me a key last year, and … well, I figured you'd rather I go through your stuff instead of someone you didn't know."

I cross my arms, relieved to see my things, but not my father. "Okay. Well, thanks, I guess."

Dad rubs the back of his neck. "I'm going to stay here tonight since, uh, the wedding is tomorrow. Did you want to invite any of your friends?"

I think about the girls I had gotten close to in college and blanched. "Hell no. This is humiliating enough with you here, and you're the one who got me into this mess. In fact, you can leave. I'm not exactly happy with you right now."

Dad's expression is wounded, and he opens his mouth to speak, but someone else beats him to the punch.

"He's staying. If this facade is going to work, this wedding needs to look legitimate, and that means your father has to walk you down the aisle."

I turn to see Xavier coming out of the other room, and in the daylight, he's even more intimidating … and even more gorgeous. It's infuriating, really. My husband-to-be is wearing a T-shirt and jeans, and somehow he still looks like he walked straight off a fashion runway. I think it's something about how he carries himself. There's an aura of power around him.

I'm flustered, feeling self-conscious in his oversized sweats, my hair ina neat bun at the back of my neck, so I could try on the veils. "Why, uh, does it need to look legitimate?"

"Have your father take your things to your room and get dressed. Something … nice. I'll explain everything, and then there's a few people I want you to meet."

I agonize over what 'nice'means, finally settling on a butter yellow sundress. I let my hair down, loose waves falling over my shoulders. Part of me wants to dress exactly the opposite of what Xavier requested, but something tells me it's going to be in my best interest to play nice and get the worst part of this ordeal—the wedding—done and out of the way.

After dabbing on some mascara and a coat of lip gloss, I head downstairs once more, where Xavier is waiting for me. My dad is nowhere to be seen, which I'm glad for. I'm struggling with how angry I am with him, and annoyed with myself over how much empathy I feel for him. Oh well. That's an inner battle for another time.

Xavier looks up as I come down the stairs, and his gaze changes from bored to sharp interest. I feel my cheeks and chest warm as he looks me over, starting at my painted toenails and working his way up. I swallow, my heart fluttering in my chest like a caged bird. I'd been so attracted to him that I hadn't even realized that he was into me, too.

That could make this easier or harder. I guess I'll find out soon enough.

"Maria," he purrs, the sound skittering across my nerves and making me shiver. "Good choice on the dress." He offers an arm, a gesture so old-fashioned it throws me for a loop. Gingerly, I loop my arm through his, letting my hand rest on his inner elbow.

"Where are we going?"

"I figured I'd give you a tour while I explain what's going to happen over the next few days."

I have a million questions, but I hold my tongue as he leads me through the house. It's large, but not as huge and intimidating as I thought when it was dark. I can see the huge expanse of Lake Michigan out the windows on the back of the house, and it distracts me enough that I have to ask Xavier to repeat himself a few times.

He shows me the living area, the hallway where his office is, the two-level back deck overlooking the small private beach, and finally the wing of the house where he says his parents' room is. We don't go down that hallway, and Xavier seems stiff when he mentions it.

At the end of the tour, Xavier steers me toward the kitchen. My stomach growls in response, and Xavier chuckles.

The kitchen is spacious, with light-wood cabinets and modern appliances. There's a dining area attached to the kitchen, and a smaller breakfast nook tucked into the side where Xavier motions me to go. "Sit. I'll get you something to eat."

I do as I'm told, willing to listen if it means I'll get to eat, and I watch the waves lap at the shore out the window for a few moments before Xavier returns. He sits down with a hummus plate with cucumbers and squares of pita bread, and a glass of water. I dig in eagerly, and we're both quiet until I've finished.

"So," he finally says, watching me with those eyes that see far too much. "The wedding is tomorrow. We'll get married in the morning, have a quick lunch reception, and then we'll fly out for our honeymoon over the weekend. We'll be back in Chicago by Monday."

I take a long sip of water, buying myself some time. "Why do you need this to look real? Like, what's going on here?"

Xavier leans back in his seat, expression tightening slightly. "My father … is very ill. He isn't going to make it much longer. He was upset about me not being married, and it's important to him to see me settled before he passes. I'm an only child, so the family legacy is all on my shoulders. I thought I had more time, but I guess not. Which is why your father's offer was so appealing to me."

That … is not what I was expecting. At all. I try to swallow down the guilt building in my chest, looking down at my hands. "I'm sorry."

He shrugs, but I can tell he's not really as unaffected as he pretends to be. "It's been a long time coming. I just … still feel unprepared. Seeing me take a wife is the only thing he's asking of me, and since he won't be around long enough to see me have kids, I can give him this at least. Even if it's an illusion, he never has to know."

I shift in my seat, uncomfortable. "So you're going to marry someone just to make him feel better?"

"I'm going to marry you just to make him feel better," he corrects. "But yes, I am."

"Why me? There must be tons of women who want to date you. I mean, look at you," I blurt out, waving in his direction.

---