Page 103 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

“A focus group,” he says, expression carefully neutral.

“Never too early to gather data,” Gail says as a few more people join us, including her oldest daughter, Wanda, and Wanda’s preteen son. Wanda’s son wants to know when the magician is coming, and Gail informs him that he’ll arrive in an hour or so.

I’m shocked by this, because we’re out in the middle of the ocean, after all. Where will this magician come from? “Arriving…how?” I finally say.

Somebody explains that he’s coming by helicopter, and the boy suggests that if he were a real magician, he wouldn’t need a helicopter, and the little group falls to discussing this in their casual, rich-person way, as if the remarkable thing is that a boy has suggested a magician might not really be magic and not that we areon a yacht in the middle of the ocean and a magician will be flown in for us now.

Rex makes an observation about the helipad, and the conversation winds on.

Rex has a commanding, charismatic presence; people pay extra attention to Rex when he speaks, seem almost to hang on his words. He’s charming and handsome. He’s also one of them—very solidly one of them. He thinks he’s not one of them, thinks he has to work extra hard to keep up, but he is so clearly on their level. How does he not see it?

And does Rex really look at me differently than how he’s looked at other dates? Hearing about that is so tempting—and exactly what I shouldn’t want to hear.

For a crazy second, I wish that I could confide in Gail about this vacation-sex dilemma. She’s so smart, I feel like she’d have good advice for me.

I’d confess how scary it is that I’m falling for him so hard. It would be one thing if he were treating it like a fun fling, but he has to go and act so serious, the way he did in the salon. Taking off his shirt. Acting like we’re different, like we’re real somehow. Maybe he believes it, but I know it can’t be.

She puts her arm around her daughter, and this hit of jealousy heats my chest.

I look away. I never had somebody older and wiser to tell me things. There was just my dad, whose life’s motto was,what have you done for me lately?And my mom in her dark little room watching TV in the haze of painkillers. Mom never had a lot of advice for me, but who could blame her? It was a battle just to get through the day.

A few more people come up, drawn by the spirited discussion, and that’s when Marvin appears, his blond hair blazing brightly in the afternoon sun, expertly feathered around his sunglasses, pale freckles giving him a boyish look.

“Marvin enjoys magic acts,” Gail says, smiling at him.

“This guy who’s coming is one of the best,” Marvin tells us, and then he goes on to describe one of the tricks the man can do. It involves chains and scarves.

Gail suggests we get front seats.

“Can’t do it,” Rex says. “No magicians.”

Gail laughs in surprise. Everybody’s laughing.

“Oh, come on. Not a little?” Gail asks.

“Nope,” Rex says simply.

I blink. Nobody says no to Gail.

Except Rex, apparently.

She presses him, but he stays firm. “I don’t do magicians,” he says.

People are highly entertained. I shouldn’t love it so much, but Rex is a thing to behold, being his impossible, contrarian self. And Gail seems to admire him all the more for it.

It’s stunning to me. If there’s any magic act happening now, it’s how Rex takes what he wants and says no when he wants, owns his surliness.

He’s being who he is instead of fawning over the queen. This is probably what he does in business—stands his ground with no apologies. A warm glow of pride fills my chest.

Gail turns to me. “Surely you’ll be there.”

I don’t want to go. I don’t like magicians, but more, this magician thing gives us a convenient window of time to search Marvin’s room while he’s publicly pinned down.

Rex takes my hand, as if to encourage me to leap with him. My heart starts to pound. I take a deep breath. “Here’s the thing,” I say with an enthusiastic smile. “I can’t do magicians either!” I turn to Rex. “It’s one of the things Rex and I bond over!”

Warmth crinkles his eyes. “That’s right.”

“That and not liking dill,” I add.

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