Page 36 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

“I’m doing a voiceover.”

“This is a very boring rich family.”

“No such thing. Every rich family has secrets and subterfuge,” I say.

Rex gives me one of his warning looks. “I don’t want to hear any more of your soap opera theories. Got it?”

“How do you know that’s a soap opera thing?”

He raises his stern eyebrows. “Isn’t it?”

In fact, it is. The yacht is reminding me very much of a soap opera destination wedding. “Just because it’s on soap operas doesn’t mean it’s not true. Scratch the surface of any wealthy family and you’ll find secrets and subterfuge,” I say.

“Be done with it,” he warns. “I mean it.”

I turn back toward the limo party down below wondering what has his boxers in a twist. Or briefs. Who knows. He didn’t bother to answer that question.

Renata comes back out of Clark’s room. She brings us to our suite, 412. It has a luxurious center living room and bedrooms on either side, and our bags are already there.

“Ms. Driscoll said you’d want to repurpose one of these bedrooms into an office,” Renata says. “If the corner desk isn’t large enough, crew can pull in something more suitable.” She shows us to a bathroom with a spa-like tub, and then she shows us a little control panel with switches to control the lights and the opaqueness of the windows that line the exterior wall.

Rex keeps looking over at me. I’m acting bored, but it’s not easy, because, what witchcraft is this? The literal tint of the windows lightens and darkens with the turn of a dimmer switch.

“Do you have housekeeping preferences?” Renata asks.

“Our preferences are for nobody to disturb us or come in a room at any point,” Rex says. “We will request housekeeping when we feel that we need it; otherwise we would prefer to be left alone.”

“Very good,” Renata says. “Your itinerary should be up on your phone. Launch toast at three.”

“Thanks,” Rex says.

“Yeah, thanks!” I echo.

Renata smiles and leaves.

“So it’s okay to thank her,” I say.

“It was a conversation.”

“Do we not tip her?”

“They get a tip all at once at the end. In one big chunk,” he says, like he’s exasperated just from me asking questions.Sorrr-reee!I want to say. Instead I walk around touching things. Now that we’re alone, I feel that I can do that. Every surface is special in some way—polished wood, sleek metal, fancy inlays. I feel Rex’s eyes on me.

“It’s one of your more high-end megayachts,” he says. “I think they bought it from a sultan or a prince or something.”

I spin around. “Are you shitting me?”

“No.”

“Wow.”

“That will be your room; the middle is my office, and this bedroom’s mine. You can do whatever you want in your room; just don’t disturb me when I’m in my office, and my room is completely off limits to you. I’ll let you know when there’s a function we should attend together, otherwise I prefer you remain largely inside your room.”

“Wouldn’t it be more natural for me to socialize with people, or at least be up on deck with a book while you’re working?”

“I think that limiting your contact with people is really the best policy, don’t you? Less room for error?” he says briskly. He definitely seems surlier since the kiss.

“I hear what you’re saying, but too much of that could seem antisocial, don’t you think?” I say. “But I get it. You need to see how awesome of a partner in the realm of fiancée fakery I can be before you’re comfortable with me hanging out on the loungey decks. So I’ll hold off for now.”

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