Page 36 of Wicked God
“Practice what?”
“Looking like we can’t keep our hands off each other.” He leans across the console, one eyebrow raised. “A goodbye kiss? For authenticity’s sake.” His mouth is so close that his breath tickles my cheek.
My pulse quickens. His eyes hold mine, waiting for permission.
“For practice,” I agree, and my body is already betraying me, leaning in, hungry for the little thrill of his touch.
He kisses me—soft and lingering. It’s not the hungry, take-me-now urgency of last night, but something else entirely: a slow warmth that blooms from my lips and sinks straight down to my toes. When he pulls away, my resolve is thoroughly perforated. I try to act unaffected, but I know he sees right through me.
“Convincing.” I manage to find my voice. “If only all our rehearsals could take place in private.”
He grins, but it’s not the predatory one from last night. It’s quieter, the smile of a man who finds a secret joy in messing with me. “We’ll have to up the ante in front of an audience.”
I give him one last defiant look, then slip out of the car and into the gallery. “I’ll see you later.”
Cassandra barely lets me get past the front counter before she’s onto me.
“Well, well, well.” She’s perched on the reception desk, a knowing smirk on her face. “Look what the cat dragged in. Or should I say, who was dropped off by Alexander Hawthorne?”
Heat rises to my cheeks. “Cass, I—”
“Save it, honey,” she interrupts, hopping off the desk and circling me like a shark. “Same dress, I told you to wear last night, messy hair... I’d say things went very well indeed.”
“It’s not what you think. Well, not entirely.”
Cassandra raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Do tell. But first, let’s get you changed. You look fabulous, but people might start talking.”
I follow Cassandra to the back room, my heels clicking against the polished wooden floor. She grabs a fresh set of clothes from the small closet we keep for emergencies—a crisp white blouse and tailored black slacks—and tosses them to me.
“Go on,” she says, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. “Change. And while you’re at it, spill the details. You can’t just show up here looking like you’ve been fucked through the mattress and expect me not to pry.”
I roll my eyes, slipping into the blouse and buttoning it up quickly. “Alexander agreed to marry me for a year, and I need your help to make our relationship look real.”
As I slip into the slacks, I explain our plan in hushed tones, watching Cassandra’s expression shift from playful to serious. “You need me to help orchestrate a whirlwind romance for the press?”
I nod, biting my lip. “Can you do it?”
“Honey, I thought you’d never ask. We’ll have them eating out of our hands by the time the engagement party comes around. Operation Fake Fiancés is officially a go.”
I can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. The plan might be bold, but with Cassandra on our side, we can pull it off.
We huddle over my desk, Cassandra’s fingers flying across her tablet as she outlines our strategy.
“Okay, so we need to create a narrative,” she says. “A slow burn that’s suddenly caught fire. I’m thinking... casual sightings at first, then more intimate moments. We’ll leak photos all at once just before the event. Then slowly drip-feed new ones to the media, making it look like you’ve been spending time together secretly, and now it’s all coming to light. We’ll also need some juicy quotes from friends and family, painting you as the perfect match.”
I try to keep up with her rapid-fire planning. “That sounds manageable. But how do we make it believable?”
“Details, darling. It’s all in the details. The way he looks at you, the way you touch him—it has to be natural, like you’ve been doing it for years. People notice those little things.” She looks at my discarded dress and grins, clearly enjoying herself far too much. “But it looks like that won’t be a trouble to you.”
“I cannot believe this is my life,” I say, shaking my head.
“But hey, at least you’re fake-marrying a total hottie, right?”
I laugh, but it catches in my throat, because my feelings for Alexander are anything but fake. The memory of his arms around me this morning, the tenderness in his eyes... It’s all too real.
“Cass,” I say softly. “What if I’m in over my head here?”
Cassandra tilts her head, studying me. “You really care about him, don’t you?”
