Page 27 of The Billionaire’s Fake Fiancée
I flinch.
Now that I hear him say it aloud, the foolishness of trying to get out of this arrangement hits me.
"As if that option is still open?" I say, and my voice comes out bitter.
He squeezes my shoulder. I wince again, this time from the real pain that shoots through my arm from his grip.
When I glance at him, I find his eyebrows furrowed as if he's trying to understand me, as if he's trying to figure out what to say. His eyes glint more silver than green in this light, stormy as if he's grappling with emotion.
"For fuck's sake, Sienna," he says. "Don't go getting cold feet now. I should have known. A novice like you wouldn't have the nerves to see this through."
I bristle. He’s good at this, knows exactly which buttons to press.
"I'm not a novice," I say, my voice stronger as anger licks through my nerves.
He half-smirks and that only makes me want to prove him wrong.
I know he's playing me. Making me angry enough to take up his challenge and see this through. But even knowing he's manipulating me does not stop me from taking the bait.
Shrugging off his hand, I square my shoulders. Then, I stalk off toward the building by the poolside where the party is being held
12
Sienna
* * *
I push open the heavy black curtains leading into the pool house and step inside. The heat hits me, a contrast to the balmy evening outside, making me gasp. The stench of power, shot through with incense, overwhelms me.
Lit discreetly in the corners are glowing sticks stuck into the ground, bathing the space in notes of sandalwood and magnolia.
What looked like a two-floor Victorian structure from outside has transformed.
The space is big, much bigger than I would have imagined it to be. On one side an indoor pool?heated, judging by the steam rising off it.
On the far side women in swimsuits laze by the pool. One of them shrugs off her top. Dives in. Avid eyes follow her even as the conversation never ceases.
O-k-a-y.
Closer to me, men talk to each other. Men, with sculpted abs and tiny swimming trunks that reveal more than they hide.
One of them stops mid-conversation, catches me staring. I redden. Jerk my head to the other side.
There's a bar on the far end of the room. People scattered around, talking, holding drinks. The colored dresses of the women shimmer through the overheated air.
They look civilized, but I know they're not.
This is a genteel version of the Wild West. These men and women would tear each other's eyes out in their race to outdo each other. In money, possessions, their choice of sexual partner. One step wrong and they'll never let me live it down.
I. Don't. Care.
I refuse to be bogged down by the rules of this fake society. Or by Jace and his growing hold over my emotions.
A bead of sweat runs down between my breasts.
I hesitate, noticing the couple closest to me deep in conversation. The woman has a white, silk, shift dress, that clings to her every curve and leaves her shoulders bare. The man she's talking to is as tall as Jace, with grey hair at his temples.
His jacket stretches over his shoulders as he bends toward the woman. Even though his back is to me, something about the tilt of his head, the way he stands, is familiar. The woman looks over his shoulder, her eyes moving past me, to fix on someone else.
