Page 22 of Marry Lies
She scoffs. “No, but I don’t want to be humiliated if you’re seen sneaking around with tall, brunette models.”
I stop walking and grab her arm, tugging her close to me.God, she’s infuriating.
“I can assure you, there will be no one else for the entirety of our fake marriage.”
Her throat bobs. “Good.”
“While we’re at it,” I purr, loving the way her neck and cheeks turn pink when I lower my voice, “I have some ground rules of my own.”
“Go on.”
“You will live in my quarters. We don’t need to share a bed, but for appearances sake, you will play the part.”
Her pupils darken slightly at my words, and she nods.
“You will take my last name, and you will attend events by my side. I’m happy to do the same for you.”
“Fine. And I’ll gladly take your father’s money and pretend to talk you up to everyone I know.”
“It’s a deal,” I murmur.
“It’s a deal,” she repeats, her eyes searching mine. “For one year, at least.”
I walk over to the door of my living quarters and throw it open, gesturing for her to go inside.
“God, this place really needs some color,” she muses.
I walk away in the opposite direction, ignoring my growing irritation: both at her for being so incessantlythereand stirring the pot, and at myself for wanting to engage with her.
I need to keep it professional.
“Do your worst, Estelle.”
She leans against the door frame. “Oh, and please, call me Stella.”
“Why? Why do you hate your real name so much?”
Something intense flashes in her expression, but it’s gone in an instant. “My grandmother used to call me Estelle. She’s the only one who ever did.”
Andfuck.
I know I should call her by the name she wants me to call her, but I also can’t help butwantto call her something that no one else does—something that irritates her just a little bit.
“Please call me Stella,” she says slowly.
I smirk as I turn and walk away. “Not going to happen,” I call out over my shoulder, heading to the cellar.
CHAPTERFOUR
THE COUCH
Stella
By the time Louis brings my luggage to Miles’s living quarters, it’s half-seven, and I’m knackered. Instead of unpacking, I drag my bags into the second bedroom, climbing onto the mattress fully clothed before falling asleep almost instantly. I suppose I can thank the two gin-heavy martinis for that. Jet lag kicks in around four in the morning, however, so I change into sweatpants and a sweatshirt. I glance around the fancy bathroom as I relieve myself. It’s nice—white marble with thick, black veins, white cabinetry, brass fixtures. There’s a large shower with sparkling glass walls that could fit a double bed, as well as a standing, clawfoot tub next to the large window overlooking the grounds.
There are also two sinks, and one of them has an electric toothbrush as well as a fancy shaving kit.
Lovely.
