Chapter 17
The Price of a Smile
If my grandfather’s sole reason for making me get married was to drive me toward the brink of insanity, he achieved his goal. I’ve officially reached my breaking point, and it only took Amara planning a rehearsal dinner to get me there. Well, her sitting beside me in a body-hugging white gown and the crowd of people waiting inside Chicago’s best steakhouse.
“It’s not too late for me to tell Harrison to turn the car around.” I make one last-ditch effort to convince Amara against tonight’s dinner. If it were up to me, we would have gotten married in a courthouse and bypassed all of these requirements.
She picks at her pristine manicure. “It’s not like I want to go in there either.”
“Is this your attempt at making me feel better?” A thoughtful yet pointless effort.
“They say misery loves company.” She laughs, and the sound draws me toward her like a siren’s call.
My eyes drop to her mouth as I soak in her smile. Her good mood is dashed away by the parting of her lips, and I look up to see what changed. Our eyes connect, making me feel like I was struck in the chest with a lightning bolt. It must zap all my common sense too because nothing else explains me reaching out and holding onto her hand.
She sucks in a breath. “You ready?”
Whatever burst of energy I felt from our eye contact dies at her confusion. I release her hand, and she clasps hers together on her lap.
“As ready as one can be for an event like this.”
“Just remember in two days you will never have to think about throwing a party ever again.”
“A lot can happen in forty-eight hours.”
“Getting cold feet?” Her eyes light up.
“Frostbite set in about three days ago, but I’ll crawl down the aisle if I need to.”
She laughs again, and I’m hit with another surge of warmth that scares me enough to open the car door and face the lesser of two evils. Anything seems better than analyzing the weird sense of attraction I feel toward the one woman I can’t ever have.
Future wife or not, Amara is the last person I will ever make a move on. She is an integral part of my plan to become CEO, and I refuse to lose my most valuable player for something as fleeting as attraction. Nothing good could ever come out of a temporary fling, so I’m better off being on my own.
Amara and I make our way through rounds of useless conversation. Unlike our engagement party, we are driven apart by our families. There is a reason I always dragged Amara to any event I was forced to attend. Where she thrives in answering people’s questions and pretending to be interested, I struggle. Everything about tonight is pure torture. With the endless amount of small talk and my inability to get drunk at my own rehearsal dinner, I can’t get out of here soon enough.
To make matters worse, my father showed up to play his part as a doting parent. His fake smile is on full display as he works the crowds with the charm of a cult leader. It’s disgusting how many people eat out of the palm of his hand, nearly salivating at the prospect of receiving five minutes of his attention.
I find the darkest corner in the restaurant and linger in the shadows, observing my father from afar. I’m not sure how much time passes. The dull throb at the back of my head seems to have alleviated during my reprieve, and for that I am grateful.
I take a step out into the light before I’m stopped by Amara pressing her palm against my cheek. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I knew I should have checked the dark and unseemly places first.” Her hand lingers, warming my stubbled chin as I look down at her.
“To think you know me better than anyone else.”
She laughs, and the sound seems to wash away my last bit of annoyance from tonight.
“How are you holding up?” She removes her hand, but I latch onto it and press it against my chest.
A crease appears between her eyebrows.
“People are watching,” I speak low.
She looks around, finding multiple people’s gazes homed in on us.
Her lips curve into a small smile. “No wonder you hate going out. This is exhausting.”
“Now she finally gets it,” I deadpan.
She cracks another smile in my direction. “I never understood why you hated talking to people but now I totally do. Who would want to with a family like yours?”
“If hell were a theme park, they would have lifetime passes.” My comment earns me a wheezy laugh.
“How did you survive growing up with so many social climbers?”
“Easy. If you stop being social, there is no ladder for them to climb in the first place.”
Her eyes light up. “Well, I better get back to being the cheery one. With you hiding, one of us needs to be present.”
I clasp onto her hand before she has a chance to step away. “Don’t go.”
What are you doing?
“Why not?” Her brow arches.
A reasonable question if any. Having her by my side feels like the only natural thing about tonight, fake marriage or not. She has a way of making anything tolerable.
“You make tonight somewhat more bearable.”
What happened to not needing anyone but yourself?
I’ll go back to feeling that way tomorrow. Tonight I accept I am weaker than usual, with hours of small talk pushing me past my limits.
She looks down at our joined hands with a tight expression. “What a glowing compliment.”
My thumb brushes the inside of her wrist. “Do you want to hear some more?”
“No.”
A small smile forms before I have a chance to kill it. “Why not?”
“I prefer you grumpy and predictable.”
“You can’t mean that.”
Are you flirting with her?
Fuck. Exactly how much alcohol did I drink tonight? I check my one and only glass, finding it still halfway full.
Must be a temporary lapse in judgment given the stress of the situation.
Yes. A slip of the tongue that has nothing to do with Amara and everything to do with my limited patience for people trying to kiss my ass all night long.
“You know why.”
“Maybe but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear you say it.” She grins, and a wave of warmth spreads through my chest that has nothing to do with my whiskey.
You hate when people smile.
Except making Amara grin feels like a personal victory.
You’re not supposed to be lusting after your paid-per-vow wife’s smiles.
I snap out of whatever feelings possessed me. “You’re staying with me for the rest of the night.” I leave no room for questions.
She seems to ramp up the wattage on her smile. “You’re kind of cute when you get all flustered.”
“I’m not flustered.”
She wraps both of her arms around my waist, drawing me toward her. Our bodies fit together like two interlocking puzzle pieces. Returning her embrace is reflexive, while the feeling happening inside of me is not. There is only one word I can think to describe the contentedness wrapping itself around my heart like a suffocating vine.
Hygge1.
“What did you just say?” Amara looks up at me with a contorted expression.
Shit. You said that out loud?
I have two options here—admit the truth or deny it ever happened in the first place.
Deny.
“Nothing.”
Except it doesn’t feel like nothing. My heart pounds against my chest, and I only hope Amara remains unaware of the betraying organ. A sick feeling overtakes me as I consider my slipup. I stopped using words like that ages ago after my mom passed. There wasn’t a point anymore when the only person who understood me that way died, leaving me behind with an empty heart and a brain filled with useless words.
Yet here you are, using them to describe her.
Fuck.
I run my fingers through my hair, giving my hands something to do besides touching Amara. Nothing good seems to come from that.
Amara’s arms tighten around me, beckoning me to look down at her. “Is everything okay?”
“Of course.” I fight the urge to disentangle myself from her hug. She is growing far too comfortable with them for my taste.
“Great because your father is headed this way and the smile on his face is downright malicious.” Amara steps out of our embrace, only for me to tuck her against my side. My hand plants itself against her hip like it belongs there.
My father steps into our vicinity. “Just the couple I was looking for.”
Amara mutters something under her breath before plastering on her fakest smile. “Mr. Sterling. How nice of you to make it tonight.”
I huff at her polite display. Both of us had hoped my father would decline to attend, but leave it to him to make it at the last minute.
His right eye narrows despite the easygoing smile on his face. “Please call me Seth. We are practically family now.”