Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
I really shouldn’t think about getting wrapped up right now.
“Hello, mon minou,” he says as his full lips quirk into a smile.
“Why do you keep calling me that?” I cross my arms and take a step back.
“Because you are like a beautiful little pussycat to me. That’s what it means, my pussycat.”
“Yeah, I’m not really a fan, so could you please stop?”
“No.” He steps aside. “Come in.”
I glance over my shoulder. My beat-up old Nissan is parked by the curb and if I ran, I could hop in the driver’s seat and get out of here. Ronan made it clear that I didn’t have to go through with this marriage if I really didn’t want to.
But all the reasons that made me consider it in the first place remain valid, and I step into a gorgeous entry hall behind the asshole Frenchman.
The place really is beautiful. High ceiling, crystal chandelier, original wood staircase polished to a gleam. Paintings hang on the walls and fresh flowers are left out beneath a mirror surrounded by a gold frame. It smells like furniture polish and cut grass with a hint of sawdust underneath, which is actually really intoxicating.
“Let’s talk in here.” Julien ducks into a door on the left. I follow him and find myself in a small sitting room. Couches, coffee table, fireplace straight ahead, and bookshelves with various knick-knacks and leather-bound volumes. He shuts the door behind me and strides toward the fireplace, rubbing his hands together. There’s a small bar cart beside it, and he pours himself a drink.
He’s nervous. It hits me all at once. He keeps glancing over my shoulder at the hallway and he’s not smiling anymore, which I think means there’s someone here he doesn’t want to see right now. I hang back, not taking a seat.
“Nice place,” I say, looking around. “You live here?”
“Yes, for the most part. I have an apartment as well downtown.” He looks at his watch, pulls out his phone, turns on the screen, and puts it back. He’s fidgeting, and a part of me kind of likes watching him suffer. “Listen, I need a favor.”
“You need a favor?” My eyebrows raise in surprise. “I didn’t know we were at the favor part of our relationship yet.”
“No time like the present.” He smirks in reply and sips his drink. It’s some kind of fancy Japanese whiskey. “My grandfather is visiting from France and he’s under the impression that you and I have already been married. When you meet him, all you have to do is refrain from correcting him. It should be easy.”
I step forward, caught between feeling shocked and pissed off. “You told him we’re already married? I never actually said I was going through with it.”
He waves a hand. “Formality. We both know this is going to happen, mon minou.”
“If you keep calling me that, I’m going to walk out of here,” I say through clenched teeth.
He comes toward me. “It will be simple. He knows we’re an arranged match and have no feelings for each other. We don’t have to kiss, hug, or even pretend like we know each other. All you have to do is wear this.” He reaches into his pocket and tosses me something.
It glitters in the light as it spins end over end. I barely manage to catch the ring before it hits the door behind me. I stare at the enormous stone with its little halo of smaller pieces, my mouth hanging open.
“Is this thing real?” I blurt out, feeling like an idiot the second the words leave my lips.
“Yes, mon minou, it’s very real, and I want it back before you leave.” He waves a hand dismissively.
I let out a choked laugh. “Of course you do.”
“I’m not asking you to play along for free. Five thousand dollars for one night. After this, we’ll discuss our arrangement further.”
I stare at him and down at the ring. Five thousand dollars for a single evening. It doesn’t seem like all that much—and it also seems like way too much.
I barely have any experience with men. I’ve had short-term boyfriends, but mostly when I was younger. Julien’s asking me to be his wife—his fake wife, and only for a single night—and that makes my heart race. It freaks me the hell out. But isn’t that the whole reason I came here?
I’m pissed that he tricked me into coming tonight. He should’ve told me up front that he needed me to play his wife, and instead he pretended like all he wanted to do was discuss our relationship. He’s manipulating me, tricking me with expensive jewelry, and offering to smooth everything over with money.
I should be livid at the bastard.
I slip the ring down my finger, my hand shaking.
All I have to do is play a role tonight.