Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
He sounds awkward, like everywhere he turns, he’s stepping on land mines.
“I never thought it was some elaborate scheme to get me to sleep with you.”
“Good,” he says, clearly relieved he can stop rambling about prostitution. He blows out a breath. “But the thing about Nick is, he does have incredibly good ideas, even if he’s a little impatient to execute them.” His tone has shifted from embarrassed and awkward to serious and studious. Nerves start to trace circles on my lower back. I suppress a shiver. “I would like you to consider an offer I have for you.”
I thought he’d never ask.
He opens a manila file I hadn’t noticed on the table in front of him and pushes it toward me.
“That’s an independent background check on me.” He guides my eye down the page as he points to various items. “My full name, my current address, confirmation I have no criminal or civil convictions. Details of where I went to school, university.” He turns the page and reveals a list of company names. “This shows all the companies of which I’m a shareholder, either directly or through a shareholding of another company.” The list continues on the following page. On the next page, he stops. “I’m a director of all these companies,” he says. He turns the page once again. “This is a printout of my Wikipedia page.”
I glance up at him, but he’s focused on the file. “You have a Wikipedia page?”
He meets my gaze but doesn’t say anything before he looks back down at the file and turns the page again. “These are character references.”
I scan down the page and recognize a few of the names. I’m not sure why he’s shown me his file, like I’m some investigative journalist or something. I pull my mouth into a forced smile. “Congratulations?” I’m not sure what he wants me to say.
His half smile is back and tugs at something in my stomach as the penny drops.
He wants me to feel safe with him.
“I want you to reconsider Nick’s suggestion.”
“Why would you pay me to be your fiancée when you could get any girl in England for free?”
His jaw twitches, and I get the sense he’s trying to decide how to answer. “There’s more than one answer to that question. Obviously, you know I need someone to go with me. You fit for more reasons than Nick even realized. He thought the priority was finding someone who didn’t actually want to be my fiancée. I could have picked any one of my exes if that was the only requirement.”
Did moody, serious Ben just make a joke that wasn’t about my name?
“It’s helpful to me that you . . .” He exhales loudly. “It’s helpful to me you don’t live in London. The fact you’re American means when people ask you where you went to school or whether you know the so-and-so family and whether you grew up skiing in Val d’Isere or Verbier, you can say no to all the above and won’t be judged for it. Yes, people will judge you for being American, but that’s something we can get past.”
“Wow, so you don’t like this duke guy, then? Sounds like a horrible snob.”
“To be fair, I don’t know him, but I do know how aristocrats think. They like people to be one of them. Not that they won’t welcome outsiders into their homes and joke with them like you’re their best friend. They just don’t want their sons and daughters to marry them.”
“Oh. And . . . I’m an outsider.”
“Yes, but not because you didn’t go to the right school or don’t know the right people. It’s because you’re American. It’s almost a thrill for them, like seeing a lion in a cage or something. And then there’s the issue after the split. They’re not going to run into you and find out our story was an elaborate hoax. You’ll be back in America”—he pauses—“doing whatever it was you were doing before you came here. And the likelihood of bumping into someone you met during the charade will be almost zero.”
I nod. “How very convenient.”
“I told you, Nick’s smarter than he looks.”
I take another sip of my coffee. When I’d chatted to Melanie last night, she’d had some good ideas—negotiating for more money, for a start. But would that look weird? I don’t want Ben to think I’m greedy.
“I want to be very clear, I would not expect to sleep with you,” Ben continues. “Not even stay in the same bed. It’s likely we’ll be given one bedroom between us, but I’ll take the floor. My goal is to buy a luxury hotel chain, not add a notch to my bedpost.”
“So what would you expect, exactly?”
“From a physical perspective, just hand-holding. Maintaining an illusion of intimacy typical for a couple in company.”