Playboy Prince

"You knew about that?"

"Harrison's footsteps woke me up."

He does clomp like a Clydesdale. "Simon? Adam? Your colleagues?"

"You're the only person I've told."

Fuck.

"I know what I'm asking. And I know you're capable."

He's right. I can cover for him. Say we spent the night partying. Drinking too much apricot brandy. Watching the opera.

If anyone doubts me, I'll distract them with a ridiculous claim about dancing on the bar or buying a six-thousand-dollar bottle or bedding a soprano.

It's not hard to deceive people. Not practically speaking.

But the blowback from lying to my friends and family?

My coworkers?

My oldest brother Simon is already the most distrustful person on the planet. Now that he has a year of digging into a suspicious accident…

That's not an easy feat.

"I know it's a lot to ask. Especially with your fiancée here."

My what?

"Briar. She's perfect for you. I never thought I'd see the day. Liam Pierce finally settling down. My son marrying the woman of his dreams. And Adam's found someone too. This isn't easy. But it's easier, knowing my boys are happy."

"I'm—"

"I know. Simon is still closed to love. It's not perfect. But I can see it coming for him. He isn't like you. He wants to love and be loved. He just can't admit it."

"But—"

"I never worry about him. I didn't worry about Adam until the accident. But you, Liam…" He lets out a joyful laugh. It fills the air. Brings color to the room. "I worry about you. You and Harrison. Knowing you've found someone… it's a wish come true."

Fuck.

"If you can't lie to your fiancée, I understand. It's no way to start a marriage. But I can't have anyone looking at me like I'm falling apart. Please. Do me this kindness." He presses his palm into the arm of the chair. Uses it for leverage to push himself up.

All at once, I see it.

The lack of color in his cheeks, the thinning brows, the loose suit.

The man who sees me as a son is dying.

He's disappearing, one piece at a time.

First, the flesh around his middle, the hair, the complexion.

Then the movement, the energy, the spirit.

I've seen it before.

I don't want to see it again.

But he's right.

It's his call.

And I owe him more than this.

"Will you help me, Liam?" He offers his hand. "Please?"

"Of course." I shake. Promise to lie to my friends. My family.

And to my father figure too.

Briar isn't my fiancée.

She isn't my girlfriend.

She's not even a fuck buddy.

And, somehow, I've got to convince her to play my paramour for the next two weeks.

Chapter Two

Briar

"Are you with the bride or the groom?" A man in a suit shoots me a coy smile. "No. Let me guess."

How fun.

"You seem like a creative type." He's not subtle about looking me up and down. From my short, purple hair to my tight black dress to my heeled combat boots. Then back to the dress. The chest portion of the dress, specifically.

I'm not especially gifted in this area, but Suit Guy is perfectly pleased. He stares at my cleavage like his life depends on guessing my bra size.

"You must be friends with Lee."

No one is friends with Lee. She makes Regina George look sweet and misunderstood. Lee is the mean girl to end all mean girls.

How she ended up with someone as down to Earth and caring as Harrison, I don't know. But whatever, sure, I'm friends with Lee. She's an artist. I have purple hair and tattoos. Match made in heaven.

Or something.

"Have you seen her dress? She's a vision." I swallow my last sip of my grapefruit martini.

"Oh yeah. A babe, all right. Harrison is lucky." Somehow, his stare intensifies.

I pop an ice-cube in my mouth. Switch my drink to my left hand. Hold it up with my engagement ring on full display. A very large, very fake rock designed to deter douchebags from flirting.

Usually, I reserve it for business functions. But when Liam asked me to play wing woman at his friend's pre-wedding party, I had a feeling I'd need it.

There's something about weddings. Men think single women are easy picking. They think we're all sitting around swooning over the gown, wishing we were the ones wearing white.

And, well—

I won't lie. As much as I hate to admit it, Lee looks fantastic in her dress. All those layers of tulle. A modern princess. A dream.

I wouldn't mind rocking the gown, the heels, the fancy updo even.

But walking down the aisle, standing under the altar, saying I do?

No thanks.

Marriage is a trap. Especially for women. Look at my mom. Still wed to an asshole who thinks fidelity is exclusively for audio quality.

My father is a cheater. He apologizes every time he ends the affair, begs her to forgive him, promises to change.

Then he finds a new younger woman.

"When are you getting married?" Suit Guy's voice remains equal parts I'm a happy party goer and I'd like to fuck you. "People say it's just men who want to sow their wild oats—"