Playboy Prince

Oh god, I don't have my privacy settings on. The image will show up on my cell screen without warning. I don't think Liam will send an unsolicited picture, but—

I slip the phone into my purse, just to be safe.

As much as I enjoy mocking Jimmy—seriously, chasing teenagers and making a whip sound—I don't need the constant updates.

I need to be here, to stay present.

Preston lets out a hearty laugh. "Did Liam drop the reveal?"

"Huh?"

"The all-male revue?"

"What?"

"Are you all right, Briar?"

No. I'm thinking about calling Liam and demanding he swing the limo around for a quickie. Or at least a hotel room interlude in the middle of his party.

I'm sitting next to this nice older man, thinking about mounting the fake fiancé he sees as a son.

What the hell is wrong with me?

"He took the guys to a male strip club?" I ask.

Preston nods.

"He didn't tell me that."

"He knows how to keep a secret."

He does.

"No one wants to hear that about their fiancé." He takes a sip of his brandy. "I was never a very good wingman."

"No? You don't rack up phone numbers saying, 'Hey, have you seen how hot my friend is? He won't cheat on you, but if he did, he'd keep it under wraps really well.'"

"I haven't tried."

"Next time."

He laughs, but it's loaded.

Or maybe I'm projecting. Liam and I are keeping a secret from him. And the whole subject of cheating. Total no-go zone. I take another sip. Try to think of an appropriate response. Say the worst thing possible instead. "Was that what happened with your wife?"

"Did a wingman win her over? No, I was charming back then. Handsome too."

"You're still handsome."

His smile is genuine. "You don't have to flatter me."

"I'm not." Preston is still a handsome man. Older, sure, but he wears it well. He's not trying to hold on to his youth the way some people do. He's a little thin, and pale too, but he looks good. Distinguished.

"What would you say to flatter me?"

"I don't know. I'm not good at flattering. Probably something about how smart and interesting you are. Men want to hear that."

"My fantastic taste in film, perhaps?"

"Or opera."

"Have you seen La Traviata?"

I shake my head. "I haven't seen anything."

"Tell Liam to take you. He'll argue—he's not one for 'stuffy' culture—but you'll love it."

"You think so?"

"It's transcendent."

I might be with Liam on this one. Sure, it would be hot to make out on the balcony. If the opera happens to be in the background, I don't mind. But I don't see the appeal of old tragedies.

"I have a box. Take my tickets for the show in September."

"Okay." Not thinking about Liam's hand between my legs. Thinking about the beauty of music. The climax. The opera climax. What's that called? An aria. Something like that. Something that isn't about riding my fake fiancé. "But I want my money back if I don't like it."

"For the free tickets?"

"For the dress I buy for the occasion."

He offers his hand.

I shake.

"Have you spent time pretending you find boring men interesting?"

"Only for work." I take another sip of my martini. Cut a marinated beet in half. We're mostly done with dinner, but I'm still picking at my roasted spring vegetables.

"I imagine it's the most difficult place to do it. People with power and money are used to fawning."

"Usually. What about Liam?"

"He's used to fawning."

"But he's interesting."

"I'd hope you think so."

"Even before I liked him… I thought he was annoying when we met."

He smiles. "He grew up trying to irritate his brothers."

"Maybe that's it. A younger sibling’s need for attention." I take a bite of my beet. Mmm, the earthy flavor of the root mixes with the sweet citrus marinade. A perfect melody. "Simon never tries to be interesting."

"He doesn't."

"I think he is. He just doesn't want to share that with people."

"Do you?"

"Not usually," I admit. "I didn't have great luck with guys when I was young. I didn't pretend they were interesting. But I had a lot of the same interests. I used to spend a lot of time with my dad. I loved his favorite movies and the steak he barbecued and the Springsteen records he played."

"And men didn't like talking Springsteen?"

"They did at first. Then I had an opinion, and that challenged them. But Liam… he's not that way."

"No?" He motions to the beets may I?

I nod go for it. "No. He loves hearing me talk. I think he might be tuning out and staring at my boobs, but he doesn't interrupt me."

"He adores you."

"Yeah." He does.

"And you adore him. You miss him already."

"Maybe." In the last week, we finally kissed, touched, fucked. But I can't tell him that. "It's strange, being so close to the wedding."

"Bringing up thoughts of your father?"

"Yeah."

He pauses. Considers what he's about to say. "I never strayed. As far as I know, Ella didn't either. But I wouldn't have blamed her if she did. We were drifting. I wasn't there. I worked too much. I left my energy at the office. She was alone. That's why she left. She didn't want to be alone anymore."