Lauren opened her mouth to speak and my dad cut her off. “Good, glad that’s sorted out. Shall we all have another glass of champagne? It’s not every day that I gain a son-in-law.”
“Yes,” Lauren said. “Another glass of champagne will help loosen everyone up. I thought we might take a couple of pictures that we could incorporate into the invitation boxes.”
“Pictures? Invitation boxes?” We should have eloped.
“Pictures of the happy couple. We don’t have to use them but they’ll be nice sentimental keepsakes if nothing else. I’ve set up my camera down by the willow trees—as you know I’m quite the amateur photographer since I did that evening class with the WI. I’m confident I can capture the love you have for each other in the lens of my camera.”
It took everything I had not to groan. Photographs? Really? I felt terrible lying in ordinary conversation to the three people in front of me. I wasn’t sure how I was going to pose with Tristan and make everyone believe we were in love. “We were thinking of getting something professional done.”
Lauren scowled at me. “Oh you don’t need to bother. The lighting here is just beautiful this afternoon and we can make them black and white—they’re going to look just as good as the professionals. I’ve gotten really quite good, even if I do say so myself.”
“Sounds fun,” Tristan said from beside me.
He couldn’t possibly be serious.
Lauren beamed at him and she led us back to the willow tree, my parents following us.
As Lauren fiddled with her camera, Tristan bent and whispered in my ear. “Stop freaking out. It won’t take much to be convincing. Follow my lead and everything will be fine. People believe what they want to believe.” He snaked an arm around my waist and I tried to ignore the heat of his large hand on my hip. As he pulled me toward him, I stumbled and fell into him. My hand reached for him to stop myself from falling. It was like pressing my hand into a tree trunk. I guess that’s why it felt like I was running into a wall when I bumped into him in the hotel lobby.
“Oh that’s a lovely shot,” Lauren called. “Hold that pose.”
Tristan grinned down at me.
“Does she know I tripped?” Neither Lauren nor my parents could hear us—they were a few meters away and chatting amongst themselves.
“You’re adorable,” he said, circling his other hand around my waist and bringing me upright and tight against his oh-so-hard body.
“You’re hard.” I prodded my finger into his chest.
I glanced up at him and he was chuckling. “Not a problem yet, but the afternoon’s not over.”
I rolled my eyes and hoped it took his attention from the blush I felt burning into my cheeks. “I didn’t mean—you know what I meant.”
“You’re particularly adorable when you’re blushing.”
“I don’t blush,” I said.
“Oh I disagree. You blush a lot. It’s one of my favorite things about you.”
One of?
Before I had a chance to respond, Lauren marched over and began to manhandle us. “Such a gorgeous couple.” She lifted my arm and placed my hand flat on Tristan’s rock-hard pec and then did the same with the other hand. “Now look into each other’s eyes.”
Tristan grinned like he knew what we were doing was absolutely insane but he was enjoying himself anyway and I couldn’t help but smile at his amusement. The laughter lines around his eyes were out in full swing and without thinking, I reached up and smoothed my fingers over them.
“Absolutely gorgeous,” Lauren shouted from somewhere. “You two are perfect together.”
Despite the fact that we weren’t together, there was something about that moment with him that did feel absolutely perfect. He was so calm and relaxed and so completely at ease; it felt like all of that was somehow seeping into me, making me believe we could actually pull this fake marriage thing off. It was me that had initiated this entire fake proposal, but it was Tristan who was making sure it happened. Like he was invested in this just as much as I was—like he was my rock-solid partner in crime.
Twelve
Tristan
I watched as Parker fiddled with the flowers she’d put in a vase I didn’t know I owned. Her apron was lower than her very short black skirt and for a flash, I wondered if we were a real couple, was this the time—just minutes before guests arrived—when I’d sneak up behind her, smooth my palm up her inside thigh, push my fingers into her folds, and take her right up to the brink before the doorbell went. She’d have to spend the rest of the evening wondering when she’d finally get her orgasm.
“What are you thinking?” she asked. “What have I forgotten?”
I wasn’t about to confess I was wondering how easy it would be to bring her to the edge of her climax. “The table looks great. You need me to help with anything?”