Cruel Beloved

“How about I show you around,” Whiskey says, breaking our silence.

All I can do is nod my head and start to follow him around. We walk past the kitchen, which has many chefs and servants in preparation for the evening. Then we head up the stairs to a room and he opens the door slightly. “This room is mine.” He quickly closes the door, not letting me look before he heads to the room next to it. Opening this door wide, he lets me step inside. “This will be yours.”

It’s nothing special. There’s a queen-size bed, a walk-in closet, which appears to be empty, and an adjoining bathroom. I stay just inside the door looking around then turn back to him. “And if I meet someone?”

His jaw tightens. “You are not to see anyone but me, for one year.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “But you can sleep with whoever you want?”

“I know how to keep things discreet.”

“Okay, here’s how it will go. If you sleep with someone, so will I.”

Whiskey’s mouth opens wide at my words. He’s the only stranger I have ever slept with. What a mistake that turned out to be. Never before or after Whiskey, have I had a one-night stand, but he doesn’t need to be told that. Every other man I’ve slept with, I have been in a relationship with.

“That’s only fair.”

“You stay here, mostly?” I ask, looking back to his room.

“Yes. And my townhouse. Now, would you like to see where the party will be held?”

I’m taken aback by his words. When I walked into the foyer of this home, I presumed the party was going to be held there. It’s more than large enough.

“No expense was spared. It’s our engagement party, after all. It has to be believable. At least, for now.” He starts to walk, and I reach for his arm. “What happens after? What happens when the year is up?”

“You get your life back.” It’s all he gives me, but he knows that’s not what I was asking. “The guests will be arriving soon. Come along.”

We quickly step down the stairs and through the house to two frosted glass doors. They are beautiful with etchings to let the light in. Stepping out, I’m at a loss for words. It’s so stunning that I’m pretty sure it’s taken my breath away.

It’s a winter wonderland. There’s a large marquee on the grassed area in the middle of gorgeous grounds. All around the marquee are large trees, each of them decorated with sparkling fairy lights, which dangle down from the branches. Stepping inside the marquee, there are large white trees filled with more fairy lights. The ceiling is also covered in glittering fairy lights and snowflakes hang down low. The walls are covered in lights as well. The tables are dressed in white, with a silver tree on each as the centerpiece to match the silver chairs. Snowflake decorations hang from the crystal glasses, giving it an even more magical feel.

“You like it?” he asks, standing beside me. I had almost forgotten he was there.

There’s no point in lying to him about it. It’s beautiful, stunning. A lot of effort has gone into this, and it does make our case very believable.

“Holy fucking shit.” I hear come from the other side of the tent. Emma steps into view, her eyes flipping around to every surface before she spots me with a way too close Barry right behind her. She smirks at me and turns away to keep looking. The room is stunning and hard to tear your eyes away from.

Barry follows behind her as she moves around. He’s like a lost puppy dog.

Whiskey’s hand touches my back, and I jump away from his touch as if it’s poison. We all know it is.

“You can’t do that. You can’t move away from me like that,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Does it make you angry?” I ask him sarcastically. “Perhaps not as mad as being recorded without your knowledge?” I fire back at him.

“Touché. Now, I’m going to touch you. Our guests are arriving. We will greet them together.” His hand comes to my back, and this time I only shiver at his lighter touch. It isn’t strong when he touches me, but I can feel it’s almost painful for him to do as well.

My parents are the first people I see arriving as we head toward the entrance of the marquee. They spot us, and my mother’s eyes narrow to where Whiskey is holding me. I can tell straight away she doesn’t believe it. She has a keen intuition, and she’s not buying any of it. I don’t blame her. If there’s one thing I’m not, it’s impulsive. I think everything through before I do it. I weigh all my options and come up with the best solution that’s suited to me. It’s a trait I got from my father.