Fake Marriage Box Set

I wrapped one hand into a tight fist. My father might have saved me from revealing my origins to Corsica, but that would not make me beholden to him. "Real is relative. He taught me that," I said.

Corsica leaned nervously from foot to foot and then finished her glass of champagne. "How about a song?" she asked to clear the tension.

My father grinned. "Wonderful! I may be rusty, but you can name any song, and I'll do my best."

I drank from the champagne flute I was holding to hide my irritation. Then, the first lilting notes poured from Corsica's lips. I was frozen with the champagne fizz tickling my nose, but her voice was hypnotic. Despite the late hour and the strange, opulent setting, her voice flowed with ease.

She was different when she sang. Gone was the perfectly groomed image, the poise, and the eager to advance set to her chin. Corsica sang from somewhere deep inside, and the notes drew out the version of herself that she kept hidden.

I set the crystal flute down with a shaky hand. I was not accustomed to wishful thinking. I knew that love was a farce, a contract of mutual benefit, but when Corsica sang, even my own thoughts were drowned out.

My father, for his part, accompanied her beautifully. For a moment, I was almost able to forget who he was and what I had seen him do. For just a moment, I saw a true, easy joy on his face, and the weight in my chest shifted.

Maybe he had changed.

Maybe some epiphany had hit or the remorse of older age, but for a second, I was filled with the wild hope that my father had summoned me to town to reconcile.

Then the song ended, and I felt the cold quiet of his trophy home seep back into me. Only Corsica's radiant smile kept my feelings from hardening again. She smiled so shyly as my father and I clapped, and then she applauded him for his playing.

"That was wonderful. Thank you," Corsica said. She trailed a hand lovingly along the curve of the piano. "Now I really wish I had pushed harder for those piano lessons."

"Well…" my father began in what I knew was his negotiating tone.

"Well, that was shocking, amazing, and it's late enough that for a moment there, I thought I was dreaming," I said. "We'll get out of your way and let you get some sleep."

My father stood up and buttoned his tailored suit coat despite being in his own home. "Yes, I understand it's late, but, Penn, I would like to have a word with you in private."

I snaked my arm around Corsica's waist. "No need to bother tonight on my account. Meeting in the morning will be just fine."

"It's important, Penn," Xavier said.

I nuzzled Corsica's neck and whispered into her hair. "Please save me. Don't let tonight end on a sour note."

"Why?" she whispered back. "Because you think he has every right to fire you for your behavior?"

"Pretty please," I kissed the side of her neck.

Corsica shivered and leaned into me. "Well, since you asked so nicely… It was wonderful to meet you, Mr. Templeton."

"Please, feel free to call me Xavier," my father said.

"Goodnight, Xavier. Thank you for your hospitality."

My father caught my arm as Corsica and I walked towards the door. True to her word, she pretended not to see the grip he had on my bicep. She snuggled her head against my chest and sighed dreamily.

Xavier gazed at her soft, honeyed hair against my shirt and sighed himself. "First thing in the morning, we need to talk," he said. "And, Penn. Don't take that for granted. It's worth more than you know."

His words chafed at me all the way up the steps and out the front doors of the mansion. Corsica eased up her protective hold on me, and I felt the chill of the bay breeze as we crossed the driveway. I wanted to pull her back against me, feel her warmth and comfort, but I resisted. The worst part was that my father was right. I was taking advantage of Corsica, but her comfort suddenly far outweighed avoiding my father.

I ran up the steps to the garage apartment ahead of her. It gave me just enough time to fight my conscience. I wanted her to stay; I almost needed her to spend the night. The only problem was she deserved more. Corsica deserved a man who would charm her, lavish gifts on her, and tell her how he felt. Those were things I had never managed to do, even if I wanted to.

"You don't have to stay," I said as I opened the apartment door. "I can call a cab or my driver, and they'll be here in five minutes. I understand if this all seems a little too crazy."

"What kind of savior would I be if I let your boss fire you in the morning?" Corsica asked. She laid a hand on my chest as she slipped by me into the darkened apartment.

"I know, I know, he's a charming guy. Next to him, I look and sound like an ungrateful Neanderthal."

Corsica squinted at me as I turned on the soft glow of a lamp. "I don't know. Maybe in the right light you could look a little bit like Mr. Templeton. Though, you could be hiding any number of things under that beard."