We clink glasses and there's a moment of silence as everyone takes a sip.
We spend the next hour catching up. Nothing new with Fiona and Geoffrey, besides bragging about how many promotions he's earned. All the while, Dad looks on as if this is the last thing he wishes to discuss.
"Well, I must say everyone thought it was rather ingenious," Geoffrey drawls on, "the way I expanded distribution in Mexico City. No one has made any inroads there for years."
"True, no one has," my father says. "But that deal required quite a bit of brand leniency didn't it?" He shrugs. "If I wanted to sell diamonds in strip malls, I would have started my business in America. The King's Diamond is all about the luxury experience."
"Oh, boys, let's not do this now," Mum says. "Claire, tell us about you. What do you do for fun? Where did you two meet? I need details, darling."
"Oh, of course. Well." Claire looks over at me, and I nod encouragingly. "I love tennis. And reading. Books. And, of course, dogs."
Mum leans in, a bit perplexed. "Books and dogs, you say?"
"Yes, well." Claire waves her hands in the air, laughing nervously. Fuck me, she's losing it. "Sorry. Jet lag is making me a bit wonky."
"I don't want you wonky. Do you need some tea, perhaps?" Mum asks.
"No. I'm fine. I'm sorry. Landon, will you tell them all the lovely details of our life together?"
I cough, grin tightly, and take her hand. "Of course, love. The details."
Dad smiles encouragingly and I have no choice but to forge ahead, what with Geoffrey sitting smugly across from me, and Fiona practically begging for me to say Claire is a stripper.
"Claire is in hotel hospitality. Her office is at the Spades Royalle where I live. And we met at a business function. You know, how I've mentioned the investment property I've purchased?"
When my Dad nods, I keep going. "Right, anyway there we were, both talking of investments and hospitality and it was pure … ." I pause, clapping my hand there, stalling because I know my explanation is complete rubbish.
"Pure magic," Claire finishes, getting a second wind. "We were at a business gala, and the moment our eyes met it was magic. The next thing you know we were waltzing around the ballroom at the Spades, reminding each other of our childhoods and falling in love."
Claire is able to spin a story of Ace and Emmy's wedding into something that has my parents on the literal edge of their seats.
"Landon, dear, how could you hold this from me," Mum asks. "I can't believe you met what, three months ago? And you've kept this gem a secret all this time."
"Well," Claire says, clasping her hands in apology. "I know we just arrived, but I am absolutely spent. Is there any way I could be shown a bed to sleep in?"
"Of course, dear," Mum says. "Let me get Clarice. She'll take you to a room. I had one ready just in case Landon chose to grace us with his presence. We got doubly lucky, though, didn't we?"
"As did I," Claire says, standing and reaching for my hand. "Are you coming, love?"
I don't hesitate. In this moment, I'll go anywhere this girl wants to go.
Chapter Fourteen
Claire
The room is beautiful. Thick drapes line the window; tapestry curtains hang around the four-poster bed. I wondered how old-fashioned his parents would be, and if we'd be able to sleep in the same room-but apparently this diamond ring works wonders.
Fiona pitched a little fit when she realized Landon and I would be sharing quarters--Landon says she and Geoffrey were together five years before they were allowed to sleep in the same bedroom at the family estate.
"This was your childhood bedroom?"
"Ridiculous right? Fit for a king."
"I love it." I fall onto the bed, still dressed, unable to help myself. It has been a long day.
"Are you all right with me sleeping here?" Landon asks. "I know this is a job ... and sleeping together was not in the contract."
"We didn't actually sign a contract, did we?" I ask, sitting up.
"No. I just don't want you to feel forced."
"Oh," I say, pouting a little. "I actually want to be forced into a few things tonight."
"Do you?" Landon throws his suit coat and tie on a chair. Slips off his shoes and shirt. His pants drop next. He's down to his boxer briefs in a matter of seconds.
"Eager, much?" I laugh, standing up and removing my heels. Truthfully, I want him as much as he wants me. When he pressed me against the wall in the hallway downstairs, I thought I might melt into a puddle on the hardwood floor. I love aggressive Landon, but gentle, insecure Landon makes me equally turned on.
"You were incredible tonight," he says, walking toward me.
I take off my scarf, pull my sweater over my head. Fold them carefully before setting them on top of a bureau.
"They ate it up," I tell him, unbuttoning my pants. I take them off and add them to the pile. I don't want ruin these clothes; they're worth more than my car.
"You are a good liar."
"I prefer to call it embellishing the truth. All those things did happen. Just, you know ... not the falling in love part."
A flicker of understanding crosses Landon's face, and I turn from him, taking off the necklace I'm wearing and setting it on the dresser. I hate the emotions running through my heart. They make me feel weak.
While I sat downstairs, for a moment it didn't feel like I was playing a part. It felt ... real. Like this was actually my life. That Landon, the playboy gajillionaire, had actually chosen me.
But he didn't. He only chose me to play a role. And thank my lucky stars that I've practiced deceiving my friends for the past few moths. I've gotten really good at being a person I'm actually not.
But what if I was? What if I was the girl who got swept away, swept off her feet? What if I was the girl who got a happily ever after, just like Emmy did?
What if I was a girl who fell in love with a man who didn't want to leave, who didn't go without ever coming back?
"Claire," he says, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. He kisses my neck tenderly, and a shiver crosses my spine as his skin presses tight against me. "Can we pretend ... for just one night ... that this is real?"
"That what is real?" I whisper, wanting it to be real so badly my eyes prick with tears. Is it just that I'm so desperate for someone to choose me that I'll take it in any form I can get? In the form of a man who doesn't really love me or want me? In the form of the only man who is here?
"That today we really did get engaged, did come home and tell my parents," he says into the crook of my neck. "Can we pretend that this is real? You and me? Us?"
I'm grateful that our eyes don't meet-that we aren't face to face-because I'm scared my heart would betray me. That he would see everything I want to hide. I feel ashamed for the things I want from him, the things he has never offered to give.
Because our fake engagement suddenly feels real in ways I know it shouldn't. He thinks I'm someone I'm not, and I want him to be a man he isn't.
"Okay." The word is easy to say, because I want to pretend as much as he does. It's easier to act like this is real than to admit that neither of us have the things we need.
His exhale is long against my skin, and he pushes away my hair, kissing the base of my neck. I give into the sensation.
"I love you," I whisper words that aren't true. Words I want said back.
"I love you, too," he says, unclasping my bra, pushing the straps off my arms, and cupping my breasts from behind. He is so close against me, his hardness pressed against my ass.
I sink into him, his hands warm and strong, holding me up. His cock massive and thick, the only thing able to let me completely release, utterly let go, and I want to touch it, taste it, suck it.
My hands reach up, touching his face, and I turn, kissing him hard, with passion, with desire. I give my mouth to him, hoping he takes more.
"I want all of you," he says, as if reading my mind. He picks me up, and my legs wrap around his waist as he carries me to the bed.
Sliding off my thong, I lay naked on the pile of pillows under the beautiful canopy. Amber light glows from the sconces on the wall. And as he pulls the curtains around the bed shut, a heavy decadence covers us. Like we are in a cavern, our own little cave.
He takes off his boxers, and then we're both kneeling before one another, our eyes finally meeting-but this time my heart isn't on the line. Right now the only thing I'm offering him is my body. His giant rod is between us, so thick I can't help but bend over and lick the length of it.
I moan in pleasure as my lips trail the skin of his shaft. He smacks my ass playfully as I lick him, and then, unable to help myself, I press the tip in my mouth, and take as much of him as I can.
My lips are stretched around his thickness, and I feel the tip of his cock in my throat, but I want to be filled with him until I gag. I want to taste his come in my mouth and hold his balls in my hand. I suck him, my head bobbing up and down as my hands rest on his thighs. His fingers run through my hair as his thickness pulses in my mouth.