I expect everything to go perfectly. What I don’t expect is for Ellen’s eyes to well up with tears. I don’t expect the emotions that flood her eyes, even as she tries to mask them. I didn’t expect, or plan, for the way she looks at her ring like it’s the most precious thing in the world.
And when she looks at me with eyes so deep you could fit whole oceans inside them, I don’t think. I just do what I do best. I pull her in and I kiss her. I make her forget about everything that’s bringing tears to her eyes – the good, the bad and the ugly. I make the kiss as perfect as I can. I put everything into it, long motions, gentle touches, firm grasps. Everything I know she’ll want.
I make the moment perfect. Because I can promise her that the rest of our lives will be anything but. So for now, for this moment, I make things as perfect as I can.
When I finally pull away, Ellen is a little breathless and looking flushed. She is stunning tonight, absolutely stunning. Her hair is pulled up in a simple style and she looks effortlessly polished and incredibly sexy all at once. I’ve never seen her look so good, and I’m realizing more and more that I made the right choice. That this woman is right for the part. It’s a part she is playing so very well and we’re only into the first day.
I smile and take my seat opposite her, “Champagne!” I call for the waitress, a sexy little fox who knows how to swing those hips. I bet she’s incredible in bed. I glance at Ellen. The waitress might be a great lay, but I need Ellen far more – intelligent, hardworking and classy. I cannot deny that she fits the bill nicely. Also, she’s nursing a low bank account and I know she can keep a secret. Perfect.
Ellen clears her throat, “Cade… thank you.” She’s smiling and it seems disarmingly genuine.
I smirk back as if it is nothing, shrugging my shoulders, “I’m not letting you walk around with something cheap.” I chuckle, “That would not be very gentlemanly of me.”
There are many women I know who would not describe me as gentlemanly, but I need to make an effort this time around. As the waitress fusses around, finding the glasses and the bottle, I sink back further into the chair.
“I still appreciate it. It’s beautiful.” Ellen smiles, and her eyes sparkle as she takes it in. The right woman and the right jewelry… I didn’t think I was far off with my choice. Lucky for me, I was spot on.
“It’s fine.” I sit up a bit straighter as the waitress brings us our Champagne. She pops the cork with a flourish and Ellen laughs when it bubbles over. It’s a lovely sound. I suppose I could get used to it – at least for now.
Once our glasses are filled, Ellen shoots me a look.
“So… what now?” she asks, and from the hushed tone and concern on her face, I don’t suppose I’d be wrong to assume she is talking about business.
I take a sip of my drink, the bubbles lingering on my tongue, and I shrug, “We keep this up for as long as it takes to properly convince everyone.”
Ellen nods slowly, processing it, “Until after your birthday?”
I clench my jaw, feeling a little tense at the mention of it, “Yes, until after my birthday. Longer if they need more proof.”
The thought of my birthday sends tension across my shoulders. A few months ago, my world was turned upside down by the revelation that there was a catch to my trust fund. It was due to pay out when I was thirty, something that my grandmother set up to make sure I was comfortable. I thought that I was home free, until I recently got a letter detailing a few little additions.
I had to be married by the time I was thirty, or I would only get a small portion of the money and the rest would go to the trust fund managers and the other sharks in my family.
The thought makes me cringe. They won’t use it to invest in the family business, or to build it up the way I have. They would just squander it. I don’t doubt that they feel the same way about me – but that doesn’t matter. What matters, more than anything else, is making sure that I have everything sorted and in order by the time my birthday comes around. And that includes convincing everyone that I am in a relationship, about to be married.
Fake relationships don’t count and I know it.
Ellen is smiling and it is easy to see why I might fall for her. She is a lovely woman, and I have known her for several years. Sure, she has only ever cut my hair, but as is the case with most stylists, we’ve gotten to talking about a lot of things – mainly me and my life.
“Well, this should do a good job of convincing them.” She smiles and holds up her hand. The ring glints in the candle light – it really does look beautiful on her.