I straighten up, try to adjust my clothes. Damnit. Heath was just about to kiss me. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since what happened between us last night. Actually, if I’m being honest with myself, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since our first kiss on our pretend first date. Heath Starre has completely taken me by surprise.

Heath opens the door and standing behind it is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in my life. She’s young, early to mid-twenties, long auburn hair, long limbs. She’s wearing a body contouring dress that fits just right. When she smiles it’s with full lips and straight white teeth. This is the kind of girl I imagine Heath would’ve dated before he started fake-dating me. Jealousy roars through my veins, and I hate myself for it. I have to keep reminding myself that this isn’t real with him and it’s going to end the moment he no longer needs my services.

“Hi,” the woman says cheerily.

Heath rolls his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t really going to make me wait until dinner to meet my future sister-in-law, were you?” she says.

Sister-in-law? She must be one of the twins. Relief washes over me.

Reluctantly, Heath steps aside and lets her in. He glances at me with a look full of apologies. “Sylph, meet my sister. This Arora.”

She wears a smile, but there is something very unpleasant about the way she’s studying me. This must be what it feels like to be a hen stalked by a fox.

“Sylph, it’s so nice to meet you.”

I stand up and give her a hug. In the folder Heath gave me about his family, I’ve learned that Arora doesn’t hug. She’s not a physically affectionate person. She’s more a giver of gifts. Which is exactly why I hug her: to throw her off her game the way she has thrown me off of mine by showing up out of the blue.

It seems to work because when I step back she looks bewildered and ready to flee the scene.

“Um,” she says and looks at Heath. He shrugs and smiles at me because he knows what I’m doing and seems amused by it.

Arora is quick to recover and plasters the fake smile back on her face. “I was hoping to take you dress shopping. You haven’t found your wedding gown yet, have you?”

“Not yet, but I can’t go without my best friend. She’s my maid of honor,” I say.

Though I haven’t yet asked Mandi to be the maid of honor, it seems a given, fake relationship or not.

“Text her,” Arora says.

“Right now?”

“Of course, silly. You have to get your dress as soon as possible before all the good ones have been taken.”

I look at Heath for help. He shrugs like he doesn’t know what to do either.

So I furiously text Mandi in the hopes she’ll come with us and defuse this bomb. I tell her that I’m about to go dress shopping with Heath’s sister who may or may not be Satan herself. Mandi texts back that she wishes she could but is busy with work.

What the hell? She got me into this mess. She was supposed to be here for me when I needed her, but it seems like she’s been avoiding me.

I take a deep breath and steel myself. “She can’t make it. Looks like we’re on our own.”

Arora gives me a predatory grin and says, “Perfect. I have a car waiting for us downstairs.”

* * *

I try on all the dresses that Arora picks out for me. They are all beautiful, but none of them feel right. This isn’t your typical dress shop where you can find something affordable yet still beautiful. This is a place where royalty would shop if they were getting married. Everything is custom made, one-of a kind, couture. They serve champagne and cater to our every desire. I’m thankful for the alcohol. It settles my nerves a little. Very little.

Arora asks me a lot of questions. It’s starting to feel more like an interrogation than a dress fitting. I’m careful to keep to the story that was laid out for me by Heath. I don’t think she’s buying any of it.

I try on the last dress in the stack. It’s beautiful. All of them are. But this one is especially beautiful. Hand beaded, high neck with lace, but short capped sleeves. Very modern, like nothing I’ve ever seen before, which must be why the price tag is so steep. And though I love the way it looks, and it fits me like a glove, it still doesn’t feel right. I’m not sure if anything will.

“How did you two meet?” Arora asks as the lady helping us shows me tiaras and veils.

I tell her about walking the dogs in the park, how they got off leash and how Heath saved the day. My mind starts to wander back to that day when Heath ate from the hotdog cart after refusing to at first, and how he loved it so much he finished mine. He was so stiff and awkward at first, and I wasn’t sure I was going to like him when we first met, but then, seemingly out of nowhere, he charmed me. Then there was that kiss … It was the kind of kiss girls dream of.

As I’m telling the story, I realize I’m smiling, and I hear the whimsy in my voice. When I finish telling Arora about how Heath and I met, her eyebrows are raised. Is that surprise I see, and maybe a bit of amusement?

“A literal blushing bride,” she says. I look down at my chest and see that I’m flushed. Heath does that to me. Apparently, so does the thought of him. “That’s some story. It’s very romantic.”

“It was,” I say, and it’s not a lie.

“Sounds nothing like my brother. He’s normally such a stiff.”

I don’t know why, but her comment puts me on edge and I feel the need to defend Heath.

“Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

His whole family lives out of the country, and from the sound of it, they don’t come to visit that often. How would she know how he acts with someone he cares about?

She has a slight grin on her face and I think she purposefully tried to rattle me. It worked. At this point I don’t care about the dress anymore. I just want to get out of here.

“This dress is fine,” I say.

Arora tells the woman helping us that we’ll take it. I don’t even feel bad that it cost more than I earned in the last two years combined.

* * *

Heath is gone when I get back to the apartment. I go into my room where there’s a tall mirror. I want to see the dress without Arora there judging me and being suspicious. Even though the dress is for a fake wedding, I want to feel right wearing it. I get it on, but there are so many different buttons and hooks in the back that I can’t do it myself. Still, just holding it up against me, looking in the mirror, it feels all wrong.

I close my eyes and sigh, frustrated. When I open my eyes again, I see Heath’s reflection in the mirror. It gives me a start. He looks equally as stunned. He’s staring at the dress. I look back at my own reflection, trying to see what he sees. The only thing that feels right about this whole thing is Heath. That’s when I realize that my feelings for him have tipped past the point of no return. For me this has become more than a working relationship and it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have kissed him, or started giving him a massage. I shouldn’t have put my mouth on him last night.

I shouldn’t have done any of those things, but I can bring myself to regret it. I now know why the dress doesn’t feel right. It’s because I don’t want it to be a dress for a fake marriage with Heath. I want what he and I have to be real.

But it’s not real and it can’t be. I’m here for a job. Heath doesn’t want me. Mandi’s words swirl around in my head about how I’m not good enough. I’ll never be the kind of girl a guy like him goes for. I don’t have the wealth or the status. I’m bad for the image he seems to care so much about.

“You look incredible,” he says.

I feel the pressure of tears behind my eyes. I can’t cry in front of him.

“I have to go,” I say, but when I try to leave, my feet get tangled up in the train and I fall to my knees. I’m not hurt, but I stay there anyway, fighting tears and this new emotional sandbag I’ve brought on myself.

Heath comes to me and kneels by my side. “Are you hurt?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“What’s wrong?” he asks when I cover my face.

“I hate this dress.”

“Why? You look beautiful. You’re the prettiest bride I’ve ever seen.”

His words aren’t helping. They make me want to cry even more. I laugh to keep from crying. “This is all so stupid,” I say under my breath. I don’t think he heard my words. If he did, he doesn’t ask what I mean by it.

I reach back behind me to try to undo the buttons. This dress wasn’t as hard to put on as it is to take off. Once I undo the buttons, I realize the zipper is stuck. Jesus Christ, is this a dress or a straightjacket? It’s starting to feel like both.

“Let me help you,” Heath says, and wiggles the zipper until it comes loose. He unzips it and pulls the dress off my shoulders.

He then helps me to stand up. When I do, the dress slips down and pools at my feet. I’m not wearing a bra, or anything else except a pair of thong underwear.

His gaze starts at my feet and slowly—very slowly—takes in every line, every curve of my body until our eyes meet. He looks at me with unfiltered lust. He doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s hard and I do nothing to hide my nakedness from him.

Taking a step forward, he takes my shoulders and turns me away from the mirror to face him. His eyes are bright with want and something more than just lust, maybe. Or maybe I just want him to feel the same way that I do so I’m imagining things.

He caresses my shoulders and moves his hands down my arms. It tickles and feels amazing at the same time. Then he kisses me. Not a sweet, teasing kiss. It’s the kind that demands all of my attention, and lets me know he’s not messing around. This kiss speaks more than words ever could and makes promises about what’s to come.

His lips move down to my neck. I tilt my head back, giving him as much room as he needs. His tongue is so soft and warm. I start to imagine what it would feel like on other parts of my body. That thought sends a shiver through me.

“Are you cold?” he says.

I shake my head. “The opposite.” I pull my fingers through his hair. “I’m so hot right now. I want you.”

His lips crash against mine and our mouths tangle in a passionate kiss. His hands wander to my breasts where he cups them and pinches my nipples between his fingertips. The sensation flares through my nerve endings until I feel every part of me lighting up. I moan and deepen our kiss. When we part, he wastes no time locking his lips onto one of my breasts while his hand discovers the other one. He suckles and bites, giving both pleasure with tinges of pain, just enough to make things interesting and keep my body at attention.

His hands explore every part of me meticulously as if he were trying to memorize me by touch. He parts with my breast just long enough for him to take off his shirt. I don’t get the chance to admire his cut chest before he latches back on, but this time on the other breast that hasn’t received its fair amount of attention.

My pussy aches for him. I don’t know how much longer I can bear to not have him inside of me. But then again, what he’s doing to my breasts is fucking brilliant, and I don’t want him to stop doing that either.

I help him out of his pants and boxers and slip off my panties. Now we’re both naked and on the same playing field. He pulls in a sharp breath when I grip him. Then I slowly begin to stroke.

“I want you inside of me,” I beg.

He pulls his mouth away from me. When our eyes meet, there’s no longer any hesitation there. “Not yet.”

“But—”

“Get your dildo,” he says.

I look at him, shocked. “How do you know about my dildo?”

His lips form a teasing smile. “I came in here to check on you this morning. You were asleep. I saw it on your dresser.”

I’m too turned on to be embarrassed. I walk over to the night stand, grab it out of the drawer and come back to him with it. The way he’s looking at me, I know I’m in for the ride of my life.