“The lawyers have advised me to lie to my parents.”

I frown. “Does that mean I have to lie to mine, too?”

He nods.

“Oh, well,” I say. “I guess they’ll get over it when they figure out how much money I made out of the deal.”

I still can’t get over the way Liam handled the Anton situation. I’d given him so much crap for never doing anything himself, so it was honestly the last thing I expected: Liam punching Anton in the face to protect me. He didn’t get James to send a guy to do it, he didn’t sic his lawyers on it; he just got himself between me and Anton, and took care of it quickly and efficiently.

I never was the kind of girl that wanted guys to fight over her, but given the situation with Anton and the way Liam handled it...I can make an exception this time.

“What is your mom like?” I ask.

“She’s…” Liam says, his face scrunching up as he thinks. “Sad?”

“Sad?” I ask. “That’s not a nice thing to say about your mom--”

“My father hung himself,” Liam says. “I don’t mean that she is a sad type of person, just that she feels sad…”

“Oh,” I say, frowning. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” Liam says. “She’ll light up when she sees you.”

“Why is that?” I ask.

“Because…” then he trails off.

“Because she thinks you’re finally settling down?” I ask. “And then when she finds out that you aren’t?”

Liam sighs. “We’ll have to deal with that later. She’d be more sad if she found out I was marrying Cynthia because of some business contract.”

“Okay,” I say, sounding unconvinced. When I agreed to this deal, I didn’t stop to consider how many people I might be hurting along the way.

“Did James get you a dress?” Liam asks.

I nod. “He offered me choices. Too many choices.”

“Too many?” Liam asks.

“Someone once conducted a study on choice. If you have a choice between going to Wendy’s, Taco Bell, and Panda Express, how do you choose which one to go to?”

“I have a chef,” Liam says.

I roll my eyes. “Pretend you are a plebe, a peasant--”

He laughs. “Panda Express then,” he says. “Assuming they have good Chinese food.”

“Now, imagine you have to choose between four different Chinese restaurants, four Tex-Mex restaurants, and four different hamburger places. How do you choose?”

He shrugs. “I guess I’d have to read up on each one--”

“Right,” I say. “You’re overwhelmed, and it makes choosing much more difficult. James gave me a closet full of expensive dresses. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Hmmm,” Liam says. “Want me to pick one out for you?”

“Not really,” I say. “I’m relying on you enough as it is. I need to do something on my own.”

“Close your eyes,” Liam says, “and just point blindly. Whatever you point at is what you wear.”

“Do you do that?”

“No,” Liam says. “I enjoy picking out a suit.”

“You would,” I say, grinning.

“Once you stop judging me from your…”

“From my sewer pond?” I ask.

“I was going to say something nicer,” he says. “But judgement goes both ways; you’re judging me for being rich, have I judged you for being…”

“Poor?” I ask.

He grins.

“I guess you haven’t,” I say. “Not really.”

“So maybe take your time,” he says. “Enjoy it. Try on all the dresses you want, feel the fabric against your skin…”

I see his eyes looking down at my body, and I suddenly feel very self-conscious.

“I felt weird in the dress at the party,” I say. “Like I didn’t fill it--”

He looks at my breasts, and his mouth drops open. “You... uh--”

I blush. “I don’t mean physically! I mean like--”

“Don’t judge yourself either, Amber. You are as you see yourself. If you let Cynthia get in your head and see yourself as a sewer fish, then you’ll feel like one. If you ignore her entirely and see yourself for who you really are, then you can just laugh it off.”

“Who I really am?” I ask. “What’s that? A part-time student and part-time bartender?”

“I mean who you are as a person.”

He jabs his finger into my chest, right where my heart is. And it’s pounding.

“All this money and fame,” Liam says. “It can drown you. You can lose sight of who or what you really are. I fight every day to keep track of myself. Don’t let things around you or other people’s opinions define you. That’s all I mean.”

“Deep,” I say. “Did you write that down, or memorize it, or--”

He shakes his head. “Remind me not to be serious again, if you’re just going to make fun of me for it.”

He grins, and I bite my lip.

“Sorry,” I say. “Your advice is noted.”

“Noted,” he says, smiling. “That means you’re not planning to follow it.”

“It means I’ve taken note of it,” I say. “And will apply it as needed.”

“Sure you will,” he says. “Now stop procrastinating and go pick out a dress.”

* * *

I decide to go for the eeny, meeny, miny, moe method, or picking a dress basically at random.

I end up with a banana yellow dress encrusted with white, expensive-looking jewels of some kind. I scowl at it, doubting that I should wear it. But then I shake my head and take it out of the closet. I’ve chosen at random specifically to avoid overanalyzing or getting paralyzed by indecision. This is it. This is the dress.

I squeeze myself into it. It’s sleeveless, but the dress part is absolutely huge. It completely swallows up my legs and even my feet.

The top is at least low-cut, and it shows off my cleavage, which is bordered by the fancy jewels.

I look at myself in the mirror, and the dress looks almost...familiar to me. It’s like a dress I’ve seen before, which is ridiculous, because I’ve never so much as glanced at a dress this nice. There’s no way I’ve seen anything like it. It almost reminds me of dresses we’d wear to prom in high school, but this one is more legit, less tacky. Or maybe I’m just saying it’s less tacky because I know how much it costs? Am I doing what people who like fancy wine do? They imagine tastes that aren’t there just because they know how expensive the bottle is?

“Stop. Over. Analyzing,” I say to myself in the mirror. I say it like I’m casting a spell, forcing myself to just settle on this stupid dress that makes me look like a banana with cleavage.

If James put it in the closet, it must be suitable for a “high-class lady,” and my own analysis of high fashion cannot be trusted.

There’s a knock on the door, and I hear James’ voice.

“Almost ready? Liam’s mum is pulling up to the gate.”

Shit, I haven’t even done my makeup yet.

“Can you…” I shout through the door. “Stall her, or something? I need like fifteen more minutes.”

“That’s what the receiving room is for,” James says. “Though you’ve talked so much shite about it--”

“Got it!” I shout, ignoring his rant, “You can stall her, and I’ll be down ASAP!”

I start applying my makeup, terrified I’ll mess something up. I get the crazy thought that I should “have someone” do this for me, but I push that thought away as soon as it comes. I’ve been living in Liam’s mansion for two days, and already I’m thinking I need servants to do things I’m perfectly capable of doing on my own.

I lose track of time, and soon I hear another knock. “Amber, are you ready yet?”

“I’ll be in the receiving room in three minutes, James.”

“I’ll tell Liam,” he says. “Heads up, by the way, Liam’s mum brought a date.”

A date? I smile. That takes a lot of pressure off of me, doesn’t it? As far as I knew, Liam didn’t know his mom was dating. He’ll probably be totally focused on that, and there will be a lot less scrutiny of Liam and me.

I sigh in relief, and I check my hair one last time before heading out into the hallway.

When I walk into the receiving room, I see Liam in his suit and tie, an older couple sitting across from him--and James in the corner fussing with the teapot.

Liam’s mom smiles at me, and the man with her nods politely. I notice that Liam’s mom is wearing a pearl necklace, but aside from that she’s wearing a simple blouse and knee-length skirt, while I’ve got on some crazy-looking evening gown.

Liam and James turn toward me, and they both widen their eyes. Liam smiles at me wide, in what looks to me like a strange mix of adoration and condescension.

James just looks horrified. He nearly drops the teapot, and it clatters as he puts it down on the table, his hands visibly shaking.

I start walking toward Liam, but James rushes toward me and grabs my hand.

“That dress wasn’t supposed to be in there,” he whispers into my ear.

“Too late,” I whisper back, breaking out of his grip and sitting down beside Liam.

“You’re Belle?” Liam’s mom says, smiling.

“No…” I say, looking at Liam in confusion. “Amber, didn’t Liam--”

“Of course!” his mom says, laughing. “I know you’re Amber. Liam has told me so much about you. But you’re dressed as Belle.”

Belle? Shit! Is this dress from one of Liam’s ex-girlfriends? She accidentally left it in the closet, and James didn’t notice, or--

“Claire is wild about that movie,” the man says. “She’s dragged me with her to see it twice already. I’m Davis, by the way.”

He reaches out a hand, and we shake.

“Nice to meet you,” I say. “What movie?”

“Beauty and the Beast!” Claire says. “You’re dressed up as Belle!”

I look down and gasp. No wonder the dress looked familiar! I’m wearing a fucking Halloween costume! I’m the Beauty from Beauty and the Beast.

“I guess I’m the Beast,” Liam says, laughing.

He turns toward James, whose face is burning red. “James,” he says. “Tell your cousin we found her costume.”

“Liam,” he says. “I’m sorry, I--”

“It’s fine,” I say, laughing. “Liam told me to choose by closing my eyes and just pointing to a dress. It’s his fault, not yours.”

I glare at him.

I bite my lip and look over. “I think I’m going to go change--”

“Nonsense!” Davis says, grinning. “Claire will like you even more if you look like Belle!”