Fake Empire(19)

“What did you expect? You’ve said for years this is just business.”

“It is. And she’s making it harder than it needs to be by acting like this is personal, not professional.” Although I started it, I suppose. I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone more than I did in that library.

“Maybe she’s worried it is.”

I contemplate that for a few seconds. Then dismiss the possibility. “I think resigned would be a better adjective. She wants to live separately, for fuck’s sake.”

“But you aren’t. I had to shove twenty boxes aside to get into your place.”

“Not by choice. Hers or mine.” I emphasize the final word, because Asher seems to think I’m excited about this sham of a marriage. The only part I was looking forward to seems to be on a permanent hold. After our encounter in the library, I had my doubts about a traditional wedding night. Following the surprise trip to Paris she just sprung on me, I’m harboring no hope.

“You agreed to move into her place.”

“It was that or go another round with the lawyers. If she wants to stay in her penthouse so badly, I don’t really care. It’s probably just as nice.”

“It’s nicer, actually.” Scarlett’s voice sounds behind me. “There’s a private entrance for the penthouse, and I have my own doorman. I spent five minutes waiting to talk to one of yours before you popped up like some sort of Crew-in-a-box.”

I’m glad my back is to her. It makes it easier to hide my smile at her made-up phrase. When I do turn around, it’s to discover Scarlett has made her outfit as rock-climbing friendly as possible. Her long hair is pulled up in a ponytail, exposing the elegant column of her neck and the hollow of her throat. The pink heels are gone, replaced with a similar style to what Asher is wearing, and the sleeves of her white blouse have been rolled up.

“A whole five minutes?” I drawl. “What a devoted fiancée you’ve turned into, honey.”

The newfound devotion is expressed with an eye roll.

“Oh, there’s Dave!” Asher exclaims, sounding more excited than I’ve heard him sound about anything that didn’t involve women, booze, or cars. Apparently, he was serious when he said he’s come here before.

Dave approaches us, matching Asher’s enthusiasm. If I passed Dave on the street, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to learn he works as a rock-climbing instructor. His dreadlocks are pulled back by a purple bandana and he’s wearing an easygoing smile that would look wildly out of place in a boardroom. “Hey, dude!” Dave greets. “Back already?”

“Yep. Brought some buddies too. We’re celebrating this guy’s wedding.” Asher claps me on the back, and I force a smile I’m sure comes across as more of a grimace.

“No way.” Dave looks like the idea of having a bachelor party here has never occurred to him, and I wish Asher could say the same. “Congrats, man,” he says to me.

“Thanks, Dave.” Not many people have congratulated me about my upcoming wedding. They’ve acknowledged it. Nodded knowingly. Told me good work or well done. Every one of them has known why I’m marrying Scarlett. But I don’t know how to tell Dave I’m a multi-billionaire marrying for money, so I do my best to act genuinely enthused by the prospect. Made easier and harder by my fiancée’s presence a few feet away.

“I’ll go grab you guys some gear,” Dave says. “There’s…four of you?”

“Five,” Asher corrects, nodding toward the front desk where Oliver is standing, talking on the phone. He took a call as soon as we arrived and hasn’t moved since.

“All right. We usually start in pairs.” Dave glances around, then looks at me. “How about you wait for the straggler?” He smiles at Scarlett. “We can work together.”

I don’t wait to see if it’s an arrangement Scarlett will protest. “No. She and I will work together.”

Dave raises his hands in an all good gesture. “Sorry, man. I get the overprotective brother thing. I’m the same way with my sister.”

Asher snorts a laugh. Jeremy starts coughing. If I looked over at Scarlett, I’m guessing she’s wearing the same expression of horror I am.

Dave looks between me and Scarlett, his dreadlocks bobbing with each confused movement. “Oh. Are you two not siblings?”

“No,” I grit out. “She’s my fiancée.”

“I just assumed…” he trails. “Never heard of a fiancée attending a bachelor party before.”

“We like to do things together.” How I manage to say that sentence with a straight face, I have no idea. I’m equally impressed no one laughs.

But Dave nods, looking completely serious. “I get it. My folks are the same way. They each get one activity to indulge the other one on, since they hate doing things separately. My mom hates football and hasn’t missed a Giants game in twenty years. My father couldn’t draw a stick figure but goes to an oil painting class with her every week.” Dave pauses and smiles. “I bet you guys will be just as happy. Whose activity is this?” His eyes bounce between us again.

“Uh…” I’m slow to speak after that. I’ve never witnessed that sort of relationship in person. I know my father loved my mother. She may have been the only person he’s ever loved. When it comes to me and Oliver, he hands out occasional praise, not affection. However he expressed any sentimentality toward my mother, I was too young to remember any of it.