Terms and Conditions (Dreamland Billionaires, #2)(62)

“Welcome to phase one of Operation Fake Dating.”

He turns in his seat and stares at me. “What are you talking about?”

“This is my plan. Together, we’re going to squash any doubts about our marriage, starting tonight.”

His lips curve downward. “With fake dating? What does that even mean when we are married?”

“It’s simple really.”

“I’m burning with anticipation here,” he deadpans.

I ignore his mood. “I planned a few public outings to make sure we are seen by anyone who is anyone in Chicago.”

“You lost me at public outings.” He reaches for the call button, but I latch onto his hand to stop him.

I release him instantly, afraid a torrent of butterflies might take flight in my stomach if I touch him for longer than a second. “I know you want to stay hidden away in your suburban mansion, but avoiding the press isn’t going to solve any of our problems.”

“It’s worked before.”

“I’m sure it has, but are you willing to bet your twenty-five-billion-dollar inheritance on it?”

I’m surprised he can get any words out with the way his teeth grind together.

“No.”

“I’m going to need you to trust me on this one.”

He remains silent, so I take it that he is willing to hear me out.

“I booked us a reservation for two at La Luna with a table overlooking the river. It took a lot of finagling to get one at the last minute, but I know a guy.”

“Does his name happen to be Benjamin Franklin?”

I grin. “Bribes work wonders. You taught me yourself.”

It feels good to return to our regularly scheduled programming. With him ignoring me for days, I kind of missed our back and forth. Even if it is only for a night.

“Why did it require a bribe in the first place? You could have told them it was for me.”

“You think that highly of yourself, don’t you?”

He shrugs, and I roll my eyes.

“For your information, name-dropping wouldn’t have worked here because I had a very special request that required some monetary motivation.”

“I’m hesitant to ask, but I feel legally obligated to as your husband.”

I laugh as I clap my hands together, leaning more toward evil genius rather than angelic. “Our table happens to be right next to the Chicago Chronicle’s lead gossip columnist’s.”

His spine straightens. “Now I’m intrigued for a very different reason.”

I glare. “I didn’t go through all this trouble for you to blow it by doing something stupid.”

He releases a heavy sigh. “How can you be sure they’re here tonight?”

“I’d tell you, but then that would make you an accessory to the crime.”

He shakes his head and looks out the window, but I make out a faint smile in the reflection. “You expect me to sit next to someone who called you a brainless babymaker and do nothing about it?”

“Aw. You actually sounded insulted for a second.”

He mutters something under his breath.

“Listen up. The plan is simple. We go to dinner, have a drink, and pretend we’re in love.”

“Because we’re fake dating,” he replies back with a robotic voice.

Finally. “Right! Now you’re getting it.”

“Dating you would be…”

I cut him off, growing more nervous with each judgmental stare he sends my way. “Painful. I don’t need you to tell me twice.”

His lips press together as he stays silent, scanning my face like an MRI of my soul. “Yes. Painful is exactly how I would describe this situation.” His voice is devoid of all emotion, and a chill spreads across my skin.

I swallow back the uncertainty and steel my spine. “Great. Now that we’re on the same page about all that, are you good to go? They’ll give away our table if we don’t show up in the next five minutes.”

“I’m only agreeing to this scheme because you broke a few laws to make it happen.”

“If I ever get caught, it’s a good thing I have you to bail me out of jail.”

“Who says I wouldn’t be in there with you?”

My grin might make my cheeks hurt, but his small smile causes my whole chest to ache.

Well, that shouldn’t be happening.

Avoiding your feelings doesn’t make them any less real.

Oh, shut up.

Plan a fake date, they said. It’ll be easy.

Said no one ever.

The hostess, who is now five hundred dollars richer thanks to me, guides us to the table located right beside the reporter. That’s all I can think of as Declan’s mask of indifference slides in place and his palm finds the small of my back. The warmth emanating off him bleeds into my skin, and I’m tempted to shimmy closer to him.

“Anything else I can get for you, Mr. and Mrs. Kane?”

The red-headed reporter looks up from her menu. A flicker of surprise passes over her features as her eyes scan Declan from head to toe.

I shake my head as Declan replies for us, “No, thank you.”

Declan’s hand breaks contact with my back as he pulls out my chair. I take a seat, and he pushes me closer to the table. Unlike other times, he doesn’t step away, but rather he leans forward.