The Decoy Girlfriend(39)
“Most girls don’t tell me that it’s working this soon,” he says with a wink.
Still a bit flustered, she glowers and thrusts the second flute at him.
Taft leads them in the opposite direction of a group of well-dressed young men calling Mandi’s name. To Freya’s surprise, it seems like Taft’s skirting anyone who actually wants to talk to them. He and Mandi had warned her that their friends would see the sensational headlines for the garbage they were and probably wouldn’t say anything to their faces, but this is getting ridiculous. They can’t be unsociable all night hoping to avoid possible unpleasantness.
Throwing a glance over her shoulder, Freya asks, “Aren’t we supposed to mingle and casually let people know we’re living together? Rub it in their faces that they got ‘us’ so wrong?”
Taft makes a sound that is neither agreement nor disagreement. “Mandi’s strategy is a bit more bull by the horns, but I think this calls for a gentler touch. Let’s see and be seen. Notice how effective it is already?”
She sweeps the room and hopes the wispy falsies Mandi made her wear don’t poke her in the eye. He’s right, there are a lot of eyes on them. Some are daggered, some are open and curious, and others are undressing her like she’s barely even a person, just a hot mannequin wearing a dress.
Without thinking about it, Freya presses closer to Taft as they stroll around the perimeter.
While the Reformation dress hits her ankles, the hip-high slit makes her feel exposed, and every eye in the room is hungry. Freya knows it looks gorgeous, but it’s far too daring for her comfort level, and it takes an extreme force of will not to bunch the edges together to cover her upper thigh.
“I feel like we’re in a Regency romance novel taking a turn around the living room,” she admits, drawing a laugh out of Taft. “Or, like, Bridgerton. Or am I confusing that with the Victorian era?”
A ripple of warm breath curls around her ear. “I suck at remembering all the eras. But I bet the Victorians would be scandalized if they saw those stunning legs. Luckily, your current audience is far more appreciative. Everyone’s eyes are glued to you,” he whispers.
She scoffs. “You mean the dress. It’s wearing me instead of the other way around.”
“Sweetheart, it’s all you.”
Earlier that day, Mandi had commandeered more than half of Taft’s walk-in closet with her jaw-dropping wardrobe, including a shoe rack and jewels that resembled a dragon’s hoard, accompanied by a look book of how every item should be paired and worn.
Freya had wanted to wear a statement necklace, but Mandi insisted that the dress was the statement.
She hadn’t really understood what Mandi meant until she clocked the enraptured looks at the party. This dress is the equivalent of an exaggerated, insouciant eye roll to anyone who thinks for even a second that Mandi and Taft are on the outs. The shape of the fabric contouring snugly to Freya’s body and the high slit all scream one statement: No secrets here. This dress is power.
Freya throws back her champagne in one gulp.
Wordlessly, Taft exchanges his untouched drink for hers. “Try to nurse that one for—”
Freya lowers the second, now-empty flute, shooting him an apologetic look over the rim.
“Longer than two seconds,” he finishes, fighting a grin.
“Oops? In my defense, that was excellent bubbly.”
Taft plucks the flute from her hand and leaves both their glasses on a tray. “I wouldn’t know,” he says dryly. Then, in one smooth move, his hand cups her jaw. Freya can’t hold back her gasp in time when his pinkie travels an electric path down her lobe.
“W-what are you doing?” Her eyes hold his, unblinking.
In a low, teasing voice, he asks, “Do I need to keep an eye on you?”
“Two eyes, preferably.” Freya allows herself a flirt, leaning into his warmth.
He was right about seeming exclusive and cozy—it was a good call. She’s still a little jumpy after what happened with Phoebe, and if she messes up on the first night, Mandi’s going to think she wants to get caught.
If that happens, our deal is off and she’ll report me.
Freya may have gotten used to it the last few years, but failure is not an option here.
“I lost you for a second there,” he murmurs.
A spidery shiver slinks down her spine as his hand skims her back in precisely the right way to make her tremble against him. Her breathing goes shallow. “Just thinking. See, there are some touches I can resist, and others are a bit harder. I’d like to know which is which before I do something unforgivable.”
He bends his forehead to hers, and the entire room floats away like cloud. “Oh yeah?” he rasps. “Like what?”
Like lean up a few inches and close the gap between our lips. Like run my hands over your surprisingly broad shoulders and dive into your messy curls, molding myself into you even more than I already am. Like maybe fall in love with you for real.
All things Freya can’t do because no matter who she looks like tonight, no matter that they’re going home together, underneath the makeup and glamour, she will always be Freya. Playing pretend is one thing, but she needs some distance before she lets herself get devoured by him and something that can never be real.
Swallowing the regret-shaped lump in her throat, she asks, “Is Mandi really such a lightweight?”