The Reluctant Bride (Arranged Marriage #1)(28)

She’d probably slap my face if I tried that.

“Look, you’re going to have to put on the performance of your life tomorrow night. Mother expressed concern over the engagement portfolio. Said your fiancée looked, and I quote, ‘wooden.’” He pauses. “And she’s right. Your bride-to-be looked scared to death in some of those photos. Like she’d burn if you touched her.”

“What do you expect?” I ask incredulously. “We don’t even know each other. Plus, she gets all weird when I put my hands on her. I think she has secrets.”

I remember what she almost told me yesterday. About the one guy and the torrid affair. I want more details.

Yet I also don’t want to know either.

Benny looks from me to Winston, and back to me again, yet he doesn’t say a word.

“You need to get to know her. Get her comfortable with you. By the wedding, I want her gazing at you like she can’t wait to wrap her lips around your dick again.”

Benny makes a harumphing sound.

“You’re going to sign an NDA.” Winston points at Benny, who’s wide eyed with shock. “Not a word of what we’ve said can leave this place.”

“You have my utmost confidence,” Benny says solemnly. “I will not reveal a thing.”

“Right. You’re still signing one.” Winston’s gaze finds mine. “And I expect to see the two of you acting lovey-dovey or whatever the fuck at your party tomorrow night. I want to see you all over her. You understand me?”

Why the hell does it matter so much to him? Who are we putting this performance on for? No way am I asking Winston now, in front of poor innocent Benny.

I stand up straighter, clicking my heels together and offering him a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

Winston gives me the finger.

I give him the finger back.

Fuck.





Chapter Ten




Charlotte


“Miss Charlotte.”

I turn to find Jasper in the open doorway of my bedroom, a concerned expression on his face. From downstairs I can hear the distinct sounds of the party already in full swing. The dull roar of multiple conversations happening all at once. Tinkling piano music. Glasses clinking. The booming voice of my father as he greets his guests. It’s a typical elegant Lancaster affair, and while every Constantine known to man is in attendance, including of course, the groom-to-be, I’m not down there yet.

I’m too nervous to face everyone.

“Yes, Jasper?” I put on a bright face. As if nothing is bothering me.

As if I’m not hiding out in my room, hoping people forget I’m even supposed to be there.

“Your mother requests that you come downstairs immediately,” Jasper announces.

I take a deep, fortifying breath. “Has my father noticed I’m not down there yet?’

“I don’t believe so, but as your mother put it, your time is running out,” he says, his brows knitting together. “I suppose you can make a grand entrance.”

“That was my plan all along,” I lie.

We share a look. He knows I’m full of crap.

“You look quite beautiful in that dress.” He tips his head toward me.

I glance down at myself. The dress is white, with lace sleeves and a deep V neckline that shows plenty of skin yet somehow not too much. The skirt is short—of course it is—and constructed of tiers of lace. Very feminine and unlike me.

But everything that’s happening to me is unusual, so it goes along with my new theme.

“Thank you.” I smooth my hands down the skirt, feeling itchy. “Shall I go?”

“I think you shall. Do you have your ring on? Your mother wanted me to check.”

I hold out my hand, the newly sized ring on my finger where it belongs. The weight of the stone is heavy, a constant reminder that Perry Constantine will eventually own me. I’m just shuttled from one man to another, with no choice in the matter.

It’s maddening.

But anything is better than living with my father, so I’ll go along with it and quietly count on Perry to get me out of this house once and for all.

Realizing I can’t stall the moment any longer, I follow Jasper out of my bedroom, making my way down the hall until I stop at the top of the stairway. There are so many people mingling in my parents’ townhouse. I spot the many dark-blond heads of my brothers and a few of my cousins. I see many unrecognizable blond heads as well, which I can only assume are Constantines.

And then I see him. My very own Constantine.

Perry.

He’s clad as usual in a white dress shirt and black trousers, but this time, he has on a black jacket and tie to finish the look. His hair is tamed. There are only a couple of heavy silver rings on each hand tonight, and I wonder if that’s his one act of defiance. That hint of an edge as Jasper calls it. Second-son rebellion.

I find it intriguing.

Lifting my chin, I paste on a smile and slowly make my way down the stairs, keeping my spine rigid, praying I don’t fall. The stilettos I have on are impossibly tall and thin, and I clutch the railing for support so I don’t trip and tumble the rest of the way down.

Once people begin to notice me, their conversations slowly go silent. The sound of laughter dies. Even the woman behind the piano pauses in her playing, allowing me my grand entrance, just as Jasper said.