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I haven’t seen Colton much these past few days except at dinner time, which has been getting more awkward by the day. Agnes—who hates me—cooks for and eats with us every night. I once offered to relieve her of that duty, but she glared daggers at me. She might be in her mid-fifties, but I take her seriously. She clearly means business, and I wouldn’t dare cross her or change the way things are done around here. Plus, as I quickly learned, you don’t mess with the French and their food. Looks like Agnes is a creature of habit in this household.
Okay, maybe I’m being a little dramatic. I’m sure Agnes doesn’t actually hate me. The fact that her eyes narrow into slits whenever I open my mouth could just be the way she shows affection? Or maybe it’s just cultural differences.
Who am I kidding? She definitely hates me. Probably owing to the fact that I’m allergic to anything that comes from the sea, which happens to be Colton’s favorite cuisine. Yesterday, she had to go to the store and invent an entirely new menu to accommodate my allergies. She wasn’t exactly thrilled.
My shiny new smartphone vibrates on the coffee table in the sitting room. It’s Colton.
“Hi,” I say, picking up.
“Jane, can you be ready at four? We have to do a photoshoot,” he grumbles.
Hello to you too. Also, what? “Why?”
“An engagement photoshoot is non-negotiable, apparently,” he says in an exasperated tone. “Or maybe it’s Max’s way of getting back at me for something I’ve done.”
I muffle my laughter, but I straighten up quickly as the idea sinks in. I don’t want this any more than he does. “Where are we doing it?”
“In the backyard. It won’t take long. They just want something for the engagement party invitations and for some magazine feature—don’t ask,” he says before I can speak. “None of this was my idea, and I hate it as much as you do. But once the word is out and we have the investors’ attention, we’ll get married quickly and bide our time before we can file for divorce.”
“Wow, my fiancé is such a romantic,” I tease.
“Listen, I don’t have time right now. Just be ready, okay?”
“Yeah, what should I wear?”
“Max said there’s no need to go shopping or anything. Wear something nice from your closet. The more relatable you seem, the better.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. Sure. I can do relatable. “Okay, I—”
Before I can say more, he hangs up.
That’s how it is with Colton. One minute he’s talking to me and almost smiling, and the next he’s barely giving me the time of day. Good thing he’s not my real boyfriend, or I’d be losing my mind. Not that I really ever had a decent boyfriend—or wanted one, for that matter.
By four o’clock, I’ve changed outfits five times. I don’t have a lot that screams “happily engaged to a billionaire,” so I went for a simple blue floral dress that I know matches my eyes, pairing it with some white wedges. You can’t get more relatable than that. I didn’t do anything special to my hair, but I did apply some light makeup.
A knock on the bathroom door makes my heart rattle. “Yes?”
“Jane,” Agnes says when I swing the door open. Her lips pinch as she looks me up and down. “The camera crew iz here for your engagement photoshoot.”
With a huff, she spins back on her heels and struts away. The way she said it makes my skin prickle with annoyance, as if I was the one orchestrating the entire thing. She’s in on the secret, and she knows Colton. So the fact that she thinks I have a say in any of this baffles me.
After one last look in the mirror, I hustle out of the room and meet the photographers outside. Colton isn’t here yet, so I introduce myself to the two people unloading equipment onto the manicured lawn. Two workers hardly qualify as “a crew,” but I notice Agnes has a way of overdramatizing stuff.
“We thought we could do it next to the pool with the city as a backdrop?” Amanda, the lead photographer, suggests.
“Or the house?” her colleague Rick adds as he cleans a big spotlight with a soft cloth.
I tap my chin, pretending this is an impossible decision. I’m sure it would be if it was a real engagement photoshoot. “Mmm. I don’t know. I think the pool is pretty eye-catching, but we can ask Colton when he gets here.” I glance at my plastic watch, which reminds me I should really take it off. This doesn’t exactly scream “billionaire’s fiancée.” It’s already four-fifteen. I hope he won’t be too late.
At four forty-five, all the equipment is set up, and I’m perched on the edge of a lounger. Did my fake fiancé just blow off our fake engagement photoshoot for our fake wedding?
Who am I fooling? It doesn’t matter how much I say the word “fake.” The sinking feeling in my stomach is very real.
Colton
I glance at my Rolex and quicken the tapping of my foot on the marble floor, the sound interrupting the rhythm of the lobby music. “Is this going to be much longer?” I ask the sales associate. “I’m already late.”
He adjusts his tie nervously. “Almost done, sir. Sorry to keep you waiting. My colleague is just finishing wrapping the package. Would you like to pay now?”
