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He’s the kind of boy that I should be running away from, yet it feels like there’s a rope binding us together that drags me back to him every time I try to move too far. I’ve read books full of body-betraying syndrome, but I never believed it was real until I met him.
I ache for him to touch me. My skin prickles when he holds my hand or drapes his arm over my shoulder. When his lips touch mine, my entire body sets on fire, and when I fell asleep nestled into his side on the sofa, I slept better than I have in years, surrounded by his huge, protective body.
My dreams are full of erotic visions of him, and even though Gulliver is the reason my life imploded, he’s also the reason I’ve finally reclaimed it. Being here with him, with them, has reminded me what family actually looks like, and now when I think about the future, I struggle to envision mine without Gulliver in it.
Pulling in one last affirming breath, I open the door and head to the stairs. My dress flows behind me dramatically as I walk, and when Kip spots me, he elbows Gulliver, who turns to watch me descend the stairs like we’re in a teen romance movie and this is the big reveal where the girl turns from an ugly duckling into a swan.
A wide smile spreads across his face, and he moves forward to meet me at the bottom of the stairs, holding out his hand for me to take. I place my fingers against his, and he pulls me forward and into his body, his arm wrapping around the base of my spine to keep me pressed against him.
“You look fucking stunning,” he whispers against my ear, his hot breath sending goose bumps skittering along my neck.
Slowly releasing me, he takes my hand and steps back, keeping me at arm’s length before he slowly urges me to spin around. My skirt billows out behind me as I turn, and a giggle falls from my lips as he turns me again and again until I stumble into his chest.
“Perfection,” he growls, claiming my lips in a possessive kiss.
My head spins and my body bursts to life as desire rushes through me. The last time he kissed me like this was moments after he put this ring on my finger. That kiss was fake, but is this one?
Like he can sense my thoughts spiraling, Gulliver growls and pulls me into him, pinning me to him with a hand at the base of my spine. The hard bulge pressing into my stomach isn’t fake, and I feel my own desperate whine bubble from the back of my throat.
The sound of someone clearing their throat shatters the bubble of privacy our intimate moment had created, and Gulliver sighs, making a low noise that sounds suspiciously like “mine,” before he loosens his hold on me.
Instead of letting me go or stepping away, he keeps his arm banded around my stomach while I turn around. Heat fills my cheeks when I find Kip, Davis, and Thorn, as well as the photographer’s assistant, the photographer, and two other people, all staring at us.
The guys all have matching amused smiles, but the crew looks a little shell-shocked, until the photographer claps his hands and they all dart away.
“Izzy, you look gorgeous, babe,” Davis says.
Kip just stares at me, his lips parted, while Thorn winks suggestively, laughing when Gulliver mock growls and pulls me in even tighter.
“If you’re all ready, then we’ll get started, we’re losing the light,” the photographer says, spinning around and striding away.
Gulliver reluctantly allows me to slide free of his hold, and I smile as I turn and take in the sight of the four big, muscled guys in their impeccably tailored suits. Davis’s suit is a rich navy blue, while Hawthorn is in a deep charcoal color. Kip’s suit is a pale gray, and Gulliver is dressed in head-to-toe midnight black. The four of them together look like sex personified and so masculine that no one would believe they’re only teenagers, all of their boyish features hidden by their classic looks and styled hair.
Gulliver’s inky black hair is artfully ruffled, his dark eyes appearing depthless. The tip of the bird wing of his tattoo hints at the bad boy that’s hidden beneath his refined surface. He looks strong, capable, and powerful, and my heart beats faster as I imagine him without the suit. The first time I spoke to him and he thought I was my sister, his dark, cruel demeanor both scared and thrilled me, but now that I know him a little better, he’s so much more complex and layered than I’d thought.
His eyes feel like they can read every thought in my head, but I still take his hand and let him lead me to where the crew is waiting. For the next several hours, we pose for picture after picture. The photographer starts by taking shots of each of us on our own. Mine are whimsical images of me with the Winslow mansion in the background, the huge diamond glittering on my finger always on display. Then they take hundreds of frames of us as a group: standing side by side with me in the middle, lounging over ornate velvet couches that they place on the lawn, and then in serious power poses, with me pressed close to Gulliver while the others crowd around us.
Next are pictures of just the guys, the four of them staring broodily down the camera while I watch from the sidelines, a fresh surge of heat flushing my skin every time Gulliver turns his intense gaze on me.
Finally, the photographer calls for me and Gulliver together. Butterflies burst to life in my stomach as I follow him to the first set. For frame after frame, they have us pressed together, me draped in his arms, sitting in his lap, and wrapped around each other like the lovers we’re pretending to be. When the sun starts to lower in the sky, he wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me off the ground, kissing me like I really do belong to him. Heat rises in my stomach, and I feel my nipples tighten as I strain to get closer—so close that all of the lies fade away, and just for a brief second, this becomes real.
A barrage of sound and movement interrupts this moment of madness, but it’s achingly long moments later when he lowers me to the floor and reality creeps in like the cold ground beneath my bare feet.
Yolanda appears, guiding me back to the house, where she helps me change into a Grecian-style white gown that is eerily reminiscent of a wedding dress. When I return to the guys, they’ve all changed into tuxedos, their bow ties carefully disheveled, hanging loose around their necks.
My cheeks hurt from smiling so much as the guys chase me around the edge of a fountain until Gulliver scoops me off my feet and throws me over his shoulder, jumping into the water. Holding me in his arms, he cups my face and kisses me again, while the guys kick and splash water behind us.
The entire day has been oddly perfect, but I can’t let this dress and the fairy-tale photoshoot fool me into thinking this thing between Gulliver and me is anything more than a fantasy, a beautiful lie forged in mischief but prolonged through guilt. No matter how real this feels, he isn’t mine, and I’m not his, and all of this is nothing more than a very pretty lie.
While the crew packs up their equipment, the five of us, all wet and slightly bedraggled, make our way back into the house.
“Izzy, what movie do you want to watch?” Davis calls, his wet shoes dangling from his fingers.
“I might just go to bed, I’m exhausted,” I say, not wanting to force my company on the guys after we’ve already spent the entire day together.
“No, you can’t, we’re watching a movie,” he whines.
“No excuses, Izzy. We’ve worked, now we play, with pizza, beer, and a movie,” Kip insists.
