Page 30 of Fake it for Keeps

If only they knew.

I took a deep breath, looked down at the ring that absolutely would not fit my ring finger, and made a decision. Fake engagement or not, I had too much money on the line. More than enough money to restore my father’s beach house and make it beautiful again. I wanted to honor his memory the way he deserved.

I couldn’t let something as stupid as a too-small ring derail this.

I pulled the ring from Colt’s fingers and, with a bright smile aimed at the cameras, slid it onto my pinky finger instead. It fit perfectly there, the massive diamond catching the light.

“We still have to get it sized,” I said sweetly, holding up my hand so everyone could see. “But it’s perfect, isn’t it?”

The crowd ate it up. More camera flashes. More appreciative murmurs.

I turned my smile to Colt, who was looking at me with respect. Or surprise. Maybe both.

“Perfect,” he agreed, his voice smooth as silk again. His arm came around me, pulling me back against his chest in a gesture that looked effortlessly romantic. “Just like you, sugar.”

Sugar. He called me sugar.

The endearment should have annoyed me. It was fake and performative. But the way he said it sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine.

“Smile bigger,” he murmured. “You look like you want to murder me.”

“I do want to murder you,” I whispered back, but I widened my smile anyway.

“That’s my girl.”

We posed for more pictures, Colt’s hands never leaving my body. On my waist. On my back. Cupping my face. Tucking my hair behind my ear. Every touch was calculated, designed to sell the image of a man desperately in love.

And every touch made it harder to remember this was all fake.

He was way too good at pretending.

“Mr. Jesson!” one of the reporters called out. “When’s the wedding?”

He barely looked at me before he answered. “Soon. We’re not wasting any time.”

“And the honeymoon?” another asked.

“That’s private,” Colt said with a wink that made several reporters laugh. “A man’s entitled to some secrets.”

“Hallie!” A woman’s voice cut through. “How does it feel to be marrying New York’s most eligible bachelor?”

All eyes turned to me. Colt’s grip on my waist tightened slightly. Encouragement or warning, I wasn’t sure.

I channeled every acting skill I’d never known I had. “It feels like a dream,” I said. “Colt is everything I never knew I needed.”

The lie tasted bitter on my tongue, but the reporters lapped it up.

“One more question,” Frankie called out, stepping forward to manage the crowd. “Then we need to let them get on the yacht. They have a celebration to get to. And I don’t know about you, but I’m freezing my begonias off.”

They all laughed and I stood there smiling while Colt answered the final question.

“Thank you all for coming,” Frankie said after and started herding the reporters back. “We’ll have more information about the wedding closer to the date. For now, please respect their privacy as they celebrate this exciting time.”

Colt kept his arm around me as we turned toward the yacht, maintaining the image until we were halfway up the gangplank. Only then did his grip loosen slightly.

“That went well,” he said. “Except for the ring disaster.”

“Your fault,” I pointed out.

“Our fault,” he corrected. “You should have mentioned your ring size.”

“You should have asked.”

A crew member approached with champagne flutes on a silver tray. Colt took two and handed me one.

“To us,” he said, raising his glass. “And to pulling off the performance of our lives.”

I clinked my glass against his, the crystal ringing clear in the cold air.

The photographers were still taking pictures, but thankfully, they couldn’t hear us.

“Drink up, sugar,” he said, that infuriating smirk back in place. “We’ve got a long weekend ahead of us.”

I drank the champagne, crisp and expensive on my tongue. I tried to ignore the fact that despite everything, part of me was looking forward to the next three days.