Page 28 of The Substitute Fiancée

The love written all over my face?

“All right,” Oliver says. “We’ve got the photos. We’ve got the story. Now we need a communication plan. When do we announce?”

“As soon as possible,” Alexander replies, without taking his eyes off me. “Before Kristel makes a move.”

“Tomorrow?” Oliver suggests.

“Tomorrow,” Alexander confirms.

“But first, the Trocadéro,” Emelyne says. “We need a photo of the proposal. We’re lucky, we’ll arrive right at sunset. With this weather, the setting will be perfect.”

What?

The proposal?

10. The Proposal

Samantha

“No, no, no, definitely not that one!”

Emelyne bursts out laughing as she rejects my third option. She dives into my wardrobe like it’s a creative workshop and emerges triumphantly with the flowing midnight-blue dress. In a few expert gestures, she builds the look: the fitted black coat to give structure, the plum scarf for contrast, the heeled boots for elegance. Sitting on my bed, she directs the makeup operations.

“A light line of eyeliner to make those gorgeous eyes pop, and a bit of lipstick to highlight those full lips. I want him to feel like devouring you when he looks at you,” she adds, smiling. “There. You’re stunning.”

I have to admit—this girl is doing wonders for my ego.

When we return to the living room, the voices fall silent.

But the only approval I’m waiting for is Alexander’s.

He looks at me and swallows.

“You’re beautiful, Sam,” he says.

My heart skips a beat. When his eyes roam over me like that, I almost let myself believe it—but I can’t forget.

We’re just playing a game.

A dangerous one.

All six of us pile into a taxi van.

Alexander sits beside me; his thigh brushes mine at every turn. I can feel the warmth of his body through our clothes. My heart is beating so fast I’m sure he can hear it.

He’s strangely silent during the entire ride. I realize how hard this must be for him, even if he doesn’t show it. He stares out the window, jaw tight, eyes lost in the passing scenery. Paris lights up—shop windows, streetlamps, golden façades—but he sees none of it.

Just yesterday, he thought he was going to propose to Kristel.

Today, he’s about to stage an engagement with her half-sister.

Even if he’s fighting for his company, the wounded man inside him probably wants nothing more than to curl up and disappear from the world for a while.

I reach out and take his hand. My fingers slip between his, hesitant, offering silent comfort.

He doesn’t look at me, but his fingers tighten around mine. Hard. Like he’s clinging to a lifeline.

The taxi drops us off on the Trocadéro esplanade.