Page 43 of Love You Truly

It’s not like I don’t know the difference between acting and reality. Maybe the issue is that pretending to be smitten with Mallory Rutherford doesn’t require any acting at all.

“If I knew it would feel like that to kiss you, I’d have said yes to a date four seconds after you texted me.”

Mallory laughs. “Yeah? So you didn’t respond because you thought kissing me would suck?”

“I didn’t respond because I’m insane. And now I feel like the luckiest bastard in the room because now I have an excuse to kiss you whenever I want.”

“Seems like Christian doesn’t need Cyrano to feed him lines. He’s a sweet talker all on his own.”

I chuckle because I assume she’s ribbing me, but the expression on her face says otherwise. Heat in her eyes. Chest heaving beneath that wisp of a dress.

And for the moment, I revel in that, taking in her beauty and believing the charade we’ve created. But only for a moment. Then I push the thoughts away for good.

CHAPTER 17

Mallory

All the big fundraising events have live auctions, and it should come as no shock that the people around here like their wine. Everyone has a friend of a friend with access to a rare vintage from a collector who’s willing to donate a bottle or two in exchange for a well-placed note of thanks in the auction catalog. One sits atop the black tablecloths on each high table scattered throughout the room.

This isn’t a stuffy sit-down affair, but people like to crowd around the tables with drinks and appetizers. Some of the tables have stools around them, and Dash leads me to one where we can perch on seats. The table couldn’t be closer to the center of the room if he took out a measuring tape.

“Let’s keep up the act, keep being seen as a couple,” I mutter.

Dash pulls my stool out and waits until I’m seated before dropping onto his own stool next to me.

“Very chivalrous.” I’ll never admit this to him, but I’m not hating spending the evening as his date. He’s kind and attentive, and being by his side saves me from making useless chitchat with half the people in the room.

“Men should always pull out chairs for you.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t feed me your canned lines, mister.”

He reaches for my hand sitting limply on my lap and lifts it onto the table. Covering it with his own, he turns his chair to face me. “Let’s get one thing clear. Fake relationship or not, nothing I say to you is a line.”

The sudden seriousness of his words and tone catches me off guard. “I thought we were just playing our parts.” Is he actually…offended by my presumption that this is an act, lines and all?

He nods. “Yeah, there’s a hard line I won’t cross. And lying falls squarely on the wrong side of that line. Men should pull out chairs for you. If they don’t or they haven’t in the past, it just makes them rude or stupid.”

My mouth opens but no words come out. I still can’t make sense of why he’s so stuck on this point. But I like it. In fact, I’m sick to death of men lying to me to get what they want, so I decide to take him up on his promise not to do it.

“No lying. Got it. I appreciate that.”

“Goes both ways, Marshmallow.” The smile is back, and I feel a surge of relief even as I gulp at what he’s telling me. I need to be honest too.

His dimpled grin is hard to resist. When he turns on the charm and hits me with his thousand-watt smile, I feel a little stir in my chest. I can see why women melt at his feet.

Even the ridiculous nickname is growing on me.

“Sure, Dash. No lying.”

He nods and turns back toward the table. We’ve intentionally mingled with people other than his siblings. The more people outside our immediate circles who see us canoodling, the better; they already know we went on a date.

Keeping his hand on top of mine on the table, Dash leans in and whispers, “My siblings think what we’re doing is a little crazy, but they’re playing along.”

My eyes go wide because this is the first he’s mentioned of telling his siblings. Of course I’d expect that he would, but it’s all feeling very real and official. My heart is flitting around in my chest, and I feel flushed.

“What did they say when you told them we’re engaged?” I choke out the whispered words because hearing that his family knows makes this all too real. And insane.

“They understand how it benefits us both. They’re cool with it. Don’t worry.” Tell that to the butterflies swarming my chest at the reality of being engaged, fake or not, to the gorgeous man on my arm. Despite the rumors that have circulated for years, Dash doesn’t strike me as a careless flirt who’s only interested in himself.

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