Page 5 of The Fake Boyfriend Fiasco

And it didn’t matter if he needed his eyes testing; she had a conscience to soothe and places to be. “Listen, before I rush back to the ballroom—” that quip was rewarded by Keynes’s snicker “—I kind of want to know what just happened. You aren’t, like, avoiding child maintenance payments, are you?”

The stranger wrinkled his nose. “What? No. I’m avoiding Melissa. She’s not great at taking no for an answer. But this tactic went much more smoothly.”

Aria digested that nonsensical speech, decided it was bullshit, then turned to look at Keynes. To her surprise, he didn’t offer a mocking smirk, or roll his eyes. Instead, he nodded subtly, as if to say, “The bullshit you just heard is totally legit, by the way.”

Aria puzzled over this for a second before deciding that Keynes, despite being her friend, was a man, and therefore not entirely trustworthy.

Ah, well. She didn’t need to know the truth, anyway. “We should get back to the reception.”

“We certainly should,” Keynes agreed. He slung an arm over her shoulder, and they walked away.

“Wait!” the stranger called. “Hang on a second.” He had a slight accent, and it seemed to grow more pronounced as he followed them. “What’s your name?”

“Aria,” she said, still walking. It wasn’t exactly classified information.

“I’m Nik. Nikolas. Aria, I want to—”

“I’m busy,” she called over her shoulder. “Hence the whole walking away thing.”

“Tomorrow, then!”

She laughed as Keynes propelled her down the hall. “If you can find me!”

The sound of his heavy footsteps behind them ceased. Just before she turned the corner towards the ballroom, he spoke again. “I will. I’ll find you.”

Beside her, Keynes gave a quiet snort. “Oh, Nik. That boy. He sounds like a bloody Disney hero.”

Aria laughed softly, and they shared a congenial smirk at the stranger’s expense. Only, she couldn’t help but remember that, five minutes ago, he’d called her a princess.

So, it made sense that he sounded like a prince.

Chapter 2

Retiring from Slutdom

Nik spent the night kicking irritably at his sheets, scowling at his ceiling in the dark, and replaying that damned kiss. The possessive beast in his chest didn’t let up for a second, demanding that he go and fetch her. Fetch Aria. Aria. He recalled the sweet pressure of her mouth on his, those full lips and the bite of that piercing; the lush feel of her body, the way his fingers had sunk into her thigh…

He’d never wanted anyone like this. He’d never wanted anything like this, not even his career, because frankly, he’d never been hungry. Nik was painfully aware of the fact that he’d sailed through life without effort, from spoilt brat to gifted teen to successful adult, all based on his family background and his natural athleticism. He’d never lain awake at night wondering if he’d gain whatever his heart desired, because he always knew that he would.

Nik Christou saw, wanted, and took. But he couldn’t just take a woman. And the knowledge was frustrating him like nothing else. Maybe that was why he spent the last few drowsy hours before dawn fantasising about her taking him.

Whatever was causing this strange obsession, it didn’t matter. The salient point, Nik decided, was that he needed Aria. Ever since he’d ended his contract with Colston City, Nik had been treading a tightrope over shark-infested waters. The sharks were anxiety, the waters depression; when he fell, he’d be eaten alive if he didn’t drown first. And every day that passed without his teammates, without his profession, without the only thing that had ever made him useful, Nik’s balance slipped a little more.

But around her, he’d been on solid ground. That, he’d realised, was the feeling that had shaken him. The sensation of earth beneath his feet at last.

Yeah. He needed her. Badly.

Nik was up bright and early the next morning, prowling the halls for a flash of platinum hair and silver piercings. Unfamiliar nerves stalked him, a sense of low-level dread caused by the instinctive knowledge that if he found her and fucked up somehow, he would regret it.

The solution was simple, then: he would not fuck this up.

Since that was settled, Nik continued his search, greeting the staff as he went. Most of them didn’t answer his nods and cheerful Kaliméras because they were too busy gaping at the sight of Nik Christou out and about before sunset. He’d been almost nocturnal since his fucking knee had stolen his only passion from him. He may have indulged in a depression nap or five, as his sister called them.

But he’d recently—just last night, in fact—rediscovered his winning mentality and decided that it was time to start a new phase in his life. A different career, another direction. Maybe something philanthropic. He promised himself that by the time he figured things out completely, he’d have Aria’s number at the very least. It might be a challenge, but that was okay.

Nik was always, always, up for a challenge.

He found the source of his small-scale meltdown in the hotel’s breakfast buffet, her platinum hair smoothed back into a little ponytail, her attention focused on the piles food in front of her. When Nik saw her, he stopped in his tracks. Looking at this woman felt like stepping out of an air-conditioned building into the heat of summer; like being smacked by a wall of heat. But this heat had little to do with the temperature, and everything to do with the sight of her bare legs beneath the table. Nik sent up a quick prayer of thanks for the invention of short shorts. Then he stared some more.

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