Page 106 of One Wealthy Wedding

Oh no. I grab the device and flick through the messages. Carly, a woman I met and slept with after a Royals game a few months back, sent me a tasteful nude. Annabelle sent me a kissy-face emoji. I get these texts every weekend, but with less and less frequency now that I don’t respond.

And now Cat has seen them.

“Cat, I don’t text back.”

She’s already scrambling off me. “I know. I believe you. I mean, even if you did, it would be okay. This is fake.” She won’t look at me. She unknots the shirt, and it falls down to cover her. “This is fake,” she repeats, almost to herself. “We can’t—”

My stomach pinches uncomfortably. “I know, Cat. It’s okay. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It doesn’t. Right.” She blows out a breath. “It was just for the list. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Don’t worry, princess. I’ve done this a lot. I’m not going to read into anything. The offer still stands to do the rest of the list with you.” I smile at her, my normal grin. The one she’s definitely called cocky in the past. It feels entirely forced. What did you think, idiot?

“Right,” she says dully. “Of course.” She scoots to the edge of the bed and stands. “Right,” she says again. “This was just…an orgasm. Checking a box. I mean, you do it all the time, right?” She gestures toward my phone.

“All the time,” I confirm.

She gives a jerky nod. “Exactly, and I’m not interested in you. So it doesn’t matter if other women are texting you. And you’re definitely not interested in me.”

“Definitely not,” I confirm, even as something grinds in my chest. “Definitely not interested.” I grab my pants from last night. Better not to be interested in Cat.

She’s using you. She’ll never love you.

“It was inevitable, really,” I say, turning to face her. She still looks stunned and sexy. Her hair is tangled and her legs are bare.

“It was?” Her eyes slice to mine.

I shrug. “I mean, there was tension between us. We let the pressure off. It’s a good thing.” I swipe my sweatshirt off the chair. I need to work out. “And you checked something off the list.”

“Yep.” Her teeth sink into her lower lip. “Thank you for the orgasm. It was really good.”

“No problem,” I say, shrugging on my shirt and avoiding her gaze. It sounds like we’re discussing the weather, and this is officially the strangest conversation I’ve ever had.

“Okay, so, this changes nothing?” She wipes her hands down her shirt.

“Nope,” I agree, even though all I want is a repeat. “I’m not going to be weird about it. And if you want to forget?” I shrug. “Consider it forgotten.”

No problem, really. I shove my feet into my slippers, and Cat disappears into her bathroom. I’ve forgotten plenty of women. I’ve done this enough that it should be muscle memory. Work out, shower, see my brother, maybe do some boxing, and I’ll forget about Cat Peterson and the sounds she made in bed.

33

Theo

Lorenzo calls me Monday and demands that we get lunch. He sounds pissed and not at all like his usual laughing self, so I’m nervously tapping my foot while I wait for him at a corner table in a trendy Midtown seafood restaurant. Jonah prefers to take investors to the private dining room in our office building for peace and quiet, but Lorenzo likes to see and be seen. He’ll want to have a coffee after lunch and at least two glasses of wine during it. This place has a front that opens to the street and lots of outdoor tables, so people can watch us eat little plates of halibut and caviar.

“Ciao, Theo,” he says, sweeping up to the table. “I’m sorry for being late. Traffic was terrible.” We exchange cheek kisses and order our lunch before Lorenzo spears me with a look that says business. I sit up straighter in my chair.

“Theo, I like you. But I heard a distressing rumor last night at dinner.”

Fuck. This could be anything, really. I’m a tabloid scandal star, and all manner of wild rumors have circulated about me over the years.

“Was it the aliens again?” I ask dryly.

Lorenzo laughs. “No. Nothing like that. And I know you’ll tell me it’s wrong. But I heard from Francesca’s friend, who is friends with a man named Arnold Worth, who heard it from his father.”

“Go on,” I say, keeping my tone neutral. I will my face to stay unbothered.

“He claims that your marriage is fake.”

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