Page 28 of Love so Hot

"Admiring your shrine to excess," I reply, loud enough this time, arching an eyebrow. "How lucky am I that my knight in shining arrogance returned and whisked me away to his castle."

"What a fairy tale this is shaping up to be," he grouses.

We cross the threshold, stepping into a foyer so opulent it could make a royal blush. The chandelier overhead is a monstrous tangle of crystal and gold, dangling like an overdone piece of jewelry. Polished marble floors reflect our images back at us, mocking me with how out of place I look next to Mr. Dapper-and-Dangerous himself.

"Quite the humble abode you've got here," I say, unable to resist the dig. "Bet it does wonders for the ego."

Lawrence's lips twitch, a ghost of a smile that doesn't quite reach those calculating hazel eyes of his. He leans casually against the door frame, arms folded, the picture of nonchalant arrogance.

"Feel free to compliment the architect at any time," he says, a teasing lilt to his voice that fails to mask the silent challenge there.

"Wouldn't want you to get light-headed on my account," I shoot back, casting a glance around the room that could double as a ballroom. "But if you're waiting for applause, you might turn blue first. Wouldn't that be a tragedy?"

He chuckles, a sound that rumbles through the cavernous space and stirs the dust motes dancing in the sunbeams.

"Your concern for my well-being is touching," he replies, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"Always," I retort, flashing him a grin sharp enough to cut glass. "Now, shall we continue this delightful house tour, or are you planning to sell me on the charming decor all day?"

“I must admit that I am curious. Do you have a protest playlist, or is it just the sound of my plans falling apart that you enjoy?"

“Oh, I definitely have a playlist. But the sound of your frustration is my favorite track."

He closes his eyes for a second and then opens them to look straight at me. I try not to flinch away from his gaze.“Swimmingly," Lawrence drawls, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he surveys our reflection in the grand hallway mirror—him, tall and infuriatingly immaculate; me, looking like a fish dragged out of its pond and plunked into a ballroom. "That's how well you're nailing the doting fiancée act, that is."

"Oh, good, I'm glad," I say, layering on my own sarcasm thick enough to spread on toast. "I was really going for 'enchanted' with a hint of 'captivated.' Did it shine through?"

"Radiantly," he deadpans, but there's a glint in his eye that tells me he's not entirely immune to my barbs. He motions toward the sprawling living room. "Sit down, Willow. We need to have a chat about ground rules."

"Ground rules?" The words tumble out of my mouth with a feigned enthusiasm as I plop down onto a couch that probably costs more than my entire wardrobe. "Fantastic! Let's discuss the environmental impact of pipelines on the soil structure, shall we? Not to mention the disruption of animal habitats?—"

"Willow." His voice cuts through my impromptu lecture, sharp as the edge of an ax.

"Fine." I cross my arms, sinking back into the cushions that swallow me whole. "Continue, by all means."

"Thank you," he says, though there's no gratitude in his tone, only a thinly veiled attempt at patience. "In public?—"

"Public," I echo, mocking the gravity he lends the word.

"—we need to make this charade believable." He stands in front of me, hands clasped behind his back like he's about to commandeer a ship rather than negotiate terms with his fake fiancée. "That means unity, cooperation... perhaps even a modicum of civility."

"Sounds delightful," I reply, aiming for nonchalant and probably hitting somewhere between bored and vaguely hostile. "Can't wait to sell my soul for appearances' sake."

"Your soul is your own concern," he says coolly, but there's a spark of something behind those steely eyes—a challenge, maybe, or just the reflection of the chandelier overhead. "But while you're wearing my ring, your behavior is my business."

He walks over to the wet bar on the other side of the room. Lawrence's back is to me as he pours two glasses of something undoubtedly expensive and aged longer than my stint with the Earth Defenders.

“I have a life outside of this deal,” I add. “Like my job at the flower shop-”

“Which has been canceled.”

I furrow my brow. “I’m sorry, did you just say it’s been canceled?”

“That’s right.” He gives me a look full of disgust. “My fiancée does not need a minimum wage job.”

“I love that job,” I begin to say.

“I also have it on good authority that you Earth Defenders use Sullivan’s shop for meetings. Your time there is done. This is non-negotiable.”

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