Page 47 of Love so Hot

As I'm about to demand answers, a familiar figure emerges from behind a rack of couture gowns, and my heart skips a beat.

"Marco Bellini?" I gasp, my eyes darting between the renowned designer and Larry. "What in the name of sustainably sourced hemp is going on here?"

Marco, looking impeccable as always in his tailored suit—which, unlike Larry's, I know is ethically sourced—beams at me. "Ah, bella Willow! Your fiancé here was very... persuasive in arranging this little rendezvous." He gestures dramatically at the studio setup. "And may I say, you are absolutely perfect for the camera, even in those... charming pajamas."

I feel my cheeks flush, suddenly very aware of my mismatched sleepwear and messy green hair. "I don't understand," I stammer, looking to Larry for explanation.

He grins, that infuriatingly charming smile of his making an appearance. "Well, darling, I thought it was time for a little upgrade to your wardrobe. Something befitting the future Mrs. Sinclair."

I narrow my eyes at him. "And my missing clothes?"

"Donated to a wonderful charity," he says smoothly.

Marco takes my hands, still beaming at me. "Bellissima," he exclaims. "I would have done this gratuito."

"In that case, let's talk about getting my fifty grand back..." Larry quirks an eyebrow at Marco.

The designer waves his hand dismissively. "Bah! Consider it an investment in art, Lorenzo. Now, Willow, let's get you fitted for your new exclusive wardrobe. We're going to photograph the entire process for a fabulous magazine feature!"

My head is spinning. "Wait, what? Magazine feature? I can't... I mean, I'm an activist, not a model!"

But before I can protest further, I'm whisked away behind a screen, assistants materializing out of nowhere with an array of stunning dresses. As I'm poked, prodded, and draped in silk and chiffon, I catch glimpses of Larry lounging in a chair, sipping espresso and watching the chaos unfold with a satisfied smirk.

I want to be furious with him, but a small part of me is thrilled by the unexpected turn of events. Still, I can't help but wonder: what's his angle in all of this?

Chapter Twenty-Three

Lawrence

As I adjustmy tie for the hundredth time, I catch Willow's reflection in the mirror. I turn to face her, clearing my throat.

"Alright, Willow, let's go over this one more time. Mr. Rothburg is a key player in getting this pipeline approved. We need to?—"

"Impress him with our well-rounded approach and commitment to responsible development," Willow finishes, her voice dripping with barely concealed sarcasm. "I've got it, Larry. You've only told me about fifty times in the last hour."

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Look, I know this isn't exactly your idea of a fun night out, but?—"

"But nothing," she interrupts, her green eyes flashing. "I agreed to this charade, didn't I? I'll play nice with the big bad oil tycoon."

I can't help but chuckle. "Natural gas tycoon, actually. And he's not that bad. Just... set in his ways."

Willow rolls her eyes, but I catch the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "Right. Because that makes it so much better."

As we step out of the car at the restaurant, I'm struck by how different Willow looks. She looks stunning in one of Marco's creations. It's hard to even explain the dress. Suffice to say it transforms her, draping her in an elegance that both highlights her natural beauty and contrasts sharply with her usual rugged attire. Her usual wild mane is tamed into an elegant updo, with a few strands framing her face.

I realize I'm staring when Willow raises an eyebrow at me. "What? Is there spinach in my teeth or something?"

I shake my head, feeling a bit flustered. "No, you just... you clean up nice, Harper."

She smirks, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Don't sound so surprised. Even us tree-huggers know how to dress up when the occasion calls for it."

As we walk towards the restaurant entrance, I can't help but notice the confidence radiating off her. It's almost magnetic, drawing the eyes of several passersby. I find myself wondering if this whole fake fiancée thing might be more challenging than I initially thought.

Clearing my throat, I lean in close as we reach the door. "Remember, smooth and professional. We're here to charm, not lecture."

Willow's smile is sweet, but there's steel in her eyes that makes me nervous. "Don't worry, Larry. I'll be on my best behavior."

Why do I have a feeling this dinner is going to be anything but smooth?

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