Page 15 of Faking With Mr. Steele

“Why did you bring her here?” my mother asks.

“We’re in love. We’re getting married.” Being with Zoe the past few days, I almost kind of like the lie I’m telling.

“What’s her favorite color?”

I blow out a breath, fuck. “What do you mean?”

“If you’re in love, you’d know her favorite color.”

“Red,” I guess, based on the amount of colors she’s worn in the whole two days I’ve known her. “I should check on her,” I say, abruptly walking out of the foyer and heading into the kitchen.

I spot Zoe standing at the island with York, and that’s when a laugh echoes that makes my skin crawl when I hear the small unmistakeable snort that goes along with it. Trudy Vesterlane.

Let me lay it all out on the line here— my mother is dead set on getting me hitched to Trudy Vesterlane. My mother thinks it will be a marriage made in Heaven since she’s best friends with Trudy’s mom. Her family vacations next to mine every year, and every year, despite my objections, it’s the same thing: Trudy and I paired up. Not this year. This year, I’m engaged.

Trudy enters the kitchen and stops short when she sees Zoe and I.

“Who’s this?” Trudy asks, her blue eyes glaring right at Zoe.

“My fiancee.”

“That’s unexpected,” Trudy says, assessing Zoe like a pony at a pony show. The contrast between them is stark. Where Zoe is warm and inviting, dark hair and carefree smile, Trudy is an ice queen, cold and snooty, blonde and a pinched smile that looks like someone shoved an icicle up her ass.

I grab Zoe’s hand. “Let me show you where you’ll be staying.” We leave the frostiness in the kitchen behind and head toward the garland-wrapped grand staircase. She follows me up, quietly.

I peer over my shoulder. “Sorry about all of that.”

She smiles, but it’s strained. “It’s ok. It’s part of the deal, ya know?”

“Well, it shouldn’t be.”

“Were you and Trudy…” she trails off.

“Fuck no. Not for her lack of trying, though.”

“Ah,” she says as we enter the first room on the right. I shut the door behind us.

Zoe moves further into the large space, taking in the view of mountains from the floor-to-ceiling window on the far wall.

“This room is huge,” she says, admiring the dark wood furnishings. Her eyes stop on the faux reindeer head jutting from the wall between two butter-colored overstuffed armchairs, and she laughs. “I love it.”

“My mother themes the room every year, looks like you got Vixen.”

“Which do you get?”

“Prancer.”

She studies me, contemplating. “Well, I can see that. I read an article once where they ranked the reindeer, and Prancer came in second. He’s sweet and kind. A sensitive soul.”

Is that how she sees me? I make a mental note to be more badass. “I don’t like to be second,” I admit, resting my shoulder against the door frame. “I’m guessing red nose won.”

She shakes her head. “Nope. The only female on the team, obviously.” She thumbs over her shoulder, with a wink that sets my heart racing. “Vixen.”

How fucking appropriate. Cause that’s what she is. My dick hardens just from being alone with this girl. What is wrong with me? I can usually handle being in the same room as a pretty woman; I’m not a teenager for fuck’s sake. Right now, I don’t care about the situation, or all the people downstairs most likely talking about this relationship right now. I cross the room with purpose, that purpose being the need to touch Zoe. For the second in less than hour, our lips meet in a hungry kiss that makes me wonder what voodoo she possesses. Her tongue tangles with mine, and I tighten my grip on her. She tastes like peppermint and holiday wishes.

“Graham,” she whispers, breaking the kiss to run her lips along my jaw, “we shouldn’t be doing this here.”

She’s right. We shouldn’t. We should be on the bed.

---