Page 106 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

I shrug. “Not for everyone.”

“Of course not,” she says with a small eye roll. “Not for the mighty Gideon King.”

There’s no bite to her words, just a gentle teasing that makes my lips twitch. This is safer ground for us. The banter, the surface-level interactions.

“Wear something nice,” I say, finishing my coffee. “The blue dress maybe?”

“Oh, it’s the blue dress you want, is it?” she says it with a sly smile.

I nod. “I have meetings all day, but I’ll have the car pick you up at seven.”

“Yes, sir,” she mock salutes, and despite everything, I find myself smiling.

As I leave the penthouse, my security detail falling into step behind me, I force my mind back to business. Away from thoughts of Ava in my shirt, of her body writhing beneath mine, of the way she called my name when she came.

Just business. That’s all this is.

Le Cielis bathedin the soft glow of candlelight, the Manhattanskyline a glittering backdrop through the floor-to-ceiling windows. We’re seated at the table with the best view, of course. I wouldn’t accept anything less.

Ava looks stunning in that deep blue dress of hers, the one that clings to all her curves and makes her eyes seem almost golden in the dim light. Her hair is swept up, exposing the elegant line of her neck. I’ve had to force myself not to stare all evening.

“So,” she says, taking a sip of champagne, “three months of…you know. Should we celebrate by reviewing all our greatest hits?”

I laugh despite myself. “It’s certainly been an adventure.”

“Oh yes,” she agrees with mock seriousness. “Me spilling cocktail sauce on the ambassador’s wife the other day was particularly adventurous. The way she gasped… I thought I’d single-handedly caused an international incident. I don’t know what it is with me and spilling things.”

I smile. “What about the time you started eating before me at the charity gala?”

She groans, covering her face. “God, rich people and their rules. I’m surprised they didn’t have me exiled from high society on the spot.”

“You’re adorable when you’re flustered,” I say before I can stop myself.

Her eyes widen slightly, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that.

“Well,” she recovers quickly, “not all of us were born knowing which fork to use for the fish course versus the sorbet palate cleanser.”

“There is no sorbet fork,” I correct automatically.

“See?”She points at me triumphantly. “This is what I mean. You’re like a walking etiquette encyclopedia.”

“My education was... unconventional, but thorough.”

Her expression softens. “Tell me something about little Gideon that I don’t know.”

I hesitate. Personal history isn’t something I share easily, but there’s something about the warmth in her eyes that disarms me.

“I used to collect comic books,” I admit. “Had them all organized by publisher, then series, then chronological order.”

“No way,” she laughs delightedly. “Let me guess. Batman?”

“How did you know?”

“Dark, brooding, rich guy with trust issues? It tracks.”

I shake my head, amused despite myself. “You’re terrible.”

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