Page 69 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

I don’t look at her. “Strategy. You’re part of this now.” Liar. This is about control. About clawing back the part of me that wanted to bury Vanessa in a lawsuit and a shallow grave when that wine hit Ava’s dress.

“Oh.” Ava’s shoulders drop slightly. “And what are we doing about it?”

“My legal team is preparing countermeasures. We’ll need to make additional public appearances this week to reinforce our relationship narrative.”

“More performances,” she says flatly.

“That’s what we agreed to.” I keep my voice even, devoid of the turmoil churning inside me. “It’s working so far.”

She nods, turning to look out her own window. The space between us in the back seat feels miles wide.

I shouldn’t care. This arrangement is temporary. Convenient. But the fact that I still want to strangle Vanessa for humiliating Ava, that my hands continue shaking with suppressed rage, tells me I do care.

No! This is business. Just business.

But as I watch her reflection in the window, I’m no longer certain I believe my own lies.

23

Ava

Paint clinging to my fingernails is my version of a manicure. It’s 2 AM, and I’m completely lost in my work in the small studio space I’ve carved out of Gideon’s penthouse. Classical music plays softly from my portable speaker. Something Mozart-ish that usually helps my brain shut off the overthinking part. But not tonight.

You’re not paintinghimagain, are you?The nagging voice in my head sounds suspiciously like Lucy.You absolutely are. Girl, this is getting pathetic.

I feel a stab of guilt when Lucy’s voice floats through my head. I’m going to have to tell her the truth soon. But not yet. Not until I figure this out.

There’s nothingtofigure out,I remind myself.All of this is fake. My life. Our marriage.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and try to clear my mind.

Focus on the painting.

I open my eyes and step back from the canvas, tilting my head. The abstract swirls of dark wood tones morph into the suggestion of a face. Strongjawline, intense eyes that somehow manage to pierce even though they’re just blobs of paint.

“It’s not him,” I mutter to the empty room. “It’s a visual exploration of... strength and vulnerability.”

Right. And I’m the Queen of England.

I dab more paint onto my brush and blend the shadows around the eyes. The smell of linseed oil and turpentine fills my nostrils, comforting and familiar in this alien penthouse of sleek surfaces and perfect angles. My little creative room is the only place that feels like me here. Paint-splattered drop cloths, brushes soaking in jars, canvases leaning against walls.

The canvas I’m working on isn’t the only one featuring a certain billionaire. Three others lean against the wall, all “abstract” works that somehow incorporate elements of Gideon. His silhouette always carved from those dark wood tones, weathered but resilient, with fascinating contradictions. Just as I’d described his mask to him at the gala.

The gala. My stomach tightens remembering Vanessa’s wine attack. But for some reason the one thing that really stands out is the offhand remark she made before we were even seated:“I’m actually surprised you married at all. Especially after what happened with Celeste. That kind of betrayal leaves scars.”

Who the hell is Celeste? And what kind of betrayal?

I add a new figure to my painting. A fiery, all-consuming presence that threatens to engulf both the central figure and the smaller shadow I’ve painted beside it. That would be me, I guess. The smaller figure. Just a shadow.

Real subtle with the symbolism there, Ava. Maybe try writing “MY ISSUES” in big letters across the top?

I sigh and reach for my crimson paint. The figurethat might be Celeste needs more intensity, more danger. I smear it with my fingertips, forgetting about brushes entirely. The paint is cool and slick against my skin, and I lose myself in the physical sensation.

I don’t hear the door open.

“Still awake?”

I jump nearly a foot, my hand clutching my chest. “Jesus, Gideon! Warn a girl! You know how I feel about you watching me painting.”

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