Page 9 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

“Tonight I want to be reckless. I want to forget my problems. I want tofeelsomething.”

“Come over for a nightcap,” he says, his voice low and intense.

“Okay,” I say quickly. A little too quickly.

Just a nightcap.

Who am I kidding? I’m going to be riding this gorgeous man like a stallion as soon as we get to his place.

He nods slowly, as if reading my mind. “I need to be clear. This is casual. No strings. No expectations. I don’t do relationships.”

This is crazy. This is reckless. This is...

Exactly what I need.

My heart pounds in my chest. This is it. It’s now or never.

This is insane. You’re about to go home with a man who may or may not be a billionaire. A man you met hours ago. A man who could ruin you with a single word if he really is that billionaire.

But a part of me doesn’t care. A part of me craves the danger, the excitement, the escape.

“I know,” I say. “Just tonight.”

“I’m glad we have an understanding.” He leans in, his lips brushing against my cheek. “Just tonight.”

3

Ava

‘John’ leads me toward the lounge’s exit. There are two men in suits standing near the door. I swear they’re the same two who opened the door for us at the gallery.

No, it’s just the lighting playing tricks on me.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

‘John’ walks me toward an Uber. No, not an Uber... unless Uber drivers routinely hold the back doors open for their customers. They do sometimes, don’t they? I study the car. It’s a piano-black Cadillac. Far from the flashy, high-end luxury vehicle one might expect a billionaire to own.

Maybe I was wrong after all.

“After you,” ‘John’ says, gesturing. He’s smiling that ridiculously charming smile, the one that makes my stomach do flip-flops, and it somehow calms me down.

I climb in, trying to act casual. Like I totally ride in chauffeured cars with billionaire lookalikes all the time. It’s only a Cadillac, but the white leathersmells...expensive, somehow. Like it’s part of a custom-made build installed to his specific tastes.

‘John’ starts talking almost immediately, thank god. Silence would just be an invitation for my anxiety to jump through the roof again.

“So, you really think I look like Gideon King?” he asks. A little smirk plays on his lips.

“Dude, it’s freaky,” I say. “Seriously, you could be his body double. Or his evil twin. Or robot.”

He grins. “Robot? I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

“Hey, I’m an artist,” I shrug. “Imagination’s my job. Though usually it involves more naked people.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Naked people?”

I feel my face reddening.

Crap, here comes the lobster again.

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