Page 6 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

Okay, breathe. He’s playing a game. Why? Who knows. Maybe billionaires get bored easily. But you can play along. For now.

“John,” I say, pulling my hand away and trying to regain some semblance of composure. “You’re a fan of art?” I gesture at my painting, feeling a fresh wave of self-consciousness wash over me.

“I’m a fan of anything that evokes a reaction,” he says, his voice low. “And your work definitely evokes a reaction.”

Oh, god. Is he flirting?

He’sdefinitelyflirting.

“Well, I’m glad I could... evoke something,” I say, trying to sound witty and confident but probably failing miserably. “Even if it’s just the urge to run screaming in the opposite direction.”

He laughs. “I assure you, running is the last thing on my mind.”

Okay, Ava, this is getting weird. He’s either a really good actor, or he’s actually enjoying this. Which is insane. Or... he’s reallynotGideon King.

“So,” I say, taking a step back and trying to steer the conversation away from awkward land, “you just hang out in galleries after closing time? Is that a hobby?”

He shrugs. “I like the quiet. The atmosphere. It’s a nice change from earlier.” He glances around the nearly empty gallery. “Besides, I find these events tedious. All that forced conversation and pretentious small talk. It’s exhausting.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You and me both. I’d rather be home in my pajamas, eating ice cream straight from the carton and watching bad reality TV.”

He smiles. “See? We have something in common already.”

Okay, this is surprisingly normal. He’s relatable. Which is terrifying.

“I guess we do,” I say, feeling a flickerof something. Connection? Or maybe it that's the residual champagne talking. “Though I doubt Gideon King shares our disdain for pretentious art gatherings.”

He chuckles. “I wouldn’t know, would I?”

“And you both just so happen to wear the same cologne,right?” I say flippantly.

“Do I?” He acts surprised, then shrugs. “Good taste must be universal.”

I blink in confusion as my brain performs some impressive mental gymnastics to try to make this work. Right, because obviously cologne-sharing is a totally normal thing among Manhattan men who happen to be doppelgängers. What’s next? They shop at the same obscure Italian tailor and vacation at identical private islands, too? My talent for self-delusion deserves its own exhibit space.

Still, it isn’t entirely impossible it’s just a coincidence. Of course people wear the same cologne all the time. The last time I went to a bar, I smelled Versace Eros on at least five different people.

But this isn’t Versace Eros. It smellsfarmore expensive.

Just then, Dean Wess appears. “Almost closing time, lovebirds!” he announces, his voice echoing through the gallery. He gives ‘John’ a curious look but doesn’t seem to recognize him. “You two can continue your little talk elsewhere. I need to lock up.”

‘John’ turns to me, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “There’s a bar around the corner.The Velvet Curtain. They make a decent martini. Care to join me?”

Go to a bar? With Gideon King? Who’s pretending not to be Gideon King? Or ‘John,’ who reallyishis doppelganger?

God, this is insane. This is a terrible idea. This is...

“Sure,” I say, the word escaping my lips before my brain can fully process the implications. “Why not?”

Two burly men in dark suits stand flanking the gallery door, their expressions professionally neutral. As we approach, they straighten subtly, nodding respectfully to ‘John.’

I glance between them and my companion, my eyebrows rising. “Friends of yours?”

He shrugs. “Just being polite to the men who’ve been working all night to protect the gallery.”

“They’re totally not your security guards,” I quip.

“Definitely not,” he agrees.

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