Page 32 of My Possessive Billionaire: Our Fake Marriage

Oh, thank God. Or I should say thank Evan.

Relief flooded through me, but it was conditional. After all, Evan might pretend it was no big deal, but I could feel a certain tension in his body. His fingers dug into the pliant flesh of my shoulder a bit more deeply than they should have gone.

Evan hid it well, but he was furious. Furious at me for forgetting the ring. But he also remembered the show must go on.

I would deal with Evan later. For now, the reporter demanded my full attention.

I laughed as if slightly embarrassed and scandalized, and patted Evan’s arm.

“Oh, honey, please behave. No one wants to hear such lascivious details of our private life.”

For a long moment, I thought the reporter wasn’t buying our load of bullshit. His eyes narrowed to slits. His fervid gaze darted between us as his fingers curled around the black carapace of his intrusive camera. I could well imagine a soldier on a battlefield curling his finger around the trigger of a rifle, knowing that soon someone would be dead.

I swear that the next few seconds seemed to take a million years. I waited with bated breath to see what the reporter’s reaction would be. Would he buy our story? Or would he run back to his media entity and splash all over newspapers and the internet that we were a fake couple living a lie and trying to perpetuate it to the world?

Then I saw his expression soften. Cautious optimism took root in my breast.

The reporter laughed and snapped a picture of the moment.

“I can see you two are crazy in love. I forget my own wedding ring all the time, too. Drives my wife nuts.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, but I felt Evan stiffen up against me. I knew it wasn’t over. I knew I was going to hear more about this before the night was through.

We continued to mingle with the crowd. I met a lot of people I didn’t recognize, but felt like I should. These weren’t celebrities or professional athletes. They were captains of industry, movers and shakers of the financial world who probably had more power than the president.

All of them seemed both surprised and somehow thrilled that Evan was with me now. One of them in particular I remembered well. Geoffrey Slesoz, a major shipping magnate with a shaved head that made him look like a dime store Lex Luthor. If Lex Luthor were an insufferable little twit.

Geoff gushed and gushed over the two of us. It got to be a little bit embarrassing.

“I’ll tell you what, I never thought this guy would get hitched.” He slapped Evan on the arm, a bit hard and drunkenly. Evan flashed a scowl, but it was subtle. I doubt anyone else in the room noticed it but me.

“Why is that?” I asked, just to make conversation and because I was eager to make up for my early fuck up with the wedding ring.

“Well, where do I start?” He put an arm around Evan’s shoulders, which was kind of comical because of how hard he had to reach to do so. “I mean, there was the time that he got the entire backup dancer line from Chicago into his limo after the show—in their costumes. Or then there was the time that he made it with the Milliams sisters—at the same time after Wimbledon.”

“You’re such a kidder, Geoff,” Evan said, a bit stiffly.

“Ah, I can tell I’m wearing out my welcome here. Nice meeting you, my dear.”

He kissed my hand and took his leave. I turned back to Evan and cocked an eyebrow.

“Well, he seems to be buying the story.”

“He’s just super thrilled to see me get married.”

“He’s a good friend then.”

Evan snorted with great derision.

“Geoff? Hardly. I tolerate his presence. He’s only glad that I got married because he thinks it will distract me from my business and give him an advantage. Or did you not hear the way he tried to sow discord between us?”

“I heard,” I said with a chuckle. “It wasn’t that bad. I mean, the Milliams sisters are gorgeous, and I know I can’t compare to an entire chorus line of leggy showgirls.”

His face crumpled into a frown. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but right about then we got dragged into a conversation with some cable news magnate. I had never seen him on television, but everyone else treated him like he was a big deal. All I knew was he kept looking at my breasts.

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