Page 51 of Bride on the Dotted Line

The articles are mostly fluff pieces saying the same thing over and over, but I spend a long time looking at the photos. Nick’s beautiful, statuesque face is captured in vivid color, his brilliant smile shining, me leaning toward him, our fingers entwined.

We look good together. After working in PR for years, I’m practiced at spotting fake celebrity relationships. I think we’d fool even me.

How’s that for irony?

When night falls, I lie in bed and think about what happened the night of the gala. Having him so close, his mouth on my skin and his hand exploring beneath my dress … it was better than any dream. I felt pleasure stronger than I’ve felt with any other man, and we didn’t even have sex.

But it’s more than physical, too. Going out with him was fun. I hadfun, and I want to do it again.

On the surface, we’re completely different people—but that “date” with Nick made me feel more powerful and funny and desirable than I have in a long time. He looked at me like I was the only woman in the world. I didn’t think I’d have that effect on him.

I didn’t think I’d love it so much.

Is this what people mean when they talk about chemistry? It’s strange, realizing I never had chemistry with any of the men I’ve dated. Not like this.

I’ve thought about you for a while.

“But if she doesn’t go, it’ll look suspicious,” Mason says to Lena during our Friday video conference, breaking me from yet another Nick-related daydream. “At this point, I think we should just buy her a ticket. Charters will eat the cost, but it’s worth it if we can avoid the public assuming Nick’s off in another country cheating.”

I blink. “Wait, what are we talking about?”

Lena’s image on my laptop purses her lips. “Fiji, Sienna. Your fake husband’s fake spiritual turnaround. Or did you forget about that part of the plan?”

I didn’t forget; Nick leaves in two days. I was just wondering to myself what his abs taste like. I pull my sweater closer around me and sit back against my pillows. The curtains in Nick’s guest room are wide open, letting in a spill of pale sunlight.

“What about Fiji?”

Mason clears his throat. “I think you should go with Nick.”

“What?” He wouldn’t be suggesting that if I’d mentioned what happened between Nick and I after the gala—but I conveniently forgot. I’m keeping the moment close, like I did when my friends asked about Nick’s smell the morning after we met. It’s special. It’s mine. “I thought I was staying out of the spotlight.”

“I’ve been working on a cost-benefit analysis,” Mason says, cleaning his glasses with the sleeve of his shirt. “We’re riding a wave of good press. Bringing it to a standstill by keeping you out of sight is one thing, but actively harming Nick’s reputation by having him travel to Fiji alone is another.”

I nest my hands in my lap. “What about the private investigator?”

Every day this week, I’ve had texts from people I’m close with, telling me they’ve been approached with questions about me. It’s a constant, anxiety-inducing reminder that I need to be careful, that someone has the means to hurt my family again.

“They must have connected you with your dad by now, right?” Lena says. “Nick found out just by googling your full name.”

“I’m not sure,” I tell her. “We’ve been diligent about keeping my maiden name under wraps—they’d only know me by Sienna Harwood. They suspect who I am, obviously, because they’ve contacted my dad’s friends, but … there hasn’t been anything about me in the news or online. Whatever they’ve learned, they’re just sitting on it. I don’t know why. It’s like they want me to lose sleep.”

It gnaws at me. Who does the PI work for?

“I’ve been in contact with the Harwoods’ lawyer,” Lena says, clicking her mouse. She shares her screen, showing us an e-mail from Alvin. “He’s promised to use their resources to delay—or stop outright—an exposé from coming out about you.”

“Well, that’s good, I guess.”

Mason hums, thinking. “With their help, maybe we can have the best of both worlds,” he says. “Sienna, go to Fiji and take a few photos with Nick. That way, the public knows he’s not there alone. We can call it a honeymoon. Then come home after the trip and wait out the rest of the contract.”

I swallow. It’s logical enough, but … Nick and I in Fiji?

Alone, for a week?

Lena sees right through the look on my face. “Don’t get too excited, crush girl. I’m getting straight off this call and making sure the villa Nick requested has separate rooms. No way you’re gettingone-beddedon this trip, understand?”

I can’t help but laugh. “I understand.”

“Just talk to him,” Mason advises. “Every time I think I want to date a mega-wealthy guy, we have a real conversation, and I realize he doesn’t know what a toilet brush is, or something.”

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