Page 14 of Vows in Name Only
Primal survival instincts cried out that she retreat, hide from the ultimate predator in the room. But pride—foolish, self-destructive pride—kept her feet rooted. She might not have any intention of going through with this disaster of a marriage if she could find a way out of it, but she also didn’t intend to start any relationship, no matter how short-lived, cowering from him.
She’d lost her mother as a child, and in every way that mattered, her father, too. And she’d survived it, become a woman who could weather a storm and come out stronger on the other side. Battered maybe, but not beaten.
And no way in hell would she allow Cain Farrell to accomplish what fate hadn’t managed to do.
She shifted forward instead of backing up, meeting him halfway and accepting the tablet. Her fingertips brushed his, but she kept her gaze glued to the screen, absorbing the tingling shock against her skin. She might not be able to do anything about her body’s reaction to this man, but she didn’t have to let him see the effect he had on her.
Focusing her attention on the device, she scanned the website he’d pulled up, recognizing it as one of the more popular columns that featured on-dits about Boston society. Huh. He didn’t strike her as the kind of man who gave a damn about gossip. She frowned, but kept reading. Moments later, she sucked in an abrupt, hard breath.
What the...Hehadn’t...
But dammit, he had.
“I—” she stuttered, humiliation and anger burning through her like a blowtorch. “I didn’t—”
“Didn’t what?” Cain cut her off, the ice in his tone freezing her. “Didn’t leak the news about our nonexistent engagement to the press? Didn’t give an exclusive to this little gossip rag?”
“I didn’t do it,” she insisted, her fingers so tight around the tablet it was a wonder the screen didn’t crack under the pressure. “I wouldn’t without your agreement.”
“So you’d have me believe you grew morals overnight?” He arched an eyebrow. “If you didn’t leak this, then your father did. Not that it matters. The only thing that does matter is that I hadn’t found the opportunity to tell my mother about our—” he paused, his lips twisting into a cruel sneer “—arrangementyet. Instead of hearing it from her son, she read it in that silly column. Do you know what it’s like to look your mother in the eye and lie to her, Devon? Do you know how dirty that makes you feel?”
“No,” she whispered. “I don’t know what that’s like. My mother died when I was ten.”
Cain stiffened, and silence pounded in the room like a heartbeat. Throbbed with tension, with the ache of loss. At least on her part. What would her mother say about this situation? Would they even be here if she was alive? Would her father be the man he’d become?
So many what-ifs...
“You understood the pain I was feeling, you mentioned that in the garden,” he murmured, his gaze roaming over her face, searching. She wanted to hide from that incisive scrutiny. He couldn’t have her memories, couldn’t have her pain. “I’m sorry about your mother, Devon. Mothers...” An emotion so stark, so dark, that the breath locked in her lungs flashed in his eyes. In the next instant, it disappeared, but she hadn’t imagined it. Not when her chest echoed with it. “Mothers are special. And I’m sorry you lost yours.”
“It’s been sixteen years.”
“You still miss her.”
“I do,” she rasped, the admission slipping from her without her permission.
She blinked against the sting of tears.No, dammit.No weakness. God, there wasn’t much hope for her to survive this whole thing if she couldn’t stop breaking her rules with this man.
Clearing her throat, she shoved the tablet at him. “Here.” She barely waited for him to accept it, being careful that they didn’t touch again. Smoothing her damp palms down her hips, she strode over to one of the windows and stared out at the view of downtown Boston and beyond.
A king. He was a king all the way up here at the top floor of this lofty building. Did that make them all peasants in his sight? Or did that make him distant and lonely, a prince in a gilded tower of his own making?
“I didn’t place that gossip in the column. But I will apologize for my father’s actions. Not that it will make much difference now.”
“No, it won’t,” he agreed, the ice returning to his tone. “I hadn’t decided what story to tell my mother about an impending marriage, much less why I haven’t introduced her to a woman I’ve been seeing long enough to make my wife.” His woodsy, fresh scent, heated by that big body, reached out to her, teasing her. Teasing her with what she craved, but her mind—her heart—knew it would be lethal for her to partake. “I would cut my own heart out before breaking my mother’s. And telling her I’m entering the same loveless prison she endured with my father would accomplish that. So I had to lie and convince her I’ve fallen in love,” he bit out. A caustic note hardened those words, telegraphing his opinion of falling in love with her. “And with the choice of hurting my mother or continuing this charade, I’m going to sell the hell out of it. Which means even though you see a walking dollar bill when you look at me, you better scrape together all your superb acting skills and pretend I’m the man you can’t live without when you’re in front of her. And for whoever else we need to convince so the truth never gets back to her.”
The weight of her father’s machinations landed hard in her chest. From one moment to the next, she couldn’t breathe. As if all his schemes, lies and betrayals shrank the room, and she battled claustrophobia, scratching and clawing to escape. His needs, his goals, his greed demanded a price, but it was her and Cain who had to pay the cost.
And it was high.
“Mr. Farrell, Laurence Reese from Liberty Photography is here for your appointment.” Charlene’s voice dragged Devon from the dark hole she’d been sliding down, and she glanced at Cain’s desk phone, almost grateful.
“Consider this your first casting call,” Cain said, and she blinked at the enigmatic statement, turning to watch him stride toward his desk.
“What?” she asked, confused.
He glanced over his shoulder at her, a cold, humorless smile curving his mouth. “Our engagement photos.” Before she could reply—hell,ifshe could reply—he pressed a button on the phone. “Send him in, Charlene. Thank you.” He started toward his office door but paused at her side. Lowering his head, he murmured, “I want every person who looks at these photos to swoon and fall in love with the idea of us. To crown us the next fucking Harry and Meghan. So better bring your A game, sweetheart.”
His lips grazed the rim of her ear on each word, and she fought not to betray how even that slight caress sent desire spiraling through her.
