Page 62 of The Billionaire’s Fake Fiancée
His voice is mildly condescending, uncaring, and that finally pushes me over the edge.
I dig my heels in at the base of the staircase and come to a stop. Short of dragging or carrying me, Jace has no option but to listen to me now.
Eric stops in front of us and to my surprise, Jace half moves in front of me, as if trying to hide me from Eric.
"What are you doing?" I hiss at him.
In reply, he grips my waist, pulls me to him with one arm, the other on my shoulder, so I am standing on tip toe, back arched, hair falling down my back and over his hand.
"Holding my fiancé," he says, his features expressionless.
"That was a cheap trick you pulled," I say, "Giving me the ring in front of everyone."
"Not a trick," he says, voice short.
"So the ring means something?"
His eyebrows slash down, I know I've taken him by surprise.
Jace hesitates, before tilting his head. His eyes soften, as he brushes the hair from my cheek.
He feels something for me.
He does.
Before he can reply, Eric stops next to us, "I hear congratulations are in order?"
When my gaze swivels to him, he says, "Natalie told me."
"So a double celebration tonight?" He pats Jace on his shoulder.
"Tonight?" I ask.
"The stag party," Eric says. "Hasn't your fiancé told you?"
Before I can reply, the concierge hails us, "Phone call for you."
All three of us turn, and he clarifies, "Call for Ms. Sienna Murphy."
"For me?" I ask, surprised.
A puzzled look on Jace's face, which fades to disbelief, then anger.
"I didn't tell anyone I was here," I rush to clarify. "I have no idea who that is."
The silver in his eyes flares. He thinks I'm lying.
Pulling his arms from around me, he steps aside. I feel bereft, shiver as goose bumps erupt over my arms.
Jace strides away, up the staircase toward the suite.
I should be relieved that he let me go. After all, I don't care what he thinks about me, right?
I take a step up, wanting to follow him, to ask him what he'd been about to say before we were interrupted, only to have the concierge call out again.
"It seems to be urgent," he says, "It’s from Bombay."
Bombay? Who’s calling me from Bombay? I don't know anyone there. Not unless you count the people I knew before I lost my memory, before my American parents found me.
