Parker
I’d been engaged a grand total of nine days and was now just minutes away from the first guest arriving for our engagement party.
If only I’d stop sweating long enough to actually put my dress on. If only my heart would stop pounding so I could take a breath. If only I had a shot of tequila.
Someone knocked on the door to my old bedroom in my parents’ house. “I’ll be out in a minute.” It was a lie. I figured I’d need more like forty-five to have a panic attack, recover, reapply my makeup, get dressed, and make it downstairs.
The door opened, just a crack. “Are you decent?” Tristan asked and I sent up a small thank-you to the gods that it was neither my mother nor Lauren.
“It depends if you have tequila or not.”
He chuckled, that deep sound that seemed to make my bones shake, and gently pushed the door open with his foot. “I thought you might need a shot of courage.” He held up a bottle and two shot glasses. He looked phenomenal. Tristan was one of those men who would look good whatever he wore, but in a bowtie and a dinner jacket, he was insanely attractive. His slightly too-long hair always looked like he’d been styled for some Gucci modelling shoot, but I knew this was how he looked about ten minutes after getting out of the shower after he’d towel-dried his hair.
“Get in here and lock the door.”
He glanced behind him. “There’s no lock.”
I pulled open my dressing table drawer and brought out the rubber door stop I’d stolen from the school music room and wedged it under the door. “Wrong,” I announced. “Get me some booze, like yesterday.”
Tristan set down the glasses and poured us two shots of tequila and handed me one. I tried not to look at his long, tanned fingers as he reached out. His hands were enormous, with a smattering of hair on the back. His nails looked like he had regular manicures, although I couldn’t imagine Tristan getting a manicure any more than I could imagine my father getting one—they both had far more important things to worry about. Tristan was just one of those men who made zero effort in his personal appearance but looked like he spent eighty percent of his time preening. It wasn’t fair.
“We should cheers to us—the happy couple.”
I groaned. “Tristan, come on.”
“You need to get over yourself. So what if you’re telling all your friends and family a gigantic lie.” Tristan was grinning like someone who just had twenty-five million pounds land in his lap.
“It’s not funny. Are you trying to make me feel worse?”
“It’s a little bit funny. Take your shot. You’ll feel better.” He clinked his glass to mine and tipped back his drink. I had nothing to lose at this point.
“No one is going to believe this. A month ago, I didn’t even know you.”
“When you know, you know.” Tristan’s cocky grin unfurled on his face like he hadn’t a care in the world.
“How can you be so relaxed about this?”
“It’s a party. The people here know and love you. What’s to be stressed about?”
I put my head in my hands. What wasn’t there to be stressed about? “Well if we skate past all the lying and deceit, what about the tens of thousands of dollars this party cost to put on?” I said. “For a lie.”
“But your parents paid for it. They wouldn’t accept anything from me.”
I lowered my hands and looked at Tristan. “Wait, what? You offered to give my parents money?”
“For the party,” he said. “It’s my engagement too.”
Getting to know Tristan these past days had been a revelation. At first pass, he was just some pretty computer geek who didn’t have a care in the world. It didn’t take long to discover there was much more to him than that. He was thoughtful—to his friends and to me. He was broad-shouldered in every sense of the phrase. And he was so kind.
“You are ridiculously kind. Stop that. It doesn’t help.”
“I think we need more tequila.”
Maybe another shot would help. Maybe by the time I got downstairs I’d be a dribbling drunk mess and wouldn’t care about any of this.
He poured out two more shots and took his immediately.
“I’m having a meltdown. What’s your excuse for shots before a party?” I sipped my shot this time.
“Lying to people isn’t my favorite thing to do in the world either, Parker. We’ve just got to keep our eye on the end game—twenty-five million for Sunrise. Speaking of . . .” He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a business card. “I asked Lauren to put one of these on each person’s place setting.” I took the card from him. “I thought Sunrise might get a few donations from it.”
I looked down at the card and flipped it over. There was a QR code and a line that said, Sunrise does important work for children with congenital heart defects. It’s a cause important to Parker and Tristan. Every donation helps.
A lump formed on in my throat and I swallowed. “That’s really nice of you, Tristan.” He was so kind. Why had I roped him into this crazy scheme? It was ridiculous.
He shrugged. “It’s a very worthy cause.” He sat on my childhood bed. “Are you going down in your robe?” He nodded toward the pink toweling robe I was wearing. I’d had it since I was fifteen.
“Maybe.”
“You’re going to have to put a smile on your face or everyone is going to know something is up.”
“I know.”
“So apart from the lying and the cheating and all the money your parents have spent on this party, what else is the problem?”
“Apart from all that?” I took the rest of my shot and leaned against my dressing table. “You know that every single person at this party is going to be staring at me. You too.”
Tristan shrugged. “Who cares?”
“There will be no excuse to leave early and you won’t be able to hide up here and avoid everyone.”
Tristan stayed silent for a beat. “That wasn’t my plan, but it sounds like it might have been yours.”
“I just don’t like parties.”
“I gathered.”
“And my mum told me she’s got us a cake—can you believe that?”
“How terrible. What an awful mother, getting her newly engaged daughter a cake. What could she be thinking? We should call the police and have her arrested.”
He might think it was no big deal, but I knew a cake meant a cake cutting. And that meant—urgh. I’d have to tell everyone I had a virus or something.
“I can see your mind ticking over. What aren’t you telling me? This can’t just be about the fact your mum bought you a cake.”
“Put two and two together, Tristan. We’re going to have to cut the cake. Together. And then people are going to expect us to kiss.” I leaned against my dressing table.
Tristan raised his eyebrows. “Okay so . . . we’ll kiss.” He stood up and I looked away, embarrassed that we were having to discuss kissing like we were talking about groceries.
“In front of everybody.” He clearly hadn’t understood we were going to have to kiss for the first time in front of about four hundred people.
“Right. But unless you’re telling me we’re going to have to do that naked, I’m not quite sure what the problem is.”
“We’ve never kissed before. We’re probably going to bump noses. Or worse, I’m going to topple over because I’m bent over backward so you can reach me from up there.”
Tristan stood and put his hands in his pockets. “I see the problem. Good thing there’s still time. We can make a run for it. We can pretend we forgot a pair of shoes or something—leave them all to it. They won’t miss us.”
I growled and Tristan stepped nearer.
My heart began to rev like a Formula One racecar. I slid to the far side of my dressing table, but he just came closer. Then he stepped one leg over mine so my legs were trapped between his and slid his thumb under my chin.
“What are you doing?” My voice came out weak and unsteady.
“I figure since we’ve never kissed before, you might want to practice.” My breath caught in my throat. I needed to inhale or I was going to pass out.
“See here, when you’re leaning, you’re even lower than when you stand—which is saying something, Cream Puff. But the amazing thing about human bodies is that they’re meant to fit together.” His voice had lowered and it felt like we were underwater. I couldn’t hear properly and couldn’t move. “I can still lean down to you like this.” Slowly, he bent and lifted my chin so our faces were just millimeters away from each other. His breath was hot and fresh, and I shouldn’t want him to kiss me as much as I did. There wasn’t anything I wanted more in that moment. He was so calm and calming—his touch was lavender oil and a warm bath, sunshine and a glass of wine—yet he was in complete control at all times. He took my bottom lip in his mouth and clasped my face in his hands, his long fingers sliding into my hair as he guided me to my feet. All I could do was relax, knowing that Tristan had this. He knew what he was doing. I simply sank into his touch and enjoyed the firm press of his lips, absorbing the heat that spread from him to me and back.
I would have happily stayed like that for a thousand years, but we were interrupted by a knock at the door.
Tristan slowly pulled back. “You taste great.” He fixed me with a look that said everything’s going to be fine, then he headed to the door, removed the stop, and opened it a crack. “Hi, Michele. She’s just getting changed. Do you need anything?”
I stood and tightened my robe like we’d been doing something we shouldn’t.
“Nothing at all,” my mom trilled from the hall. “I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. I just wanted you to know that people will be starting to arrive in less than ten minutes.”
Tristan nodded, shut the door, and turned to me.
“I should get changed,” I said.
He pushed his hands into his pockets and looked at me from under his eyelashes, giving me a sexy, slightly dirty grin—like maybe I’d given him a little more than a kiss. “I’ll leave you to get changed.”
Just as he was leaving, he turned back to me. “Next time you want to kiss me, Parker, there’s no need for a borderline anxiety attack. You just need to ask.”