13. Wyatt
13
WYATT
I know I need to appear at this gala and pretend to be the doting husband Matthias wants me to be, but fuck if I’ll show up looking completely put-together. It’s a small rebellion, but it’s mine.
I stand in front of the mirror and tie my tie completely wrong. It sits like a lump around my neck. And I don’t stop there. I button my shirt up incorrectly as well, missing an entire button and watching the fabric fold over dramatically. The only way someone will notice me is if they pay attention to me.
And I hope everyone ignores me.
I walk down the stairs and see Matthias waiting for me, looking immaculate as always. A ringing starts in my ears as I take in the tux he’s wearing. I hope I disappoint him. I hope he’s embarrassed to call me his husband. When I come to a stop before him, his eyes meet mine, drifting to my tie and shirt. His lips quirk, and I feel myself bristle.
Oh, he thinks this is funny? That doesn’t surprise me. When he saw me walk in the door of that meeting room and realized I was the one The Firm had picked, he probably had a good fucking laugh. He knows I can’t stand him, and he had to suspect I wouldn’t go along with this scheme quietly.
I wonder why he didn’t ask for someone else, someone more pliable, who’d be taken in by those bewitching brown eyes. Who’d be flattered to be the object of his attention. Someone who wouldn’t intentionally try to embarrass him.
It makes no sense. Then again, Matthias hasn’t behaved in a way that’s made sense to me in a very long time. Starting right around the night he asked me for a favor that led to me in the back of a squad car.
His hands reach out to me, and I step back, my lip twisting in a snarl. “Don’t touch me.”
“I will be touching you tonight, Wy. We’re husbands. You’re to act like one, remember?”
I let out an exasperated breath.
He doesn’t reach out again, waiting for me to take that step as a smirk plays on his lips. “Let’s practice now.”
I’m being ridiculous, I realize this. This isn’t about me, or even about Matthias. It’s about Jackson. For him, I can do anything.
Even play the part of a doting husband to a man I can’t stand.
I lift my chin defiantly as I step forward. Matthias’s hands tug on my tie, undoing it fully and draping it across my shoulders. Then his fingers slip to the buttons on my shirt. I hate that I’m letting him do this, but he’s right. Fuck, he is. I need to get used to him touching me if I’m going to make it through tonight. I have to make it look real.
I have to make sure everyone thinks I love him.
Besides, I never used to have an issue with him touching me. Before, when he was a different person to the one I know now—when I was a different person too—touching Matthias seemed natural. Clambering on his back when my feet started to ache during a hike. His head in my lap as we watched a meteor shower. Grabbing his hand to haul him up the final part of a bluff.
My reluctance for his touch has nothing to do with his sexuality. It didn’t make a difference before, and it doesn’t matter now.
No, my issue is that it’s Matthias—the man I vowed to hate forever, who hurt me in unimaginable ways—who’s now connected to my salvation.
His fingers move deftly and a moment later, my shirt is open and he’s redoing the buttons, putting me back together again. I look away, refusing to give him any attention. He can do what he wants, but I won’t enjoy it. When he’s done up the last button, he begins to redo my tie, his fingertips brushing against the skin of my neck. I reluctantly pull air into my lungs, not wanting to breathe. I don’t want to smell him, that expensive cologne, the mint on his breath.
Thankfully he’s fast, having done this a thousand times before, and I’m able to step back and exhale.
“Better?” I ask, that word cold and cutting.
“You were perfect before, but now…” He wets his lips and then turns around. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late.”
I trudge along after him, making sure to shuffle my feet. I want him to hear my stubbornness. And he may, but I’d never know it. He ignores me until we’re in the back of the limo, the door shut, the driver taking us to our destination.
“Sit near me.” He pats the leather beside him when I take the seat farthest away from him. I grind my teeth, realizing that this is part of our contract and I need to do this. But fuck, that seat is so damn small. Our legs will be touching, our arms plastered together.
“Wyatt,” he drawls, raising a brow. I huff like a teenager and scoot next to him, letting him place a hand on my thigh.
My muscles tense under his touch and I feel something sliver up my leg and right into my chest. My heart thunders, my cheeks growing red.
From anger. That’s it. I’m pissed.
“Perhaps we should practice,” Matthias says softly.
“Practice what?” I ask, hating that my words come out in a rasp.
From frustration, nothing more.
“Acting like we’re in love.”
I peer over at him and purse my lips. “And how do you think we should do that?”
“You should touch me. Get used to it. Pretend, Wy. Pretend you love me.” His throat bobs. “You used to once.”
That cuts me and I glance away, not letting those feelings penetrate my chest of stone. It doesn’t matter how I once felt. What matters is how I feel now. The hatred I have for Matthias is more than I’ve felt in almost a year. I’m not sure I can even pretend to let go of it. “I’ll have a hard time doing that.”
Matthias’s grip tightens on my thigh. “I know, but you have to try.”
I turn my gaze forward and let out a long, low breath. “Fine.”
My hand slaps down on his leg and I leave it there, feeling his muscles bunch under my touch. I hear the sound of the tires moving over the highway and I try and focus on that. Anything other than the feel of Matthias’s thigh under my palm.
I fail almost immediately. He’s strong. I can feel it in the tense muscles just beneath those slacks. He must work out daily , I think as my hand slides to his knee, causing Matthias to stiffen.
This is unnecessary. When we’re at the gala I won’t be touching his knee. Unless we’re sitting down and someone happens to look. I shift slightly and our legs knock. My hand drifts up his thigh and his breath hitches.
That sound…
Something akin to power moves through me and my gaze becomes laser-focused. He’s reacting to me. He likes this. He wants it.
Good. I want him to be weak. I want him to feel helpless like I do when he realizes he can’t have anything more. I turn my face toward his, closing the distance. I’m so close to his throat that I can see his pulse jumping. My fingers curl and I drag them up to his hip. His breathing accelerates, little puffs against my cheek as I press my nose against his neck. I hate it, but I’m only doing this out of anger, to prove a point.
That’s the only reason.
“Is this good enough?” I’m shocked at how deep my voice is. “Am I being the husband you want?”
My hand drifts across his pounding heart and then right up to his neck. I feel his Adam’s apple bob beneath my palm. “Is this what you want from me?”
He inhales deeply and then his hand grips my wrist, pulling me away from him.
“If you can behave like this, I think we’ll be just fine.” He brings my palm up to his lips and he presses a soft kiss there, making something depraved slither through me. I wrench my hand away, rubbing it on my slacks, and turn my gaze away. I don’t want to fucking look at him, but his words have my attention snapping back to him.
“What about a kiss?”
My shoulders bunch. “Why the fuck would we need to kiss?”
“Don’t husbands do that?”
I count backward from ten in my head. “We’ll do that if we need to. I don’t want to fucking practice anymore. I’m done.”
He’s silent as he places his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him. I make sure I’m stiff and unyielding against him. He doesn’t seem to notice though. By the time we arrive at the gala, waiting our turn to exit the limo, Matthias turns toward me, his thumb brushing against my lips.
“Make sure to smile. You love me, remember? You’re my smitten husband.”
The limo pulls forward and the door is opened. Matthias steps out, straightening his suit jacket as he goes, and I take a deep breath and follow him, taking his offered hand and feeling his fingers curl around mine.
Warm. Strong.
So fucking familiar.
“Come along, Wy,” he says, and I follow him, making sure to school my face as we walk into the elaborate building. I can feel eyes on me, some people I’ve never met before, some I remember socializing with. I know they’re curious about why I’m with Matthias. So much for going ignored. Suddenly, I’m glad Matthias fixed my outfit. My earlier gambit feels childish now with all these people watching me.
I can’t help but lean into him, letting him shield me from the gawkers, and he brings the back of my hand up to his lips, kissing me softly. He really needs to stop putting his mouth on me.
But I don’t let it show. Of course I don’t. I gaze up at him and meet his dark stare.
His pupils dilate, his tongue flicking out over his lips. But then my gaze is wrenched away from him when a woman in a long sequined dress moves past us, the crowd all going in the same direction.
“Best get in there. And put your best foot forward. You’re going to be meeting the family,” Matthias squeezes my hand, and I gulp nervously.
We move through the doors and into a flood of people mingling around a large room. Chandeliers hang above us, illuminating a large dance floor. Standing tables are set up around the room with flowing white tablecloths draped over them and floral arrangements in the middle. Through the bustling crowd, caterers move around with trays of food and drinks. Everything looks like the past I once had. Rich, exorbitant, excessive.
I can’t believe I’m back here once more. Because of Matthias.
No, because of The Firm.
As much as I want to believe that, I know it’s not true. The Firm filled my bank accounts, but Matthias was the one who ensured my return to my former life.
I wish it made me hate him more. But it doesn’t.
And that’s what I hate.