Chapter 12
DANI
This place reeks of decadence. It’s discreet and stylish. Filled with the type of people who came to Paul Knight’s soiree.
Dexter picked me up earlier, not from the hotel door, but from the car. He called me, and I went downstairs. I’m dressed more appropriately this time. A sleek, dark jumpsuit. Simple, yet flattering.
He gave me a casual glance, his eyes not even taking in what I wore. Not that I wanted him to. I don’t. But this is why he’s different.
We drove in complete silence for twenty minutes.
Interesting.
Now in something called The Midnight Lounge in thick, luxurious blue velvet seats. This place reeks of elegance and luxury. I find myself admiring the rich textures of the furniture and furnishings, the smell of money and something spicy, with notes of floral.
It has the same floor-to-ceiling windows as Paul’s penthouse. With sweeping views of the skyline.
“You didn’t have to impress me, Dexter.”
He barely lifts a shoulder. “We need to put on a front. I’m obeying my father’s orders.”
“Do you always “obey?” I find his choice of words interesting, but I’ve learned a lot about the Knight family dynamics in my short time here. Dexter flashes me a smile. Cold. Detached. It sends a strange shiver down my spine.
I study him, taking in the way his dark hair is styled. The slightly longer curls on top, styled just enough to have a natural wave. The dim lighting makes his sharp jawline more defined. And those eyes. Dark. Intense. Bedroom eyes. He’s good-looking. Frustrating as hell, but good-looking, and I find myself staring at him for longer than I should. I find it harder to look away. Maybe because he isn’t fawning over me, the way most men do. This man seems completely uninterested.
I just wish he liked me. It would make things easier.
A smart looking man comes over, all in black. He and Dexter shake hands and Dexter introduces him as his friend, Luke. “My fiancé, Daniela,” Dexter says, smiling at me with such warmth, it makes her skin prickle with goosebumps. He can be charming when he wants to.
I immediately hide my left hand, the one that doesn’t yet have a ring.
“You got engaged? Congratulations.” Luke looks at Dexter. “I never thought I’d see the day when you’d want to settle down, but I guess you found the right woman.”
Dexter flashes a wolfish grin. “I sure did.”
“And when you do, you never let her go,” his friend says, smiling at us both.
Dexter reaches across the table for my hand, making a show of our togetherness.
“That’s why I put a ring on her finger. I don’t plan to ever let this one go.” His words sent goosebumps running down my skin. He says it like he means it, but I know better. He’s so smooth. So charming. Such a good liar. I just pray his friend doesn’t ask to see the ring.
“I’ll leave you to enjoy your evening. Congratulations to you both.”
“Thank you,” we both say, together.
Dexter and I immediately withdraw our hands. Then a server brings over an ice bucket in which lies a bottle of champagne.
“With compliments, from Luke,” he says.
“Thank you. Jeez. He’s really pulling out the stops.” Dexter’s voice drops as he pulls out the bottle. “Cristal. This is one of the most prestigious champagnes in the world.”
I wince. “I hate lying to people.”
He grimaces like he’s in pain. “Me, too. Luke’s a good guy, but if we send this back …”
“We can’t.”
“I’ll make it up to him another time.”
“What would you like to drink?” he asks, scanning the menu.
“How about this expensive champagne?”
“We can open that later. I’m not really a champagne type of guy.”
I can see that about him. “I’ll have a cocktail. Something light and fruity. The Bluebell,” I say, opting for the signature drink. He orders scotch, and after the server has taken the order, he leans back, lacing his fingers together.
Dexter leans back and surveys me calmly. “I guess we need to decide how we met.”
I sigh. “We should try to keep the story close to reality.”
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” His voice is suspicious.
“No. Have you?”
“No. But you seem pretty eager about it.”
I roll my eyes. “Look, I don’t want to keep repeating this. I only want to help my father. You’re suspicious of me, maybe you’re wondering why I haven’t met anyone, but you’re not a bad-looking man and I’m not bad-looking either—”
He cuts me off. “What? Did you just say you’re not bad looking ?” He shakes his head. Then, he schools his surprise, nodding. “Yeah, I guess you’re not bad looking.”
It’s strange. In this moment, I like him a little more. “Thank you.” I tilt my head and give him a wide smile. “No food stuck in my teeth? No mustache?”
He exhales a laugh. “No.”
“No booger up my nose?”
“Jesus, Daniela.”
“Just checking.” I grin. “So, I must be presentable.”
“This is definitely better than what you had on the night we first met.” His eyes casually sweep over me.
I freeze. “Excuse me?”
“You weren’t wearing anything,” he says casually.
I blink. “I … what ?”
“When I came to your hotel room, you could’ve been naked behind that door, for all I knew.”
“I was holding up my dress!” I cry out in exasperation.
He shrugs. “Not my problem.”
I narrow my eyes. “You weren’t curious?”
“Nope.”
“Not even just a little?”
“Absolutely not.”
I sit back, studying him. “You really don’t fancy me, not even a little bit?”
He leans forward and whispers, “Daniela, you’re the last person I’d want to marry. What we’re doing now, pretending to be madly in love, it’s all lies. You know that.”
I arch a brow. “What if I were the last person on earth?”
“Same. There were two other women in that room that night,” he says smoothly. “Both in their fifties. Both wearing trousers. I’d have picked them over you.”
I gasp. “You’re dead serious?”
“Damn straight.”
I burst out laughing. It’s so unexpected, because I’ve never had any man say that to me. While his words feel refreshingly different, they also leave a sting. Because at last I’ve met a man who interests me, but has no interest in me.
Our drinks arrive and Dexter lifts his glass. “Let’s toast to something.”
I pick up my cocktail. “Like what?”
“Our impending wedding.”
“Our surprise wedding.”
“That too.”
He lifts his glass and drains it completely dry. Shock lances through me. He must be stressed. Maybe he’s uncomfortable being with me, and that’s why he’s drinking so fast.
I groan. “We need to work on our stories.”
“We do,” he agrees. “People always ask how people met. What are you going to tell them?”
I take a slow sip of my drink, thinking. “I’d say… we were both at a carnival,” I begin. “I won a giant stuffed panda, but I couldn’t carry it, so you, being the chivalrous man you are, offered to hold it for me.”
He narrows his eyes. “I’m already regretting this story.”
I grin, feeling the tension between us soften. Feeling slightly more at ease with him. “And then, just as we were standing under the Ferris wheel, bam! You asked me out on a date.”
He shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because which Ferris wheel? Which carnival? Why would someone you like and me meet at a place like that? We live in different countries, also, I can’t remember the last time I went to a carnival. And, did you go alone, or with friends, if so, where were they?”
I’m impressed that he’s giving this such careful consideration. “Maybe we should work on how we met, but what about the proposal story? How did that come about?”
He shrugs. “The usual. We went out for dinner. Had a lovely time.”
“What did we eat?”
“Truffle risotto. It was out of this world.”
“I love truffle risotto!”
He nods. “Good to know. At the end, I ordered you a pudding, and inside was a ring.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Boring.”
“Predictable,” he admits.
“Have you ever actually come close to actually proposing?”
“No. Never.”
“Good thing this marriage is fake, then,” I mutter. But I’m more curious than ever now about his former girlfriends.
He exhales a laugh. “We probably shouldn’t be saying that out loud.”
I swirl my cocktail. “Maybe we should’ve done this ‘getting to know each other’ part at your apartment instead.”
He cocks a brow. “Are you coming on to me, Miss Oliveira?”
I roll my eyes. “You wish.”
“Soon to be Mrs. Knight.”
I stiffen. “Nope. That doesn’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Daniela Knight?” I shake my head. “It’s like chalk and cheese.”
“That’s because we are like chalk and cheese.”
I sigh. “Okay, fine. We’re getting to know each other.” I rest my chin on my palm. “Tell me something about you.”
“I like to have a lot of sex.”
I blink. “Did I need to know that?”
“You’re going to be my wife, aren’t you?”
I straighten up, feel the heat inching along my cheeks. I can tell by the way his eyes twinkle that he’s noticed.
“I’m joking!” he cries, probably because he’s realized how awkward I feel. And why do I feel awkward? He was joking.
I frown. “Why tell me, then?”
“So you understand what this isn’t.”
Ouch. Way to put me back in my place. Not that I was harboring any ideas. I just liked that we were starting to feel comfortable around one another.
“I understand that this isn’t a real marriage,” I say, carefully choosing my words. “It’s a marriage on paper only, and neither of us will become romantically involved with one another or with other people, for the duration of this alliance.”
He nods. “You understood completely.”
A beat of silence. I want to know what a man who likes to have a lot of sex will do in the sandy desert of a one-year loveless alliance.
“You asked me about my previous relationships, but I didn’t get a chance to ask you about yours.”
“What do you want to know?” He picks up the second glass of scotch he’s ordered. I’ve only taken a few sips of my cocktail. But I can tell this man is buying some time. He’s hiding something.
“Tell me about your relationships.”
He brushes something off his dark shirt. “Don’t have one at the moment. I tend not to go for relationships, per se. I’m more of a friends-with-benefits type of guy.”
A gasp falls from my lips. I pray he didn’t hear it. “Why?”
He lazily puts his arm up along the top of the booth. “I don’t like getting involved. I love sex, and I already told you that, but commitment scares the shit outta me.”
“Why?”
He inhales a long breath, stares down at his drink. Wraps his palm around it, as if contemplating, then fixes me, his eyes cold. “We don’t need to become each other’s therapists. You don’t need to psychoanalyze me.”
Touchy.
The cutting sting of his barbed wire words is a subtle warning to stay away.
“But you asked, so I guess you deserve an answer about my previous hookup.” He clears his throat, eyes averted. “She’s abroad. Working in Europe. Has been for a few months, and won’t be back for a while. Don’t worry. I won’t even look at anyone while we’re married.”
I clench and unclench my hands which are on my lap. What do I say to that? Thank you? I appreciate that?
“Your turn. Tell me something about you,” he prompts. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Green.”
“What shade of green. There must be a gazillion.”
“The shade of green that’s earthy and solid, like the one we have at home.”
He peers at me. “What color is that?”
“You’ll see when you come over.”
He chortles. “I get to ask another question because your answer is so vague. Tell me something else.”
I sip my drink. “I’m a black belt in jiu-jitsu.”
He sits up straighter. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“You’re a black belt? In jiu-jitsu?”
I nod.
He stares like it’s the most impressive thing he’s heard. “That’s … fucking awesome.”
I raise a brow. “You sound surprised.”
“Because I am.” He leans in. “What else?”
I hesitate. “I go to the gym. I run.”
“Big deal. So do most people I know.”
“I’ve also run marathons.”
His eyes widen. “F—” He stops himself. “You’ve run marathons?”
“Yes.”
He exhales. “You really are full of surprises. Where?”
I sip my drink, watching him. “The S?o Paulo International Marathon, the London Marathon and the New York City Marathon.”
“Color me shocked.” He slumps back against the velvet booth, but this time when he looks at me, there’s admiration in his eyes. “You love your parents,” he states.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“No.” We stare at one another in silence. He doesn’t want me to probe, yet, he’s probing. “You adore your father.”
“He’s a wonderful man.”
He shakes his head. “Yeah. We really are nothing alike.” He doesn’t smile this time, and it feels like the air has suddenly chilled.
“Serious question. What’s your biggest weakness, Dexter?”
His lips tug up at the corners. “Women who ask too many questions.” Then, softer, his voice dropping lower. “And people I can’t protect.” A server passes by. “Another round of drinks?” Dexter asks me.
“Maybe we should open the champagne? It was nice of your friend to offer it.”
“Yeah. I guess it was.”
I sit back and watch Dexter pour champagne into our glasses. This evening isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.
***
DEX
I sit back in my chair, taking a sip of champagne as Daniela tells me about her college life here and then about her life in Brazil.
My gaze drops to her dress. It’s a slinky dark green wrap over number that shows off her curvy hips and small waist, and with a neckline that reveals nothing, but hints at plenty. She’s luscious, no way about it.
This evening could have gone worse. And it’s not too bad. It’s not like pulling out my toenails with a pair of pliers, which is what I feared.
When I told her I’d have picked the other women at the soiree over her, the way she threw her head back and roared with laughter, it hit me then. She’s beautiful. I found myself staring at her, mesmerized by the soft, bare expanse of her neck, and by her sense of humor. This woman has the confidence to laugh at herself.
She’s like no other woman I’ve met.
When the drinks arrived and we made a toast, I had to knock back my scotch to steady my nerves and quench my suddenly dry throat because Daniela is so utterly captivating when her defenses are down.
Then she had to go and tell me that she’s a black belt in jiu-jitsu and my opinion of her went up a notch. And then she had to throw in that she’s run marathons around the world.
Of course she has.
She just caught my eye in a way I didn’t expect. And not only that—she’s funny. She’s sarcastic and sharp, and I like that.
I really like that.
But there’s still something off. A woman like her has everything. She is everything. So why is she still single?
Then again, I already know the answer. She told me herself.
It’s an alliance.
This isn’t about love. This is business.
And I can’t let myself forget that.
I do not fall.
I refuse to fall.
I glance past her, toward the bar, wanting to see what Rio is up to. The dude is propped against a stool at the bar at the far end, watching me. Every now and then, he turns slightly and winks. He’s perfectly positioned. Daniela’s back is to him, so she has no idea my wingman is here. I told him to join us, but he refused. Said it would seem like we were ganging up on her.
“Dude,” he said, “this is supposed to be an intimate date. You don’t want me in the way.”
I told him never to use the word intimate when talking about me and the heiress. But now… I’m starting to wonder.
I shake the thought out of my head, as quickly as it landed.
No. We’re not going there.
She’s agreed to an arranged marriage. I don’t care that her family is wealthy. I don’t care that she has a charming smile or that she laughs at my sarcasm.
I don’t care. And yet, this isn’t as bad as I expected. She’s saying something. I blink, realizing I haven’t been paying attention.
“You’re not listening to me,” she says, giving me an accusatory state.
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you waiting for someone else?”
“What? No.”
“Then why do you keep looking around?”
I almost tell her about Rio, about how he’s perched at the bar with a smug grin, watching all of this unfold. But I don’t.
Instead, I clear my throat. “Look … this is an awkward situation for both of us.” I pause, tapping my fingers against the table. “I need to tell you something. After our meeting with my father this morning, he called a meeting with my brothers.”
“And?” She shrugs like it’s nothing.
“He told them we were getting married soon, within a few weeks.”
Her lips press together. “Best to get it over and done with.”
I exhale. “Right?”
“He sent me an agenda.”
That makes me laugh. “Of course, he did.”
She sighs. “My parents need to make arrangements. Your father is taking control. It all feels so … impersonal. Not like how a wedding should be.”
“That’s because it’s not a wedding,” I say, my voice low. “We don’t love each other. Jeez, we don’t even like each other.”
Her gaze sharpens. “You don’t like me?”
I wince, choosing my words carefully. “You picked me, Daniela, and I’m not sure why. I wasn’t exactly my charming, best self.”
“You have a charming, best self?”
I laugh. I actually laugh, not just at the way she says it, but because of her deadpan expression. Her delivery is perfect. “So tell me,” I say, crossing my arms. “If this were a real date, what would have happened by now?”
She stares down at her drink. “I don’t really go on many dates.”
What the fuck? “What do you mean? Because you’re too pretty for most guys?”
She looks up, and the hurt in her eyes makes me feel like a douchebag. “No. Because men only want one thing.”
I blink. “You really believe that?”
“In my experience? I know that.”
Something sharp twists in my gut. I don’t like the sound of that.
She shrugs, her expression nonchalant. “Men expect something after dinner. I’ve never really met someone who sees me for who I am.” Her voice is casual, but there’s something in her tone that makes me pause.
I study her, really look at her. The way the light hits her face. The way her eyes shine with something I can’t quite place. Then it hits me like a slap to my face.
This woman has a fear of being seen.
The way she looks, she turns heads. She gets noticed. I know, because I saw the reaction to her that night at the soiree. Just like I’ve seen the reaction to her as we walked in here. She meets my gaze. “I don’t know you, Dexter.”
“But we’re getting to know one another,” I say softly, starting to see the real Daniela.
“You know that I’m more than just my hair, or my smile, or my eyes, or my body, don’t you?”
I shift in my chair. “You’re so much more than that.” The air between us lightens even more. “Tell me more about the jiu-jitsu.”
Her brows push together, like she’s trying to figure me out. Then she launches into a story about how she started training.
“What made you start running marathons?” I ask.
“A friend of mine got me into it,” she says. “Raquel. She started running in college, and I joined her.”
I sit up. “Raquel?”
“She’s my childhood friend. My wing woman.”
I chuckle. “So… what are we going to tell her?”
Daniela hesitates. “I told her about you.”
“Already?”
“She’s inquisitive.”
“Her reaction?” I ask.
“She’s shocked.”
“Why?”
“Because I haven’t mentioned any guy in a long time and—”
I arch a brow. “You haven’t been dating?”
“Not for a while.”
“Why?”
She shrugs. “I dated in college. Had a couple of boyfriends. But I was more focused on my studies.”
Studious, too. The more I get to know this woman, the more I’m starting to see that Daniela Oliveira is the dream package.
“After college, I went back home to Brazil,” she continues. “I didn’t really date after that. Just focused on helping my father with the business.”
She hesitates. Just slightly. Like she was about to say something else, but held back. I lean forward. “You’d tell me, right?”
She frowns. “Tell you what?”
“The real state of your father’s company.” Her eyes flick to mine and we just stare at each other. I don’t know what it is, but something shifts in my stomach and I force myself to look away. “More champagne, or another cocktail?” I ask.
“Another cocktail would be nice. Champagne goes straight to my head.”
I almost tell her we could order food. This wasn’t supposed to turn into dinner, but… it really isn’t such a bad way to spend an evening.
“We haven’t decided on our proposal story. We should, because people always ask that question.”
She’s right. “We do need to figure that out.”
“Do we need to take this back to your place?” This is the second time she’s hinted at that. Maybe she’s testing me.
I glance at her. “Are you coming on to me again, Daniela?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
I chuckle lightly. I really do love her humor. “Let’s say we met through a friend.”
“That won’t work. Raquel has the nose of a bloodhound. She’s a corporate lawyer and she’ll find holes in our story.”
“Will I have the pleasure of meeting this friend?”
“Of course you will. I’ve known her all my life, and she’ll be at the wedding.”
I pull a box out of my pocket. “I forgot.” I lower my voice. “The ring.”
Her mouth falls open. I feel like a jerk now, because I bought a cheap little thing. Nothing exclusive or special, not from an upscale jeweler. No Tiffany or Cartier here. I spent ten thousand dollars on it. It’s a large square pink diamond set in a chunky rose gold band, with small diamonds all around. I slip it under the table, looking around the room. People are talking in hushed tones. Rio seems busy. He’s talking to someone.
“You should just slip it on under the table,” I whisper.
“Okay.” She reaches under and our hands meet. The first touch of her soft, warm fingers, make me jolt. Not with fright. With an electric tingle. Like something inside me has awakened. “I’ve got it.” She sits back. I sit back, slip the ring box back into my pocket.
“Why, thank you, darling.” She waves her hand at me, showing off her ring proudly, before flashing a smile that has more megawatts than the pathetic two carat ring on her finger. Looking at it now, it’s flashy, and totally impersonal. The kind of ring that screams “this is for show” rather than “I care about you.”
“You like it?” It seems like the appropriate thing to say, even though I feel like I should have given her something classy.
“It’s lovely, Dexter. A little too big, but it will do, also, I don’t like ostentatious things, but, as you say, this isn’t for real. But thank you.”
She doesn’t like bling. “Noted.” I lean back in my seat, watching her, and I forget that this is just business. In fact, I’m starting to feel a little off kilter the more I get to know this woman.
Most of the women in my circle are materialistic, and they don’t even bother to hide it. The more expensive and gaudier a trinket is, the better.
Daniela’s genuine appreciation and joy surprises me again. More than that, she calms that unsettled feeling I’ve been wrestling with for too long. Being with her does something to me and I feel like I can breathe and be still for the first time in a long time.
There is so much more to her than I first saw, and as I start to pull back the layers slowly, a sizzle of excitement zaps through my veins. I want to discover more about who she is underneath her beautiful exterior.
Because I have a sneaking suspicion that her beauty goes all the way through to her core.
And if that’s true.
She’s unique.
Truly one of a kind.
Which means, what the hell am I doing?