Chapter 10
HALLIE
The dock was freezing.
I stood there in the designer coat Colt had sent over.
It was more cashmere and once again very elegant and timeless.
It was cream-colored and oh so soft and comfortable.
My outfit consisted of a white cable-knit sweater, very nautical, and beige slacks with black pumps.
It wasn’t very practical for yachting in the ass end of winter, but I was told it was just for the pictures.
I tried not to shiver as wind whipped off the water. The yacht loomed behind us, massive and gleaming white, the name “Jesson Legacy” painted in elegant script along the hull.
Of course, he’d named his yacht after himself. Why wouldn’t he? On the other hand, I supposed it was a better name than some of the other boats around the docks, with names like “The Wet Spot” and “Master Baiter II.”
Colt stood to my right, looking infuriatingly comfortable in a charcoal wool overcoat and dark jeans.
His hair was perfectly styled, not a strand out of place despite the wind.
I didn’t know what kind of hair product he used, but NASA astronauts might be interested.
His expression was calm and confident as he surveyed the small crowd of reporters and photographers gathered on the dock.
Frankie flanked his other side, her phone in hand as she coordinated with someone, probably their PR team. She’d been cordial when I arrived, greeting me with a professional smile and a quick onceover to make sure I looked the part.
Apparently, I passed inspection.
“Ready?” Colt asked, his voice low enough that only I could hear.
“Do I have a choice?”
His lips curved into that infuriating smirk. “Not really.”
A man in a suit—someone from Colt’s team, I assumed—stepped forward and addressed the reporters. “Thank you all for coming on such short notice. Mr. Jesson has an exciting announcement to make regarding his personal life.”
Personal life. Right. As if any of this was personal. This was all business.
The cameras were already flashing. It felt like there were at least twenty lenses pointed in our direction. At me. I felt suddenly exposed despite the layers of expensive clothing. This was insane. We were about to lie to all these people, to the world, and act like it was no big deal.
I was so used to blending into the background. I preferred not to be the center of attention.
Colt’s hand found the small of my back, warm even through the thick coat. He guided me forward like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like his hand belonged on my back.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Colt began, his voice carrying easily over the wind and water.
“I’m sure many of you have seen the photos from earlier this week.
The speculation. The questions.” He paused, that confident smile firmly in place.
“I’m here today to confirm what you’ve all been wondering. Hallie and I are engaged.”
The reporters erupted with questions, all talking over each other.
“When did you propose?”
“How long have you been together?”
“When’s the wedding?”
Colt held up a hand, and they quieted. Of course they did. The man knew how to command a room, or in this case, a dock. When Colt Jesson wanted silence, he got it.
“We’ll take a few questions after,” he said smoothly. “But first, I’d like to properly introduce my fiancée to the world.”
He turned to face me, and suddenly his full attention was on me. Those gorgeous eyes locked onto mine, and even though I knew this was all an act, even though I knew he was performing for the cameras, I felt butterflies low in my belly.
Damn, he deserved an Oscar. He looked at me like he was actually in love with me.
His hand moved from my back to my hip, pulling me closer. Our bodies pressed together. I could feel his warmth and that delicious solid body that had my brain going to places it had no business going.
“Hallie has changed my life in ways I never expected.”
I tried to ignore the way my body responded to his proximity. Tried to ignore the heat pooling low in my belly and the way my pulse kicked up when his hand gently squeezed my hip while he talked.
This is just business, I reminded myself. He’s playing a part. So are you.
But when his other hand came up to cup my face, his palm warm against my cheek, I had to actively fight the urge to lean into the touch.
The cameras went wild.
“Smile,” Colt murmured, so quietly I almost didn’t hear it.
I smiled and gazed up at him like he hung the moon. I let my hand rest on his chest, right over his heart, where I could feel it beating steady and strong.
God, he was good at this. So good that for a moment, I almost believed it myself.
His hand slid from my hip to my back, then up to the nape of my neck, his fingers tangling gently in my hair. Every touch felt deliberate and possessive, like he was marking me as his in front of all these witnesses.
And every single time he touched me, I had to remind myself not to lean in. Not to let myself melt against him the way my traitorous body wanted to.
“Now,” Colt said, pulling back slightly but keeping one arm firmly around my waist. “The moment you’ve all been waiting for.”
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the ring box.
My heart stuttered. This was it. The moment that would make it all real—or at least, make it look real to everyone watching.
Colt opened the box with a practiced flick of his thumb, and even though I’d already seen the ring, the massive diamond still shocked me. I had never actually seen a diamond that big.
The crowd made appreciative noises. Someone whistled.
“Hallie Bellrose,” Colt said, his voice carrying that perfect blend of confidence and affection that probably made hearts flutter across the city. It was certainly working on mine. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” I said, because what else was I going to say?
It was all performance.
He grinned and reached for my left hand. I held it out, fingers trembling slightly from cold and nerves. Colt took the ring from the box and positioned it at the tip of my ring finger.
And pushed.
The ring didn’t budge past my knuckle.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.
I felt my eyes widen. The ring was too small. How was the ring too small?
Oh. Right. He picked it up, bought it, and that was that. I had been too stunned to try it on. Apparently, it was sized for someone with smaller fingers than mine.
Perfect.
Colt tried again, pressing a bit harder, but the ring refused to cooperate. His jaw tightened, and I could see the frustration building behind his eyes.
“I should have brought Frankie when we went ring shopping,” he muttered. “She would’ve had the sense to check your ring size. She thinks of all the little details like that. Why didn’t you try it on?”
“Maybe because you decided what ring we were getting and that was that,” I shot back.
His eyes snapped to mine, a flash of genuine irritation breaking through the performance. “You can’t speak to your soon-to-be husband that way.”
“You’re the one who got me a ring that doesn’t fit.”
“Hallie.”
“Colt.”
We glared at each other while the cameras continued flashing. I could hear a few chuckles from the crowd, people probably thinking this was adorable bickering between two people in love.
If only they knew.
I took a deep breath, looked down at the ring that absolutely would not fit my ring finger, and made a decision.
Fake engagement or not, I had too much money on the line.
More than enough money to restore my father’s beach house and make it beautiful again.
I wanted to honor his memory the way he deserved.
I couldn’t let something as stupid as a too-small ring derail this.
I pulled the ring from Colt’s fingers and, with a bright smile aimed at the cameras, slid it onto my pinky finger instead. It fit perfectly there, the massive diamond catching the light.
“We still have to get it sized,” I said sweetly, holding up my hand so everyone could see. “But it’s perfect, isn’t it?”
The crowd ate it up. More camera flashes. More appreciative murmurs.
I turned my smile to Colt, who was looking at me with respect. Or surprise. Maybe both.
“Perfect,” he agreed, his voice smooth as silk again. His arm came around me, pulling me back against his chest in a gesture that looked effortlessly romantic. “Just like you, sugar.”
Sugar. He called me sugar.
The endearment should have annoyed me. It was fake and performative. But the way he said it sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine.
“Smile bigger,” he murmured. “You look like you want to murder me.”
“I do want to murder you,” I whispered back, but I widened my smile anyway.
“That’s my girl.”
We posed for more pictures, Colt’s hands never leaving my body. On my waist. On my back. Cupping my face. Tucking my hair behind my ear. Every touch was calculated, designed to sell the image of a man desperately in love.
And every touch made it harder to remember this was all fake.
He was way too good at pretending.
“Mr. Jesson!” one of the reporters called out. “When’s the wedding?”
He barely looked at me before he answered. “Soon. We’re not wasting any time.”
“And the honeymoon?” another asked.
“That’s private,” Colt said with a wink that made several reporters laugh. “A man’s entitled to some secrets.”
“Hallie!” A woman’s voice cut through. “How does it feel to be marrying New York’s most eligible bachelor?”
All eyes turned to me. Colt’s grip on my waist tightened slightly. Encouragement or warning, I wasn’t sure.
I channeled every acting skill I’d never known I had. “It feels like a dream,” I said. “Colt is everything I never knew I needed.”
The lie tasted bitter on my tongue, but the reporters lapped it up.
“One more question,” Frankie called out, stepping forward to manage the crowd. “Then we need to let them get on the yacht. They have a celebration to get to. And I don’t know about you, but I’m freezing my begonias off.”
They all laughed and I stood there smiling while Colt answered the final question.
“Thank you all for coming,” Frankie said after and started herding the reporters back. “We’ll have more information about the wedding closer to the date. For now, please respect their privacy as they celebrate this exciting time.”
Colt kept his arm around me as we turned toward the yacht, maintaining the image until we were halfway up the gangplank. Only then did his grip loosen slightly.
“That went well,” he said. “Except for the ring disaster.”
“Your fault,” I pointed out.
“Our fault,” he corrected. “You should have mentioned your ring size.”
“You should have asked.”
A crew member approached with champagne flutes on a silver tray. Colt took two and handed me one.
“To us,” he said, raising his glass. “And to pulling off the performance of our lives.”
I clinked my glass against his, the crystal ringing clear in the cold air.
The photographers were still taking pictures, but thankfully, they couldn’t hear us.
“Drink up, sugar,” he said, that infuriating smirk back in place. “We’ve got a long weekend ahead of us.”
I drank the champagne, crisp and expensive on my tongue. I tried to ignore the fact that despite everything, part of me was looking forward to the next three days.