Chapter Twelve
Twelve
JJ
I seriously had to get my shit together. I was teetering on the edge of... I had no damn clue, but I knew it was dangerous. Everything was where Nico Santorini was concerned.
I wiped my tears and moved to answer the door, my eyes catching on the showstopper of a ring he’d bought for me as I went. I couldn’t have chosen one more perfect if I’d tried, and how he’d known me for a handful of days and managed to do it was truly mind-blowing.
I took a breath and opened the door to let in the resort waiter, who set up our romantic dinner before discreetly congratulating us and seeing himself out.
I turned back to find Nico with his back to me as he stared out my big windows into the dark mountainside. I wondered what he was thinking about, if he was second-guessing all of this. I’d basically talked a famous playboy rock star into taking me on as his fake wife to save his career. In some circles, that would be considered blackmail, and he’d have every right to hate me for it, but that kiss... that kiss said otherwise, and my toes were still tingling.
As if he read my thoughts from across the room, he turned, his dark eyes finding mine. “What did you order? I’m starved.”
I smiled, grateful for the simple question to lighten the mood. “Steak and shrimp. Hope that works?”
“It’s perfect.” He walked over and held out a chair for me like a gentleman.
We sat and after he poured our sparkling cider—my concession to his new rules—he offered a toast.
“To us giving them something to talk about.”
I tipped my head. “To us.”
Our eyes were locked as we sipped, but my gaze couldn’t help but dip to his ring. I’d snuck into the jewelry store behind him, and while he’d been taken to the back of the shop, I’d managed to buy his band and slip back out, then go next door to grab some things at the clothing store. It was impulsive and probably not necessary, but it seemed only right.
“Not hungry?” he said after a few minutes, glancing at my half-eaten dinner.
“Guess not.”
He nodded and set down his fork. “Let’s just do it, then.”
My throat went suddenly dry. “Do it?”
His smirk made my nerve endings come alive like I’d been jolted with electricity. Like I said—dangerous. “Yeah...” Slowly, like a predator, he leaned across the table, his hand outstretched.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Was he going to touch me again? Kiss me? All of a sudden, I wanted that more than I wanted anything else...
His smile grew like he was reading my thoughts.
A little gasp caught in my throat as his fingertips brushed my arm and he grabbed my... phone?
I blinked and focused. “What are you doing?”
“What we agreed to,” he said, turning his attention to my cell phone. “What’s your passcode to get into this thing?”
“Give that to me!” I tried to snatch it back, but he held it out of my reach. “Nico!”
He lifted a brow. “Code?”
I snapped my mouth closed and glared at him.
“Fine. Just trying to have a little fun and make sure you make good on getting our nuptials out into the world.” He held out the phone but pulled it back when I reached for it. “Plus, I wanted to see if you had any secret photos of Brody the douche on your phone.”
I growled and yanked my cell from him. “I don’t.”
“Prove it.”
I rolled my eyes but for some dumb reason, I opened my photo roll and let him see that I’d deleted all proof that Brody had ever existed.
His smile fell as he looked, seeing that he was now the only man, other than my dad, stored in my phone’s memory.
“Happy now?” My voice wasn’t nearly as strong and snarky as I intended as I took my phone back.
“I will be once he knows how bad he fucked up. Send the picture of me kissing the hell out of you. Make sure that one gets printed.”
My mouth fell open. He was serious. “This isn’t a pissing contest between you and my ex,” I said. “This is us saving your career.”
“It’s both.” He sat back with a cocky smirk, wiggling his left hand in the air. “And I fucking won. Send the pics, baby.”
What the hell had I gotten myself into? Still, I’d made this hairbrained scheme, so I had to see it through. Shaking my head, I sent some of our wedding photos to a couple of casual but well-connected work friends who I knew would probably love to gossip about it, then for good measure, I posted the one of us kissing—my left hand with that giant diamond in full view—on one of my social media pages, making sure to tag him, with some not-so-cryptic hashtags, #callmewifey #mrssantorini #zeroenergy #honeymoonvibes, then I let the magic of the internet do its thing.
“There,” I said, putting my phone aside. “That should definitely do the trick.”
“Yeah?” He grinned. “Did you send it to your dad?”
I felt myself pale. “No.”
He frowned. “No?”
I shook my head. “I just told some work friends about it. Told them we weren’t making a big deal about it, but they’ll never keep it quiet. I also posted online and tagged you.”
“Huh.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled for a minute. “I’ll be damned.” Scrolled some more. “That was fast.” He turned his phone to me. “You’ve already got twenty-two shares and fifty... no sixty-seven likes.”
“With your popularity, I’m sure we’ll be viral by morning.” I swallowed, nerves humming in my belly.
His phone rang but he silenced it.
“Who was that?”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. They can wait.” It rang again but he quieted it and instead turned on some music. “So, what do you say, Mrs. Santorini... care to dance?”
I glanced down at his outstretched hand and my ring that he now wore, my heart tripping double time. Without overthinking it too much, I slid my hand into his and stood, allowing him to tuck me into his embrace as we began to sway to “I Am Not Okay” by Jelly Roll. I had no idea why he chose this song as our first dance or if he’d even given it any thought. But as the lyrics rolled over me, in light of all I knew he was dealing with, emotion burned hot in my throat, and I had to hide my face in his shoulder so he wouldn’t see the tears I was fighting.
His cheek grazed the top of my head as we danced, our bodies melded like we were made to fit together. He smelled like cedar and spice and some uniquely dark scent that was all him, and I wanted nothing more than to let myself sink into this moment like it was real. Me and a man who really loved me. A real wedding day. A what could have been. Especially when his hand dipped low on my back, tugging me even closer as he whispered my name.
“Jemma.”
I lifted my face so our eyes clashed, and I could see he was as torn as I was. What was this between us? It wasn’t strictly professional, but it really couldn’t be much more. Especially not while he was battling so many demons that could break him. But, God, he was...
His head moved a fraction closer to mine.
Closer.
My eyelids fluttered closed as my breath became choppy and my blood hot.
Who cared what should or shouldn’t be? How could I when it felt so dangerously perfect?
His breath whispered over my lips, and I melted into him even more. Desperate. Ready.
Then my phone’s shrill ring ripped us apart.
He drew back and glared down at the offending phone. “Didn’t you turn that fucking thing off?”
I scrambled to quiet it. “No. I’m—” Everything in me went cold when I saw my father’s name on the caller ID. “Shit.”
“Who is it?” Nico demanded.
I showed him the phone.
“Might as well answer it,” he said. “He won’t stop calling if you don’t.”
I nodded and accepted the call. “Hello?”
“What the hell have you done?” came my father’s raised voice by way of greeting. “Did that jackass put you up to this?”
I glanced at Nico, then stepped away, but by the way he shook his head, he’d overheard. How could he have missed it? I brushed a hand down the silk of the dress I still wore. “It was my idea, actually.”
“What?! Have you lost your mind, letting the press think you’re married to him?”
“Not think , Dad...” I bit my lip as the phone line went eerily silent. I looked down at the ring on my finger, letting its weight give me a bolster of courage. “It’s real.”
At his continued painful silence, it dawned on me that I hadn’t really thought through how I was going to explain this to him. It made sense in my mind when I came up with the idea and proposed it to Nico. But now that it was done, I could see how it seemed like craziness to my father, especially since I was determined to keep Nico’s secret and save his job.
“I practically had to twist your arm to make you go on this trip,” my dad gritted out, his voice low and filled with suspicion. “Now you’re telling me, you suddenly, what? Love the guy enough to marry him? I don’t buy it, JJ. What happened?”
I sighed and moved to look out the windows, giving myself some space from Nico’s overwhelming presence. “It’s complicated,” I said. “But I need you to trust me. I have my reasons.” I clutched the phone tighter as I saw Nico watching me in the glass’ reflection. “The press was already speculating we were engaged. It wasn’t a big leap to take to give them a story that would help us all out, right?” I could feel my dad beginning to see where my head had gone. “This will buy Nico some time to do what we came here for. We can figure out the rest later.”
He took a breath. “A wedding, JJ? Really? I’ve walked some thin lines for clients in the past, but this takes the cake. I really hope you know what you’re doing... this is Nico Santorini we’re talking about.”
I spun around and found the man in question staring right at me. “I do.”
His sigh was heavy in my ear. “Well... what’s done is done, I suppose. And if you wanted it to be splashed all over entertainment media, then job well done because you two might’ve just broken the internet.”
I bit my lip against my smile. “Really?” That was fast.
“Really. So, like I said, I hope you know what you’re doing and are ready for the potential fallout of this because now that you’ve attached yourself to this guy, the press is gonna be gunning not only for photos but for every detail about this marriage and your life. Buckle up, sweetheart. I have a feeling it’s about to be a bumpy ride.”
“We’ve got this,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “You’re the one who taught me that all press is good press, right? Plus, Nico needs this time to focus on what he came here to do. So, it’s a win-win.”
“If you say so. Call and check in with me in a couple days. Let me know how it’s going, alright?”
“Of course. Love you, Daddy.”
His voice softened so I knew I had him. “Love you, too, sweetheart.”
We hung up and I focused on Nico, who was leaning against the wall near an abstract painting of the mountains, his hands in his pockets, dark eyes trained on me.
“So, is Daddy Dearest coming to rescue you from the Big Bad Rocker?”
“No.”
He lifted a brow. “No?”
“No.” I took a few steps in his direction, watching how his gaze ate up my curves in my dress. “He says we may have broken the internet already. Guess our plan worked.”
“Your plan,” he corrected.
I nodded as something my dad said kept circling through my mind. “Right. But he made a good point.”
“What’s that?”
“That the press will not only keep after us for photos, but they will start digging for details about me. About our marriage.”
His brows curled down. “So?”
My heart began to pound so hard my dinner threatened to make a return appearance. It was stupid to be nervous, but like he said, the press wasn’t dumb. “So... what newly married couple sleeps in two separate rooms on their honeymoon?”
He narrowed his gaze like he was waiting for the punchline. “What... are you... no way—”
It was adorable how he was stumbling over his words. So unlike him that I had to put him out of his misery. “Stay with me.” His mouth snapped shut. “Or I’ll stay with you.” I shrugged. “Whichever. But someone will eventually figure it out if we continue to have separate rooms and the jig will be up. So...” I spread my arms out, indicating my suite and the windows. “Whaddya say? My room has the better views.”