Chapter 20
20
FEELINGS HAVE NO PLACE IN THIS ARRANGEMENT
I gulp.
Needing to distance myself from Riley’s intense gaze, I’m all too aware of his eyes drifting from mine to the rise and fall of my throat as I swallow. His study of the movement causes my mouth to become suddenly dry. I clear my throat, straighten non-existent wrinkles from the front of my sweatshirt, and stand up to walk to the kitchen for a drink.
I need to dig that damn trench now before I throw caution to the wind and stop caring about any lines that may or may not be crossed. “Rule one.” I don’t look at him when I speak but I know he is paying attention to my every move.
I can literally feel him eying me with each step as I enter the kitchen. “No one finds out.”
“Done.”
“Rule two. We stay honest. If either wants out, say the word and this is over.”
“Done.”
“Rule th ree.” My eyes look up to meet his. “No intimacy. No sex.” A rule more for me than him. For all I know, he can have sex with no strings attached. Whereas for me, there are already annoying strings with Riley that I can’t explain. I don’t want to tie us to sex too. If this is going to work, feelings have no place in this arrangement.
Riley's expression makes no changes. If he assumed sex was part of the deal before now, he shows no signs of it.
“Is that all?” He asks. I nod. “I was expecting a laundry list of demands.”
“This isn’t a hostage situation…” I grimace.
“From the way you reacted, one would think I was handing out a prison sentence rather than an opportunity for freedom.” His smile takes on more of the boyish charm I’m accustomed to.
Realizing he never agreed to rule three. “So is that a yes? For all three ?”
“Yes.”
And just like that, with one word from him, I feel my world rock on its axis. An arrangement that seems simple enough; a fake relationship stemmed from convenience with no expectations from either of us unless the world is watching.
I have a feeling it is going to be anything but simple.
Riley moves from where he sits and makes his way towards me. Nothing has changed between us and yet, something feels different. Maybe it’sjust my imagination and nothing has changed at all. But why does my chest feel tighter, my throat drier, and my skin a little more keen to his presence nearing me like an electric charge has just been switched on, causing every hair on my arm to stand at attention?
He stands in front of me, angling his head down to try to meet my eyes. “So,” he pauses for a se cond as he lifts my chin causing my lips to part slightly as I look up at him, “how do we tell the world that you’re mine?”
You’re. Mine.
Two words that would normally provoke violent thoughts at the mere mention of belonging to someone as if I was a thing instead of a person somehow has the opposite effect on me. When Riley says them, even if it is just a pretend ruse to the world, it causes those butterflies to perform a series of acrobatic flips in my stomach. I can’t think and if it wasn’t for the intake of his masculine scent that’s so uniquely Riley, I wouldn’t even know I was breathing.
“You ok?” Riley asks.
I want to nod my head but the way he holds my chin hostage, moving my head in any direction isn’t possible so I mumble a soft, “yes.”
Riley smiles at me, a look of amusement crosses his face at how flustered I seem. Knowing he enjoys seeing me lose even a fraction of control over my calm demeanor because of him, I pull myself from his grasp to take a step back and force my face to become a neutral mask.
“First off, I am not yours .” I cross my arms and lift my chin rebelliously. “Secondly, what are you expecting? A grand announcement in a newspaper? We are fake dating, not fake engaged.”
“To your first point, Princess, to the world, you are mine.” He says gruffly, with a seriousness I don’t often hear from him. Riley’s voice and demeanor is calm, so matter of fact, I almost forget it’s all pretend. “Secondly, how else will you get Sam to stop texting you about Mr. Bodhi if you don’t make it known you’re off the market?” He tips his head in the direction of my phone still lying on the couch.
My eyebrow raises in confusion.
“Really? Point Break? Surfer dude?” He lets out an exasperated breath at my lack of any movie knowledge created before the year I was born. He waves his hand nonchalantly in the air to revert the conversation back as he continues, “never mind that. Back to the point. No, I don’t expect a grand announcement but I do expect people to know. That’s the whole point isn’t it? You can decide how public it is, but if it isn’t public, we might as well carry on being single.”
I give it a thought and he is right. As much as I hate to admit it.
What would be the point of this whole plan if I keep it quiet? However, the idea of just coming out and telling people I’m with someone makes me queasy. I don’t even know how I would, it’s not like I have social media to post to the public that I’m in a relationship.
My father always dissuaded me from creating any public accounts. Not like I had ever wanted to. I didn’t understand why until I got old enough to realize that the daughter of one of the biggest tech tycoons in the country, heiress to the fortune that followed said tycoon, could and would be scrutinized in the media. Regardless of what I shared. Anything could be skewed.
When I was sixteen, he had acquired a top tier digital security firm and upon acquisition, he had their best and brightest monitor any mention of Amelia Juliette Thatcher for my safety. He was always concerned that his only daughter could be taken advantage of by some desperate heathen—his words not mine—so he had the security firm partner with Thatcher Inc.’s P.R. group to get a hold of any potential threat to my image and safety before it ever became a problem.
I did a me ntal eye roll thinking back on my father’s overprotectiveness.
Luckily for Emily Dixon, Thatcher Inc.’s Head of P.R., she had very little to worry about. I hated attention more than vampires hate garlic, so staying out of the media limelight wasn’t a hard ask for me.
The idea of not being photographed or publicized became the norm for me as I grew into adulthood. To anyone that looked into it, Daniel and Corina Thatcher had one daughter by the name of Amelia Thatcher but that was all that they would learn. There was no photo of me after I hit puberty and it wasn’t like my name was that unique where people would assume when they meet me that I was The Thatcher heiress.
I still don’t need the whole world to know I’m dating, just my best friends and in order for my best friends to believe it, it needs to look real to everyone around me.
“Yes!” I blurt out, snapping my finger, causing Riley to tilt his head in confusion at my squeal. “How do you feel about being my date for a birthday party this weekend?” My mouth quirks up into a sinister grin.
“Amelia Thatcher, I’d be delighted to be your arm candy.”
Saturday evening comes quickly and I feel oddly nervous to meet my friends at Octavia, the hottest and newest club in town that opened last month. Sam’s turning twenty-seven, not a milestone birthday, but she would never pass up a reason to get dressed up and celebrate. Riley texted me earlier to ask if I had any preference on what he wears to his coming out debut.
Amelia
This isn’t a debutante ball. Wear whatever you want.
Riley
So, if I wanted to go nude, you’d be ok with that?
The idea of that image has my stomach fluttering. I’d only ever seen Riley half naked while we swam, to see him stark naked would be asking for heart palpitations. Then the idea of anyone else seeing him nude, spikes an unwanted rush of jealousy, but I’d rather cut off my own arm before I ever let him know he has that effect on me.
Amelia
As much as every woman I’m sure would love that, as your date though, I’m assuming I’d be the one bailing you out of jail when you inevitably get arrested for indecent exposure and I don’t plan to spend my evening doing that. So, no, nude is out of the question. I’m sure there’s something else just as flattering in your closet.
Riley
So, you’re saying my being nude is flattering. ??
Amelia
?? See you at eight.
I peek over at the clock and see that Riley is due to arrive downstairs in the lobby in twenty minutes. I put the finishing touches on my make-up, a subtle winged eyeliner and mascara combo to accentuate the lengthy lashes that fans my face, paired with a bold red lipstick, before sliding into a little black dress I purchased at a boutique sh op located on the outskirts of the city.
As I fumble with the straps of my black heels, I hear the vibration of my phone shaking the bottles of make-up lying out on my counter.
Riley
In the lobby.
I groan at how punctual he is.
He’s downstairs ten minutes earlier than I said to meet me which is five minutes earlier than I would’ve shown up. I think about taking my time but I was also taught that it is rude to keep people waiting so I make quick work of the straps on my shoes before taking a last look at myself in the full-length mirror leaning against the corner wall in the bedroom.
Deciding it’s good enough for the evening, I grab my clutch and make my way down to meet him.